The Safehouse Policy

by BigHead (bigheadfics@yahoo.com) and 3D Master (3dmaster@telfort.nl)

Chapter 1: The Meeting

Fjeldberg Cemetery - Huxley, Iowa

Three days after the Sunnydale Battle

12:45 PM

It hurt. It hurt more than a bullet wound, or the cut of a knife. At least with those, you knew that with some care and time, the pain would be gone. And the pain of a loss? The pain of losing someone you love deeply and totally? Seeing your husband being lowered to his grave was the worst experience in the life of Samantha Finn.

She should take it better. Death was a constant in the life of a soldier, especially one dedicated to hunt and kill the spawn of the underworld. A wrong move, one shot missed and it would be the end. She had seen it a lot, and she probably had buried more men under her than some veteran officers from ‘Nam.

But then, as the song says, love changes everything.

She was dressed in a sedate black dress, her hair loose in the wind, and she hadn’t cried yet, she couldn’t. She had to appear strong to her subordinates and to Riley’s parents, and, to her, crying was a personal, private experience. So, she would have to wait until later. Problem was that the priest was in the middle of the sermon, and time seemed to not be moving forward.

Sam started looking around her. Huxley was a small farming community, with less than tree thousand inhabitants, the people and habits seemed to still be stuck in the middle 19th Century. So, the man in the crisp black suit stuck out like a sore thumb.

He wasn’t from the team, and he certainly wasn’t from around town. So, that meant only one thing. Feds.

He noticed that Sam had noticed him, so he walked closer by. In his hand there was a manila envelope, sealed shut, with the stupid, bright red, nobody-noticed-me-in-a-twenty-mile-radius confidential sticker glued in the flap. He walked to her back, and murmured in her ear.

“Sorry about your loss. Read it after the funeral” and he deposited the envelope in her hand.

Sam almost laughed with the surreal situation. She was getting an envelope, probably a mission briefing, during her husband’s funeral.

She formulated a plan in two seconds: she was going to read it, and then she was going to find the General and shove the mission folder up his ass. Then she would quit.

That almost brought a smile to her face.

*****

Ronald Reagan Airport – Washington, D.C.

Next day

02:36 PM

It wasn’t a mission briefing. In fact, it was worse than that. It was a plane ticket, a surveillance photo probably taken from a NRO satellite from the Sunnydale battle and a brief note specifying that if she weren’t in the plane the following day she would be arrested and court-martialed.

But there were some strange facts: fact one is that the plane ticket was for a commercial flight, first class. The General was a cheap bastard, doesn’t matter the reason, so it wouldn’t be him. Second fact was that she couldn’t be court-martialed since she wasn’t officially from the military anymore. No one from the Initiative was, after the ADAM fiasco. They were still a military unit, but without any relation to the US Military forces, except for the General.

So, who was pulling this stunt? She came, mostly out of curiosity than anything else. And she still wanted to shove something into someone’s ass.

The moment she disembarked from the plane she saw another man, a clone from the one in Iowa, waiting for her at the plane’s stair bottom. She approached casually, duffle bag in hand.

“Mrs. Finn, any more luggage?” he asked. Sam only shook her head a little, no. “Follow me, please.”

“Where are we going?” She asked.

“To the car, madam,” the clone began walking to a blue Ford Taurus parked a few meters away.

She almost said ‘Doh’ to the idiot, but then she certainly wouldn’t have the answer. “After that?” she asked, more serious and a tad pissed.

“Sorry, ma’am, it’s confidential.” The man answered, opening the passenger door for her. At least he was being polite.

She waited until he sat at the driver’s seat, and continued. “Who is pulling this?”

The man turned the car on and he accelerated out of the tarmac before answering. “Sorry, ma’am, it’s…”

“…confidential. Yeah, yeah. Is there anything that it isn’t confidential that you can say to me?”

The man thought for a few more seconds, before answering. “John.”

“John? John what?” She asked, dumbfounded.

“My name. It’s John. It’s not confidential.”

Sam noticed an almost smirk in the fed’s face. “Smartass.”

They got out of the airport, diving eastward.

“John. Any last name?” Sam asked, after a few more minutes of the oppressive silence.

“Sorry, ma’am, it’s confidential.”

Sam was absolutely sure she would shove Mr. John into someone’s ass afterwards.

*****

Outskirts of Washington, D.C.

Same day

03:42 PM

They arrived in a nondescript building in a nondescript neighborhood quite some time later. Sam knew that Mr. John had give a few tours around the block to try and confuse her, and to be honest, he had. She had no idea where she was right now.

He drove behind the building, entering an opened garage door. The moment the car stopped, another agent closed the gate. A female agent opened the car door.

“Mrs. Finn, could you please come out and place your hands on the hood?”

Sam calmly got out of the Taurus, leaving her bag behind. She turned to Agent John, asking in her most airhead voice, “Could you please look after my bag for me? Thank you.”

She walked to the front of the vehicle, and she assumed the classical position to be searched. The female agent frisked her quickly and professionally.

“Thank you. Could you follow me, please?”

She was starting to get extremely pissed. This charade was quickly getting old.

“Look, lady, I’m a patient woman, but this shit is starting to piss me off. I want some answers.”

“In a few moments, Mrs. Finn.”

They climbed a stair, to the second floor. The agent motioned Sam to a room right in the middle of the floor. Apparently, it was a small and deserted office building. She opened the door, waiting for Sam to enter. The room was a spacious, rectangular one, with just one door and no windows. It was painted white, with a wooden floor. For furniture, only a large desk and three chairs. In the table, a pitcher of water and some plastic cups.

“Wait for a moment, Mrs. Finn. Someone’s gonna come and see you,” the female said, turning around and leaving, closing the door behind her.

“What, and no coffee?” Sam joked. It had passed trough her had that this could be a trap, but right now she wasn’t giving a shit.

The door opened a minute later, admitting a short, balding man, wearing a dark gray suit, and wired-rimmed glasses. In his hand rested a large folder.

“Mrs. Finn, please sit down.”

Sam focused at the man, trying to place the face. She had already seen him, but where? She sat in one of the chairs, and waited.

He sat in the chair opposite to her, opening the folder.

“Mrs. Finn, care to tell me why there were three Abrahams tanks firing live ammo in a small town called Sunnydale four days ago?”

/What? They knew about that, didn’t they? The General covers this shit, damn!/  Her face showed surprise, but she kept her mouth shut.

“And why two Apache helicopters were hijacked from the local Army Base, to be destroyed at the same time, at the same place?”

The guy removed a series of black and white photos from the folder, placing them over the table. More satellite pictures like the one she received in Iowa. They showed the main battle against the First, the tanks, the flying demons, the downed Apaches, the troops, everything. So, if they knew, why would they be asking her? Why not her commanding officer, the General?

She remained silent.

“What were those black flying things in the photos?” /Fucking baby demons./

“Who were those robed figures?” /The assholes who killed my husband./

“What is this thing here?” /A big, nearly indestructible demon./

He asked a few more questions, all of them based on the pictures. “Will you answer any of my questions, Mrs. Finn?” he asked, removing his glasses.

“Only that one. No,” she finally spoke, smugly.

“Why not?”

“Official Secrecy Act. Ever heard of it? No? Well, it’s a document that says that, unless you bring me the FUCKING PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES TO ASK ME. I’M. NOT. GONNA. TELL. A. FUCKING. WORD!” she screamed, her patience finally gone.

The guy placed the glasses back on, retrieved the photos, and stood up. “Wait here.” He said, and walked out of the room.

She stood up also, and began to pace the small room, more confused than before. Didn’t the General have all the bases covered? Was any shitty Senator making fuss over it? Those guys were civvies, no doubt about it.

She had her back turned to the door, when she noticed someone had arrived. Sam turned quickly, and her jaw fell when she recognized the man standing there.

“I believe you wanted to talk to me, Mrs. Finn?”

*****

/ShitShitShitShitShitShit . . ./ was the only piece of info her brain was able to process at the moment. Standing on the door, with a curious face, was the last man that she had hoped to see, for real, in the flesh, in her entire life. Because she knew that, in her line of work, if you meet the President, it won’t be a pleasant conversation.

“Can we sit, please?” Alan Markson asked, pointing at the chairs. He was a vivacious man, in his mid forties, with light brown hair and always observant green eyes. He was dressed in a dark blue suit and gray tie, and, while he wasn’t exactly pretty, he exuded charisma by the tons. His voice was pleasant, and the tone was light. /So far,/ Sam mused, noticing her brain returning to function. She sat first, the President later, both pairs of hands on the table.

“Well, Agent Finn, first I wanted to say how sorry I am for interrupting your grieving, but I believe this is a serious situation that couldn’t wait. For that, I apologize. And I’m also sorry for all the cloak and dagger action, but Derek Billings, my Chief of Staff is a little paranoid regarding security, and I believe what we’re about to discuss shouldn’t fall into the wrong ears. I hope you understand.”

Sam couldn’t resist the small smile that creased her face. “I understand, sir.”

“Well, let’s go straight to the point. What happened in Sunnydale, four days ago? Or better, what has been happening in Sunnydale for the last seven years?”

Sam gulped. Loudly. She couldn’t lie, and she wasn’t aware of what the Man knew, so she decided to drop the entire bomb at once.

“Well, sir, I believe I’m not the most qualified to give this explanation, but I’ll do my best.” Markson nodded and motioned for her to continue.

“Do you believe in vampires, sir?”

The President’s eyebrows jumped. “What?”

“Vampires, sir. And also werewolves, demons and so on, the so-called supernatural creatures?”

“Can’t say I do, Agent Finn, regardless of what a couple of my advisors and my four year old daughter keep trying to tell me.”

“Well, sir, you better start believing them, because they are right. These monsters do exist. Some of them are on those photos.”

“Photos can be forged.”

“Not those taken from a NRO Keyhole satellite. And I believe that the NSA doesn’t have enough of a sense of humor or a death wish to try and pull one over the C&C. These are the real deal, sir. Those are real demons.”

“How?” he asked, incredulously.

“In this specific case, it was a supernatural, incorporeal being called the First Evil. It is believed it is the one that is responsible for all the evil that existed after this Universe was formed. As for the rest of them, we aren’t exactly sure, sir, but we believe that a few of them are the inhabitants of dimensions parallels to this one, sir. Mankind has named these dimensions under a common name: Hell.”

“And how those… inhabitants came to Earth?”

“That is the problem, sir. They didn’t come to Earth. They departed. I’ve listened to this explanation once, and it kinda stuck. This world is older than any of us know, and contrary to popular mythology, it did not begin in a paradise. For untold eons, demons walked the earth, made it their home, their hell. In time, they lost their purchase on this reality, and the way was made for mortal animals. For man. What remains of the Old Ones are vestiges: certain magicks, certain creatures. One of the last demons mixed his blood with man, and thus the first vampire was born.”

“All right. And what does this have to do with Sunnydale?”

“Well, sir, there are some points where the barriers between here and Hell are thinner. Those places are called Hellmouths. Sunnydale sits atop one of those. And the Hellmouth attracts all kinds of supernatural evils. Even if just only one of those Hellmouths opens, we can kiss this small blue ball goodbye . . . hum, sir.” She quirked a small smile.

“And what are the chances of this happening?”

“We interrupted at least seventeen attempts in the last seven years, sir,” she  spoke.

“Seventeen? My God . . .” he trailed off. Then his mind picked up the last part of the conversation. “Wait a minute. We? Who are ‘we’? You and your husband?”

“Partially, sir. Well, at least for the last three years.” She was hoping that he would let things pass. But the man wasn’t President for his good looks.

“And the other years?”

“There was a team already positioned at the Sunnydale Hellmouth since the beginning.”

“Who was in command of this team? Was my predecessor aware of it?”

“No one was ‘in command’, per se, sir. And your predecessor wasn’t aware, simply because the team isn’t military.” She squirmed a little in her chair. The man wouldn’t quit.

“Civilians.” The president paused, thinking it over. “Who are those brave men?”

She squirmed even more. If possible, Sam would like to turn into a mosquito and fly outta there. The President wouldn’t ever believe her.

“Not men, sir. Teenagers. Three of them. And one man.”

“WHAT?” he lost it, for the first time since the interrogation from Hell began.

A Secret Service agent jumped into the room, automatic pointed to Sam, eyes scanning the surrounding. Markson calmed down, and motioned for the agent to leave. Reluctantly, the agent left.

“From the beginning, if you please, Agent Finn?” he asked her.

Sam sighed, and began by telling her about the Slayer, her friends and their history, or at least the part that she was aware of. The talk lasted for more than three hours, the President only interrupting once or twice for a few clarifications. Then, Sam finally arrived to the last battle with The First. The folder appeared again, and she explained everything using the photos as references.

After the explanation ended, Markson took a deep breath, and spoke “Derek, come here, please.”

The tone of voice didn’t change. So, the room was bugged, and someone was listening. The man who tried to interrogate her appeared almost instantaneously, his face set.

“Have you heard?” the President asked.

“Every word, sir. And it is all recorded.”

“Good.” He paused. “Destroy the tapes.”

The man paused, but didn’t question. “Yes, sir.”

“And put the things into motion.”

“Yes, sir.”

Markson crossed her fingers, and looked Sam straight in the eyes. “Mrs. Finn, I haven’t been exactly truthful with you. We were aware of a few . . . things that have occurred in the last years. The Initiative was surely a great surprise, and be certain that a few answers will be forthcoming and my military advisors will be . . . dealt with. And the Sunnydale explanation certainly filled a lot of blanks. Since we became aware of those things, we secretly began to plan a series of contingencies based on a few scenarios, those being infinitesimally smaller than the ones you and those teenagers had already faced. I fear the answer, but tell me, what are the chances of something like that happening again?”

Sam took a deep breath, focusing on the Man’s eyes. “Sir, something may be brewing as we speak.”

“Damn.” It was odd seeing the President of the Unites States cursing, but it fit the occasion. “I know it’s kind of early with the death of your husband only a few days ago, but I specifically called for you, Mrs. Finn, for a reason. I read your file, or the part that I could uncover from the mountain of red tape it is under. And what I read surprised me. You may be the tiger I need for this job. I’m going to ask just a question. Do you accept?”

“What job, sir?”

“I believe the best term would be payback, Mrs. Finn. Payback.”

The fire in her eyes that had been dimmed the last few days was suddenly fueled as if gasoline was thrown into it.

“How?”

“Project Safehouse.”

Chapter 2: Comatose Beauty

Los Angeles - CA

Two weeks later

10:45 PM

The sounds of the night. Faith never understood what the heck people were talking when they said that. To her, the sounds of the night generally involved screams of pain, howls of terror and pleas for forgiveness or for God’s Holy Intervention. And occasionally there were the sounds of quick breath and muscular extortions, followed by muffled screams of pleasure.

But after Sunnydale, and Willow, things definitely had changed.

She was standing on the roof of a building, a few blocks from the Hyperion Hotel, eyes closed, really listening to the night. The Slayer was slowly turning around, ears focusing on the multitude of sounds around her.

Instincts of the tiger, Willow said in the spell. Nobility of the wolf. Sight of the eagle. Endurance of the polar bear. Smell of the hyena. Strength of the ant. Agility of the snake. Healing of the salamander. Sensitivity of the fly. And the purifying strength of Mother Earth.

That was she now. The Slayer. Champion of the Light, cleansed from the demon essence that made the Slayer, into a new mystical fighter, empowered by Nature itself.

Faith never thought it could be like that. She was still testing her new powers and limits and so far, she was still too dumbstruck to have a definite opinion, aside from ‘wow’.

Damn, if she focused, she could listen to a person speak from /seventeen/ blocks away. She had made that test with Xander a few days ago. Now, she was hunting like that, senses expanded around her. In a city like LA . . .

“Help!” she heard the scream, and immediately focused the hearing in the direction of the sound. Not too far away, some seven blocks to the east.

“Don’t worry, we just came for a snack . . .” she heard another snickering voice speaking.

Vamp attack.

“Showtime,” Faith said, jumping from the ledge of the building.

[Play Faith’s Theme – The Rasmus – First Day of My Life]

Another perk from the new empowerment. She was so strong and agile right now that she could do things that only were seen in comic books.

She landed in the neighboring building, five floors below, and ran over the edge of the roof at full sprint. Two steps away from the ledge and the Slayer crouched, jumping up and over the street separating her from the next building. She flipped in mid air to reduce speed when landing and touched the building’s roof perfectly. She looked behind her for a moment, smile creasing her beautiful face.

“Eat your heart out, Spidey.”

She kept running and jumping, closing in for the attack. The actions were so instinctive that the conscious mind disengaged for a time, going to a new direction.

~~O~~

Cordelia’s Hospital

Yesterday

02:05 PM

“Excuse me.”

The voice took nurse Rayser from the stupor she was in.

“Yes, sir?” the nurse finally looked at the man on the other side of the counter. What a hunk. Six foot something, raven hair and a sexy smirk. She perked up quickly, smiling, drowsiness vanishing as if by magic. Then she noticed the brunette standing a couple steps behind him, and the smile also vanished.

“What can I do for you, sir?” she asked, more professionally.

“Cordelia Chase’s room, please,” he said, still smirking. Xander Harris knew exactly what had happened in his back. But he couldn’t resist. Faith loved to push his buttons, sometimes he had to push back.

“Room 813. Take the elevator at the end of the hall, the room is to your left.”

“Thank you.”

They walked to the elevator, Xander’s good mood disappearing as he walked. Faith noticed the change in attitude and body language, and she circled his arm around him, bringing him closer.

“Hey,” she spoke softly.

“Hey, yourself.”

“Scared?”

Xander kept silent for a time, waiting for the doors to open. They walked in, going to the back of the car. The young man took a deep breath and shook his head.

“Yeah, a little. I’m afraid of what I’m gonna find out. She was the one who didn’t want anything to do with Slaying and the supernatural. And look where she ended up,” he said, hands moving as if to encompass the hospital.

Faith thought it over for a moment.

“Do you really think that? Then you knew less about her than you think. Do you think that if she wanted to stay away she would have hooked up with Fang?”

The door opened at the designated floor and they walked to the left, silently searching for the room. A few moments later they were standing in front of the closed door. Before Xander opened it, he turned to the Slayer.

“I know that. It’s just . . .” he stopped speaking, hand moving slowly to his chest, above his heart, mind flying to the tip of a sword not so long ago.

“Not fair. I know. It never is. Let’s go. And Xander?” she spoke, seriously.

“Yeah?”

“I’m right behind you.”

Some of his good mood returned.

“In what sense should I take this?”

“The wrong one, Boy Toy,” she said, smirking.

“I imagined. And Faith?”

“Yeah?”

‘Thanks.”

He opened the door, and his heart sunk. There she was, lying on the bed, cardiac monitor connected to her finger.

Cordelia Chase.

Cordy.

Cor.

The woman he loved to hate, but loved to love. And he had loved her, deeply. He still did, but he wasn’t /in love/ with her anymore. Not for a long time, now. But it hurt, seeing her like that. She was a bit different, someone had cut her hair shorter, but she still was one of the most beautiful women Xander had ever seen.

Damn, he missed her bitchy attitude, and her smile.

Time to remedy that.

“Hello, Cor. Time for the wake up call. And I know how you hate to be woken up.”

He touched her forehead.

The tact telepathy was a funny thing. He had no full control over it, seeming to act over its own accord. But it worked great when it wanted.

He dove in her mind. It was funny, the minds he had touched, even the “normal” ones seemed to be in a constant state of “movement”, images coming and going at a blinding speed.

Cordy’s mind seemed to be stopped, as if he was walking on a room filled with TV’s with paused scenes. The scenes changed, but they didn’t “move”.

He saw a lot of things, like pictures in a photo album. Them, in the janitor closet. Them, in Giles’ library. Cordy leaving after Graduation. Angel. Wesley. Doyle. Pain. Gunn. A teenager that Xander suspected was Connor. Sex. Her pregnant. Pain again. And the cycle restarted, with different images.

He kept looking for quite some time. Funny thing, the scenes didn’t go back beyond the point they began dating. The first scene he had seen was they making out in the basement.

Xander finally noticed something. There was a small pulse of energy every time an image changed. It flared, the image changed and it disappeared.

Curious. Time to do a little test. He forced his mind into one of the scenes, waiting for the energy pulse. The moment it occurred, he screamed.

Pain. Pain like he never felt before. Not even dying and returning had hurt so much. He was being attacked by all sides with knives, torches, acid, electricity, everything. The energy attached itself to him, trying to end his intrusion and kill him.

Then something happened. The sound of wings flapping could be heard over the screams of pain. From the deepest recesses of his mind, the crow appeared.

The bird cawed once, and the energy suddenly detached itself from Xander. It seemed to attack the bird, but the moment it approached the black bird, he opened his beak. The energy flew inside it, and he ‘ate’ it.

*Thank you,* Xander spoke. *What was that?*

*Something that shouldn’t have stayed behind. She’ll be okay now.*

*Thanks.*

The bird disappeared again, flying back into the blackness of his mind.

The images began moving again, like a normal mind would. There was something else there, something that Xander couldn’t figure it out, but it didn’t seem to harm her, so he let it go. He detached himself from her mind, coming back from the trance.

“Wow, I think we need another Jimmy,” he said, looking at Cordelia and then to Faith. “How long did I stay in?”

“Just a moment, I saw you shiver and go all tensed up, then you are back. What happened?”

“Tell you later.”

Cordelia groaned and moved a bit. Her eyelids started to flutter, and she began shaking her head from side to side. The cardiac monitor began beeping a bit faster, the movements became a little more frantic. Then, she finally opened her eyes.

The first look was, obviously, confusion. She looked around trying to recognize the feelings and the environment. The second one was of recognition.

“X-Xander?”

“Hello, sleeping beauty. Welcome back.”

~~O~~

The brain reconnected again, she was almost on top of them. The Slayer looked down, the vampires had circled an old couple in an alley, and they were toying with them, game faces on.

Hummm. Three floors down. Too easy.

“HEY!” She screamed from where she stood. The vamp gang looked around, not finding her. “UP HERE, BUNCH OF MORONS!”

The group looked up, locating her.

“What’s she doing up there? HEY, LADY, COME DOWN!” the apparent leader spoke up.

“YEAH, WE WANT TO PLAY!” another undead screamed.

Whistles and catcalls followed up. Faith was slightly amused, but as the saying goes, don’t play with your food. Time to kick some ass.

*****

She walked forward into nothingness, gravity taking hold immediately. The vampires were struck dumb with the action.

“The broad is suicidal!” one of them spoke. The couple was too scared to utter a sound.

Faith landed smoothly, legs bent. She stood up, and began walking calmly to them. Every jaw dropped, from vampires to humans.

“So you guys give a party and don’t invite me? I’m disappointed. So disappointed I think I’m going to have to break it up,” Faith spoke casually, right hand moving to one of the stakes stored in her back pockets.

“Lady, you are nuts. How did you do that?” the leader asked her, he and two others moving in to intercept her.

“What? Jump down?” she said. “Easy . . .”

They came closer.

“ . . . For the Slayer.” And she moved before anyone else could blink.

The leader was first, stake entering and leaving his heart in half a second. Before he even began to dust, the stake was already piercing another undead heart. The third one had the time to lift an arm to try and punch her. Faith had two options, be subtle or be brutal. The couple was still at risk, so she chose brutal. She body-slammed the other vampire, who flew to the wall on the right, bones and spine breaking on impact. He was down for the time being.

The two remaining ones were stupid enough to try and attack her, instead of using the couple as shields. Stupid move. But then, vampires weren’t known for brain power.

The distance between them was perfect for a little showmanship. She grabbed another stake with her left hand, closing in on them. Her right foot flew up, hitting the vampire with so much force on his chin that it broke his jaw and his neck. He crumbled to the floor, paralyzed.

The one to the left turned a bit to watch his companion be kicked, but she didn’t have time to do anything. The stake flew true, and she died her final death.

[End Faith’s theme]

Five vamps down. Twenty-five seconds. New World Record in her book.

Faith looked at the couple, which was shaking like leaves.

“Next time, stay on crowded and lighted streets, ‘k?” she said, turning to the fallen vampire next to her feet and dusting him.

They quickly walked away, looking at the other fallen vampire near the alley’s mouth. The woman made the man stop, and she turned back to Faith, who was approaching.

“Are those things . . .” she was even afraid to ask.

“Vampires? Yeah,” Faith answered, approaching the last one. “Lousy night, huh?” she murmured to the downed one, before using the stake one last time.

“Isn’t that dangerous?” the lady asked again.

“It’s my job,” Faith said, neutrally.

“Do you like it?” the man asked

Faith looked at them, alive and breathing, albeit a little shook up. “Yeah, I like it.”

“Thank you,” the woman said, and they left.

“You’re welcome,” she said more to herself, before jumping up and grabbing the fire ladder above her.

She arrived at the roof moments later, eyes trailing the couple, until they grabbed a passing cab two blocks away.

She continued her radar search for a few minutes, before hearing a different sound approaching. Faith opened her eyes, focusing on the direction of the sound. Light seemed to concentrate more fully in them, and suddenly all came to perfect focus for a great distance.

Faith had dubbed it “Slay-Vision”. Light amplification and a huge focal range stuck together in a neat package. She had to remember to kiss Willow next time she saw the redheaded wicca. In the mouth. With lots of tongue.

It was Blackie. Xander’s bird. He was approaching quickly, flying straight to her.

It was time for a few explanations to a certain Seer.

Chapter 3: Harsh Awakening

Cordelia’s Hospital

Same night

11:23 PM

Xander was pacing outside the hospital, waiting for Faith, the link with his crow provided a special view of her jumping around the city skyscrapers like Spider-Man. In a sense, it was even better than any movie he had ever seen, but he was still worried of her doing something like that.

Of course, with Willow’s new Slayer Empowerment he guessed she wasn’t even straining herself. If he could do it, albeit less acrobatically, for her it should be a piece of cake.

He focused again on his surroundings, but it was as calm as a hospital in downtown LA should be in the middle of the night. He looked up, focusing on a lighted window on the eight floor.

The mystical warrior sighed, thinking on things past and looking to the probable future.

His crow landed on his shoulder, and Xander looked to an alley between two buildings in front of him, on the other side of the street. Faith walked out of it, organizing her clothes a bit better.

“Gotta have to find something better to dress while Slaying,” she said, while approaching. She was wearing a t-shirt, leather jacket, black jeans and combat boots. “The jacket goes all the ways and the T keeps bunching up to my face. Do you know anyone who makes leather jumpsuits in this town?”

Xander smirked, and deadpanned. “And what, miss the opportunity of you flashing an undead?”

Faith grinned, and looked at him “Hey, never used them as weapons before. Will it work?” she asked, stuffing her chest out and smiling.

“It does with me, why shouldn’t with them?” he asked, leer on the face. “It might even bring some souls back. It’s worth a shot,” Xander said, smiling.

“You perv!” Faith said, finally kissing him.

“Looks who’s talking. Anyway, the ‘Charlie’s Angels’ leather looks will definitely agree with you. Might be worth a shot.”

“I was more along the lines of Über-Dominatrix, with spikes and whips and the like. Scare the fuckers out,” she said, still smiling.

“Or make them fall in love. No, thanks, one necrophiliac ex-Slayer is enough,” he said, but still smiled.

Faith noticed the sincere smile, so she didn’t comment, but to be honest, she was worried about Buffy. How was the ex-Slayer going? She should call Dawn and ask, but not in front of Xander. She hated to hide things from him, but she feared more losing their relationship. She noticed the surreptitiously look he gave up, to the hospital, and the slight change of his facial features.

“Still worried?” she asked, seriously.

“Yeah. First part was easy, thanks to my buddy here,” he said, patting the crow’s head. The bird took flight, landing in a tree branch above them. “How to explain that her ‘normal’ old friend is finally gone?”

“Normal? What do you mean ‘normal’?” Faith asked, confused.

“Normal as in no-Slayer, no-Witch, no-Werewolf, no-Vampire, no-Watcher, only the Zeppo kind of way.”

Faith stopped dead cold. She looked at him, fire in her eyes. He flinched.

“Should I hide?” he asked, lifting his hands in a mock-defensive kind of way.

“Alexander LaVelle Harris.” He flinched again, with the tone and the use of his full name. He guessed she never used his full name before. ”If she really thinks you were only ‘The Zeppo’, I should go up that room and beat her comatose all over again. I might be wrong, but I don’t think that the former ‘Queen C’ would fall for ‘only The Zeppo’. She saw something in you,” she said, and completed in her mind ‘the same thing I do’, ”and that’s whom she fell in love with. And you were never normal, as Hellmouth goes. Remember the Hyena? And Halloween? And she called you the Zeppo ’cause she was /pissed/ with you. I would probably do the same, but in a more physical way.”

He stopped, and kept silent for a few moments.

“Faith?” he said, finally.

“Yeah?”

“You are taking this ‘rock’ thingie too seriously.”

“Yeah, I am. I hope someday I’ll turn into a statue and be preserved for eternity in rock. When that happens, write in the dedication ‘Faith Spencer, turned herself into a statue. Made that for a friend,’” she said, smiling.

Xander stopped stock still, Faith just looking at him.

“Faith?” he said, subdued.

“Yeah?” she said, smiling.

“Thank you all over again.”

“No problem,” she said. She looked to the hospital right in front of her. “How do we get in? Visiting times are off.”

“We can sneak in easily. There is a window open in the second floor in the back. I already looked, it’s a broom closet.”

Faith smirked again. Thank God Xander had lost so much time in their long talks speaking about the past.

“You were just waiting for a reason to put me in a janitor closet with you, weren’t you?”

Xander smiled. “Perhaps I was. So?” he asked, and they both began walking to the back of the hospital.

“You perv!” she chimed again.

“Looks who’s talking. Again.”

*****

Cordelia Chase sat in her bed, wide awake. The news from the gang were enough to keep her awake for the next month. Hell, for the next year, if she thought about it.

~~O~~

Cordelia’s Hospital

Earlier

02:45 PM

Wes, Fred and Gunn entered the room, all wearing large smiles in their faces. Cordy smiled back.

“Hey, how are my favorite demon hunter gang?” she asked.

“We’re ok, Cordy. And you?” Gunn spoke for them. They traded hugs and kisses, and Fred gave her a flowerpot.

“I’m ok, just bored. This thing is not possessed, is it?” Cordy asked, eyeing the flowers. Wes grinned and Fred’s face blanched.

“No, at least I didn’t sense anything demonic from the florist across the street,” he completed. Fred then noticed that Cordelia was smiling, and smiled back

“In our type of business, you never know. Thanks, Fred,” she said.

“You’re welcome.”

“So, what has been happening? How’s Angel?”

The faces darkened considerably and Cordy noticed.

“What happened? Angel is not dead, is he? Not more than he already is, that is.”

“No, Cordelia, I…we guess not. It’s just that some … problems appeared. Let me explain…” Wes began. Cordy lifted a hand, and he stopped.

“Wes, I love you, you know that, right?”

The ex-Watcher nodded once.

“But if you begin with your explanations, I’ll probably return to my coma. Fred, the same goes to you, sorry. So, Gunn, what happened?”

The black man laughed, but began explaining the missions that they did, Cordelia’s, or better, Jasmine’s reappearance, her pregnancy, Darla, Holtz, everything.

She didn’t remember a lot of stuff he was telling to her. Only some flashes of a white room and she speaking with some strange people.

“…And then, he went to Sunnydale to help in the battle against the First. He came back, spooked with something. I’ve never seen Angel like that. So, he enters the Hyperion and calls us to a meeting. He speaks some sort of spell, and bang, we all remember Connor. He tells us that he’ll leave for a time for us to think about it and vanishes,” Gunn said, ending the explanation.

“Yes, some days later, Faith and Xander Harris appear at our door, looking for him. We told them that he had disappeared, and their reaction wasn’t exactly…healthy,” Wes concluded.

“They cursed like sailors for twenty minutes in a row. Xander asked for a room in the hotel, saying that they would help hunt ‘the bastard’ down,” Gunn said.

“You forgot to tell her about Wolfram & Hart,” Fred quipped, grinning. Gunn blushed, and smiled weakly.

“What those bastards did, this time? Aside from hiring Angel and you guys?” Cordy asked. She was pissed about it, but she would give her opinion about that after they ended.

“They didn’t do anything this time. We did, to them,” Wes spoke.

Gun mumbled something, and grinned.

“What, I didn’t hear you?” Cordelia asked.

“We blew the LA Branch offices sky high.”

“Oh.”

~~O~~

And the weirdest of all wasn’t the news, not even the LA Branch blow up, which she saw on the news later on, that was being attributed to a faulty gas line. It was Xander.

The man she fell in love with so long ago was gone. In his place stood a dark man, with a somber look and a very strange vibe. Gone was the constant smirk and even the jokes didn’t have the same mood. He looked a lot like Angel during his brooding.

Worse of all, he didn’t have said a word regarding what happened to him. They told her that they would come back tonight to speak, so they wouldn’t be interrupted.

Another weird thing. Xander and Faith. That was a thing that Cordelia wasn’t expecting. Of course, if Faith didn’t have followed the path of evil, she could see it coming. Xander always had a thing for strong women and women in need. Faith was the perfect match for both.

And in all that, where was Buffy? What happened to the Slayer?

Same question goes to Angel. Where is the souled vampire, her boss and friend? The gang had said that he had disappeared, to parts unknown, and no one seemed worried by that.

A soft knocking on the door interrupted her musing.

“Come in,” she spoke.

“Hey, Cor,” the brunette head of her ex-boyfriend appeared at the door. “Are you undressed?” he asked, smiling. Someone thwacked him in the head from behind. “Hey!” he complained, but smiled.

“You wish, Dweebo. Come on in,” she said, smiling. The duo entered the room, Faith closing the door. “Hey, Faith,” she said and pointed to Xander, “how can you stand Mr. Unneeded Comments here?”

“Slayer strength, and the Hyperion has a lot of rooms. I can always sleep alone,” the Slayer said, smiling. Xander grimaced.

A small pang of jealousy hit the Seer, but she smiled nonetheless. Their time was gone, that was sure. Time to move on, again.

“What did the doctors said?” Xander asked, seriously, sitting at the corner of her bed.

“Aside from ‘miracle recovery’, ‘going to AMA journal’ and the like?” she looked at him, who blushed.

“Yep.”

“Three days and I’m outta here. Damn, not even one newspaper came to take a picture,” she said in her best ‘Queen C’ style. “And who did cut my hair? I have to remember to thanks whoever did it. It looks nice, doesn’t it?” she asked, looking at Faith, who only nodded.

Xander had to smile. The woman had come out of a coma less than forty-eight hours ago and she was already worried with the hair.

“Never change, Cor. Never,” he said, with a smile.

Cordelia took the cue. “Talking about changes, what happened to you?”

Xander sighed, and mentally called his crow. He would need it for the explanation.

“I died.”

Cordelia was struck silent for a full minute, and then she spoke the only thing he wasn’t expecting.

“Doesn’t anybody stay /dead/ in that damn town? You aren’t a vampire, I know that, seeing you in daylight and all. So, what are you? And how it did happen?”

The pecking on the window surprised Cordelia. Faith opened it and the crow flew in, landing on top of the dinner table.

“Now you train birds in your free time, dweeb?” she asked, eyeing the bird suspiciously.

“He is part of the reason. Did you ever hear of the legend of the crow?” she shook her head no. “People once believed that a crow guided souls to heaven. But sometimes something so terrible happened during life, that a soul felt such pain so it cannot rest and sometimes, just sometimes, the crow can bring that soul back to set the wrong things right.”

“You are one of those sometimes. What happened, how did you die?” she asked, face serious.

“Yes and no. We are the ones with the power of resurrection. The crow is just a guide,” The crow cawed. “Ok, more than a guide. But that is not important right now. What happened was that, you see . . .” and Xander told her. Buffy . . . the betrayal . . . the choice over Spike . . . the sword plunging in his heart . . . him digging out of a shallow grave in Buffy’s backyard . . . the balance entity . . . Whistler . . . everything. It took almost two hours to get everything explained.

At the end of it, Cordelia Chase was crying. How could Xander be betrayed like that? And just by Buffy, who he saved more times than it was sane?

She controlled herself some time later. Faith brought her a cup of water, which she drank greedily.

“Thanks,” she took a deep breath. “What are you going to do now?”

“We are looking for the missing corpse with a soul, and we have to evade the cops. Faith is still wanted. We’ll stay till tomorrow in town, and we are going back to Sunnydale. I still have my job there, and Faith is needed at the Hellmouth.”

“Why are you still looking for Angel? He disappeared. So what? He is prone to that, being a vampire and all. And with what he revealed to the gang, I would probably do the same, for a time. Self preservation is a must, even for vampires with a soul.”

“I agree, but I have two small problems with that. One is that Angel is too dangerous to roam free without some sort of supervision. Does Angelus ring a bell? Second, he's had two strikes, and next one it's the third and he's out, no matter how nice and ‘good’ he is or how ‘good’ or ‘honorable’ his intentions were. And that is a promise I made to myself and to him,” he said, voice hardening considerably.

“So, are you guys hunting him?” Cordy asked.

“Yeah, but more in a Magnum PI than a Slayer/Crow sort of way,” Faith finally said. “After all, Angelus is a pretty nasty SOB to be left free in the world.”

“But you don’t know if . . .” Cordelia started.

“Could you take that chance?” Faith asked, Xander remained impassive.

Cordelia thought it over for a second.

“No, I couldn’t. How can I . . .” and suddenly her eyes lost focus and she grabbed her head. “Man . . . holding a syringe . . . blonde girl . . . small . . . dark place . . . white tiles on the wall . . . looks like an old hospital . . . pain . . . she’s screaming . . .” and the vision ended. Cordelia straightened up, and looked to them both.

“Vision. Can you tell us anything else?” Xander said, ready to leave if she could spot the place.

“No. That was it. But it felt far. Pretty far away. The place looked spooky, like some scene from a bad TV movie or so. The girl was panicking, and the man, demon . . . it looked like a man’s hand, well manicured . . . whatever . . . plunged the syringe in her arm without the slightest care. And my head hurt. It didn’t hurt in a long time,” she said, surprised. “Thank God it wasn’t a splitting headache, just an annoying one. What happened?”

“When you gave birth to Jasmine, you entered in a coma. Somehow, the demon essence that made you feel no pain with the visions locked you up in some kind of ‘mind loop’. The crow and I, we entered your mind and we dealt with it. No more demon essence in you. As for the headaches, sorry, can’t do a thing about them.”

“Can’t do a thing?” Cordy was surprised. “Xander, before you and before the demon stuff, I needed a bottle of Tylenol Nuclear Strength to deal with it. Now I guess that a couple of aspirins are enough. Thank you, dweebo.”

“Your welcome, hag,” he kidded, like the old times. “So, nothing else on the vision? Nothing that could give us a clue?”

“No, sorry. Place was scary, but pretty Spartan in the décor, if you catch my drift. Not even a flowerpot to clear the mood.”

Faith smirked and shook her head. Xander grinned.

“Don’t ever change, Cordy.”

*****

In a place far away from LA, a man was locking a passed out girl in an adjacent room with a steel door. He looked at her features and imagined how they would look in a few hours.

He exited the room, and bolted the door behind him, activating a stopwatch near the door and the one on his wrist.

“Soon,” he said, and left the depressing environment.

Chapter 4: Gone Fishing

STCA Underground Complex – Cleveland, OH

Eight weeks later

09:11 PM

Sam Finn was impressed with what the Government could do with two single expressions: ‘National Security Threat’ and ‘Money Not An Issue’. She had seen an entire eight level subterranean complex be built in less than three months. Of course, things were still a little bare, but they were functioning.

They, the STCA. Supernatural Threat Combat Agency, the ultra-black ops agency built with a single purpose: eradicate the supernatural threats on American soil. And she, Sam Finn, was the Director of the Cleveland Branch. She answered only to one man, the President.

The complex was a techno-mystical wonder, and a fortress built inside a fortress. They sat atop the Cleveland Hellmouth, the Hellmouth itself being located on the last level, protected by a five-level overlapped security protocol, the last one being a nuclear bomb with enough power to destroy Cleveland. The other levels were divided among armory, garage, training grounds, barracks, hospital, computer core and administration & research.

Nothing could get in or go out without passing through at least three checkpoints, each one with enough firepower to invade a small country.

The mystical defenses were also impressive, the most common being the religious symbols printed on every visible surface around, the most devious were called ‘dimensional trapdoors’, mystical gateways that had one-way tickets to places like two feet above the lava in Mount Vesuvius or the Mariana Trench, thirty-six thousand feet underwater.

Every conceivable weapon, any vehicle they needed, anything, Sam and the STCA had access to.

But one thing was still missing in all of that: Personnel. She had a good number of people, taken from the best military or civilian forces in the US, but some key people were still missing.

She had a series of folders on her desk, but the one on top of all the other was the one she needed the most. Sam picked it up, and she searched for the line that had his contact info. She dialed the number, and waited.

*****

Warehouse District – Los Angeles, CA

Same day

09:13 PM

Xander heard the phone ringing in the inner pocket of his overcoat two demons ago. He was moving to strike the last one, who was fleeing as if God Himself was on pursuit.

Xander intercepted him near the exit, and a quick stroke of his katana ended the life of another enemy. And another clue to Deadboy’s location was gone.

Damn, he was thinking on staking the missing vampire just on principle, whether he’d be Angelus or not.

He picked up his cell phone, looking at the display. Only three people knew this number, and the caller ID was telling him it was an undisclosed number. Odd.

“Yes?” he growled on the line.

“Called at a bad time? How many, and should I wait for tomorrow?” Sam said on the other side.

“Sam?” he recognized the voice, his entire demeanor changed. “No, problem dealt with. A few Scracchha demons. No biggie.”

“Scracchha? Fought a couple of them once. Nasty suckers. The poisoned quills are a pain.”

“Don’t I know it?” Xander said, removing one of them from his arm. “So, how’s my favorite black ops gal going?”

“I’m…fine. But I’m calling because I need to speak to you, in private.”

“Problems?” he asked, seriously.

“No, the contrary, actually. But I need to speak face-to-face.”

“Sure, I’m at the Hyperion, in LA. When?”

“Tomorrow, oh-three-hundred. But not at the Hotel. From what I remember, there is a small park a couple of blocks west from there. Ok for you?”

“Sure. See you there.”

“Bye, Xander.”

He closed the phone, mind replaying the conversation.

*****

Benson Park – Los Angeles, CA

Next Day

03:05 PM

She was a bit late, Xander noticed, checking his clock. It was fashionable for a woman to be late for a meeting, but for a black ops agent, it could mean several things, none of them good. His crow was circulating high above the park, looking around. The bird finally noticed her approaching from the south, apparently alone and at a calm pace.

Xander had arrived earlier on, and he checked the surroundings twice. He trusted her, up to a point, but you couldn’t kill Hellmouth paranoia, special ops memories or the old saying, ‘shit happens’. She came directly to him, meaning she must have already seen him several minutes earlier and decided to check the perimeter herself. He sat at one of the tables in the park, dressed in jeans, tennis shoes, a white t-shirt and a light sweater, perfect to conceal the automatic in his back. She was dressed similarly, only in different colors.

“Hey, lady, you need some company?” he asked, smiling.

Sam smiled, and he kissed her cheek. She blushed slightly. “Hi, Xander. How are you? And Faith?” she asked. They sat one in front of the other, both pair of eyes checking the surroundings before setting into one another.

“We’re cool. Some trouble along the way, but we’re managing.”

“Trouble?” she asked, worried. Trouble, in their line of work generally ended with the world hanging by a thread.

“Yeah, Deadboy gave us the slip. But don’t worry, we’re on it. So, what brings you here?” he asked.

“Well, I have an offer to make. Listen to all that I have to say and then you can ask me anything that you want, ok?”

“Sure.”

“Ok. Well, during Riley’s funeral, I received an envelope from a fed, in it there was bird’s eye picture from Sunnydale during our mess with the First, a note and a plane ticket. The note said basically, be on the plane or be arrested and prosecuted the next day. So, I went with it. I ended up in a meeting with the CinC.”

Xander eyebrows rose almost to his hairline, but he kept shut, as she had asked.

“He had a lot of questions, which I had to answer. Seems that the Government didn’t know a thing about the darker side of things and the Initiative was fully a military black ops. No one knew about them. And it seems that they had some plans regarding something like that, but it went level with an alien invasion, which means nobody believed it would be possible outside of Hollywood. So, when I told him all the shit we faced all those years, the man became livid, and worried. And he made me a proposition,” she went silent for a second, waiting for the question she knew it would come.

“What proposition?”

Bingo. “He wanted me to devise and assemble an operation that would deal with them on a level playfield. So I did, and he signed the dotted line. And here I am.”

“What’s the catch?” he asked.

“I assembled an Agency. STCA. Supernatural Threat Combat Agency, based on the Safehouse Policy, which states that we have full authorization to deal with the threat, no matter what. I only answer to the President, no one else.”

Xander almost laughed, it was never that easy or straightforward.

“So, if the action demands that you nuke Sunnydale?” he asked, smirking.

“I just have to open the safe in my office and retrieve the access cards. And push the button,” she answered, seriously. Xander’s face lost all of its color.

“Tell me you’re joking,” he pleaded, murmuring.

“I wish I was. Bombs have been in place for a about a month now.”

The silence among them became oppressive for a couple of minutes, Xander’s mind reeling.

“So, what do you want with me?” he asked, in a more even tone.

“I want you to be my Second in Command.”

*****

Xander stood stunned for a moment, not believing what he just heard.

“Ok, for curiosity’s sake, why me?” he asked.

“Do you really have to ask me that? Let’s see… who saved and helped the Slayer more times in the last seven years? Who helped control a super-powered witch who was bent on destroying the world? Who convinced a master vampire to help him defy a prophecy? Who confronted same master vampire bent on killing the Slayer with nothing more than guts? Who created and implemented the plan to destroy the First? Who managed to reform an ‘evil’ Slayer? And finally who is immortal and super-powerful?” she asked, ticking her fingers. “I don’t have many persons with a resume like that.”

“But that’s not the main reason, is it?” he asked, not convinced. And he surely wanted to know how she did know so much about his past. Some of those things he hadn’t told anyone.

“Nope. The main reason is that I trust you to do what has to be done when situation demands it, and more important than that, Riley trusted you.”

Xander smirked, looked her in the eye and sighed, face growing downcast and dark.

“Look, Sam, I’ll be nice with you because I consider you a friend and Riley was a friend and a good ally, even if he did some stupid things once in a while. But no, I won’t accept it.”

“Why not?”

“I might buy that the Government didn’t know about the things in the night, I might buy that they didn’t know about the Initiative. But what I cannot buy is a Government that had a city like Sunnydale, with one of the largest murder counts in the history of this country and nobody did a thing. Two, I don’t trust them with our secrets. Who knows who’s gonna be the next Margaret Walsh? And three, simply, no thanks. I might be a Crow, I might be a good leader, but to be honest, I’m tired of this stuff. Sometimes, I just want to throw it all out to the winds and go to the Caribbean with Faith.”

Sam laughed. She actually laughed, a good, from deep within, heartfelt laugh. Xander looked at her like a deer caught in the headlights.

“What?” he asked, dumbfounded.

“I already knew your answer,” she answered, amidst giggles. “I’m laughing because I didn’t make a bet with anyone. Damn, I probably missed some good money.”

Xander still looked silly for about a minute, and he started laughing himself, awakening another laughing fit from the agent.

“Am I so predictable?” he asked, finally controlling his laughs.

“No, no. It’s just…after all you’ve been through, if the same happened to me, I would probably want some vacation too. For the rest of my life,” Sam said, smiling. “But don’t worry, I already knew that. I came for another reasons.”

“Shoot.”

“Will you help us, eventually?”

Xander thought it over for about half a second. “Yeah, but don’t make it a habit. And I get to choose to accept the mission or not.”

“Deal. Second, do you have any recommendations to the post? I still need a Second in Command.”

This took more time to answer, but Xander smirked and looked at her. “I might have someone, but let me talk to her first, ok?”

“Sure. Any hints?”

“No, let me talk to her first.”

“Her? Willow?”

Xander muted. Sam took the clue.

“All right, all right. No hints. And the last reason, and I know you’re gonna get pissed with me for it, but I have to do it. We need Faith.”

Xander’s hackles rose with a vengeance, and Sam flinched.

“No.”

“Xander, listen to me…”

“No,” more forcefully.

“I can bring her back in,” she played the card she didn’t want to.

“I will not allow it. And you’ll see how much time an Agency lasts without its agents,” he said, dead flat.

“Will you kill a cop doing his duty?”

“Yes,” he said, without missing a beat.

“Will Faith want that?”

Xander gritted his teeth. “Don’t make her choose it. And the world needs her outside, not behind bars. She is changed, she deserves a chance,” he said, angrily.

“Did I say anything different? And don’t you realize I already knew she has changed? I wouldn’t have made the proposal otherwise. Can you at least hear me out?”

“One minute,” he said, looking at his watch.

“The Council is no more. Even with Giles attempt, it will take a long time to rebuild it. So, no support for the Slayer from them right now. The Sunnydale crew has their own problems and lives right now, so no backup. The AI crew is a mess with Angel’s disappearance and they have to lay low after blowing up Wolfram & Hart. So, she only has some backup in you right now, and you know that sometimes even that isn’t enough.”

“Thirty seconds.”

“Here’s the deal. Full Presidential Pardon, clean sheet for her. Nobody looking over her shoulder. A job, pay, medical care, the works. And after three years, if she wants to bolt, she’s free to go, no strings. She’ll have the best backup, the best research, everything we can do to make her and ours survival possible in the long run,” she said, looking at him.

“Your time is up,” he said, rising from the bench.

He walked on, and after he disappeared from view, Sam’s cell phone rang.

“Yeah?” she asked, without bothering to look at the ID.

“Call me in three days. If she says no, you better be prepared to do what’s right, or pay the price. I do like you, Sam. Don’t do anything stupid,” he said, and hung up.

Sam stood up and walked away, going back to her car.

Chapter 5: Breaking Molds

Hyperion Hotel, Room 204

Next day

08:17 AM

A few years back Xander’s thoughts on waking up beside Faith and making slow and tender love with her afterwards would have some serious repercussions, none of them good. Right now, he was in a blissful haze, body cooling down, with a satisfied Slayer in a light daze tucked under his arm. But, to be honest with himself, he wasn’t thinking much in the benefits of their relationship, but in the argument with Sam yesterday.

“Don’t worry about her, X,” the muffled voice of the brunette suddenly piped from under his chin.

He looked down to the top of her head, smirking.

“Didn’t know that the empowerment gave you telepathy,” he said, trying to muster as much fun as he could in the tone.

Faith lifted her head, finally looking to his face.

“Not telepathy. At least not the mind-reading mojo from comics. But I can . . . I don’t know . . . sense things now. If I focus, I can see some shit around you, like those funky aura pics or somethin’.”

“Kirilian Aura?” he asked, surprised.

“I dunno, I guess so. At least it looks like it.”

Xander grinned. “Ooooh, I have a Jedi as a girlfriend. Achieve greatness you will, young padawan,” he said, in a passable imitation.

Faith actually grinned, slapping him playfully in the abdomen. “Don’t go there, Yoda. And if Lucas could only get a glimpse of what it is to me, he wouldn’t have written those fucking movies as he did!”

“I guess that vampires and demons in Star Wars universe wouldn’t be as cool . . . even if the Emperor looked like an over-wrinkled vamp with too much make-up.”

They kept going with the playful argument for some time yet, and she ended it when she realized that he had used a diversionary tactic to skip the initial subject.

“Anyway, as I was saying, don’t worry about Sam, mainly because I’ll accept her offer.”

There, done. She had taken the decision last night as soon as Boy Toy had ended his half-hour pissed-off, screaming rant.

Xander looked her in the eyes, dumbstruck. “H-have you listened to what I’ve said last night?”

“Yep, and that’s why I’m going to accept it,” she said, surprisingly calm. The time in the joint had served several purposes in her life, one of them was that she had addressed her confrontational issues dead on. She could argue with a friend about a subject without wanting to tear the guy’s head off, in special cases. And Xander was ‘The’ Special Case in her life.

“Why?” he asked, annoyed.

“First of all, I’m tired of running, Boy Toy. I’ve paid my debt, to society at least, I know what I did, and now I’m an escaped convict. You guys are cool with me, but you are accessories to a crime. If the cops find out where I’m hiding, not only me, but also all of you are joining me in a joint somewhere.”  Xander shook his head, and when he was going to speak, two slender fingers silenced him.  “Let me finish, ‘k?”

He shook his head, and she removed her fingers.

“Second, you, more than anyone, knows we need help. I need help to train an’ stuff, we need help to patrol, and this fuckin’ city is too big as it is. If we had some serious help, our jobs would be made easier, right? And the Council is gone, so until G puts it back together, I’m definitely without support, you notwithstanding. An’ Slayage with government benefits is a plus,” she grinned.  “Third, and more important than all of the others, I have you to protect me if the shit hits the fan.”

“Always,” he said, smiling lightly. He sighed, and pushed her until she was lying fully on top of him. “I said that the decision is yours, and I’m going with it. But don’t expect me to trust them completely, or to stay in the good graces of Uncle Sam. Or Aunt Sam.”

Faith snorted and smiled. “I would never ask you that, since I don’t, myself. But her proposal is good. Anyway, thanks, Xan,” she said, and kissed him lightly in the mouth.

Xander found some surprising sides in the dark Slayer in those past months. First was the calm and thoughtful side she began to develop after some weeks of ‘light’ slaying. He caught her once doing Tai-Chi in the morning, and decided to join her. Now, it was a morning ritual to them both. Of course, the brash and outspoken Slayer was still in full effect for everyone, but now she stopped to listen what the others were saying.

Second was the caring side. The hungry, want-take-have Slayer was also still there, but once in a while, he was presented with some actions that surprised even him. One night, a few weeks ago, he fell asleep with her calmly massaging his scalp. Some kisses were lighter, filled with more care and love than lust and passion.

Faith, his Faith, was still there, in full effect most of the time, but the new one was slowly, very slowly filling the immense void left behind by his past, relationship-wise.

“So, who you gonna sic into Sam?” she asked dead-on, devious grin in place.

He grinned. Yep, his Faith. “Cordy.”

Faith’s eyes almost jumped out of their sockets.

“Her? I-I mean . . . hummm . . .  Her? W-why?”

He grinned with her antics. “She survived the Dale. She helped the Fang Gang. She’s a Seer. She’s smart, she’s resourceful, and she doesn’t take shit from no one. She’s perfect for the job. Hell, she survived me! That should get her the job on the spot.”

Faith was laughing so hard that she fell from her comfortable spot on top of him, almost falling from the bed as well, if his arm hadn’t latched to her waist in the last moment. Xander joined her in laughter, which only subsided several minutes later.

“Ooohh, I needed that, Boy Toy,” she said, drying some tears from her eyes.

“Pleased to help,” Xander said, re-adjusting his position in bed.

“Ok, seriously, I think Queen C has it. Just don’t mention it to her, or I’ll have to hurtcha,” Faith said, pointing a finger to his nose. Xander playfully engulfed the finger with his mouth, biting it lightly.

“Ofay. No minchon fu quincy, gucha,” he said, with the digit still in his mouth.

“Hey! Down, boy!” she said, pulling her finger back, which he promptly released.

“Woof!” he said, his trademark grin in place.

Faith laughed, and kissed him lightly.

“Do you know what I really like about you, Boy Toy?”

“My refined sense of humor?” he asked, grinning.

“No,” she said, ever so slowly returning to her spot on top of him.

“My extremely good looks?”

“Maaaybe, but no.”

“My intelligence?” the grin was subsiding.

“What intelligence?” she laughed. “No.”

“Ok, I quit. What?”

“Mystically enhanced stamina,” she said, and kissed him hotly.

The next sounds for a couple of hours were the ones Xander preferred.

*****

Xander thought twice about joining the Slayer in the shower, but he had some business to attend to first. He picked his cell phone from the nightstand and pressed a number on speed dial. It rang a couple of times before someone picked up on the other side.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Dawn,” he said, voice more serious than he wanted.

“Hey, Xander. How are things? And the gang in LA?”

Xander frowned under the tone. Some time ago, Dawn would receive his calls with a squeal of delight and happiness. Now, the normal and almost emotionless answer hit him harder than any physical blow could.

“Thing are going, Dawnie, and the gang is fine. You?”

“I’m cool. Things are looking up, for a change,” she said, voice gaining a happier tone.

“Yeah? What’s happened?”

“Sam called, and she offered me a job.”

“What job?” the Crow asked amidst grinding teeth. Sam was trespassing some boundaries, /his/ boundaries, and he wasn’t a happy camper.

“If I tell you, I’ll have to kill you. Damn, I’ve always wanted to say that,” she said, and from the tone, she was grinning.

“I was gonna be your superior officer, Dawn, so spill.”

“Was gonna? What? How?”

“Not important right now. Spill.”

“All right, all right. Calm down. Sheesh! Impatient much? Anyway, she didn’t tell me much over the phone, just that she has a job that fits my profile, and it’s currently danger-free. From what I could gather, it’s research-related. She offered a good pay and the chance to get out of here. And I can keep going to college if I want to.”

“Where are you going to?”

“Cleveland.”

“There is a Hellmouth in Cleveland. Do you know that?” he asked and stood up, pacing the room.

“Yeah, it was one of the things she told me about. But it’s not here, Xander. It doesn’t have the . . . memories. And the pain.”

Xander took a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” he said, almost in a whisper.

“For her?” she asked, hopefully.

“No. For you. For the pain that I caused you. But never for her,” Xander said, bitterly.

“You made mistakes as well, Xand. Do you know she doesn’t sleep without waking up screaming? She almost doesn’t eat . . . No one deserves that, Xander.”

“I will /not/ forgive her, Dawn. She was the /Slayer/, for fuck’s sake. Protector of man, /not/ vampires. Man,” he said, angrily.  He heard her sobbing on the other side of the line, and his heart sunk deeper than it already was.  “Sorry,” he said, and kept hearing her crying for a few more minutes in complete silence. Once the crying stopped, he decided to change subjects.

“How’s Willow? And Kennedy?”  Xander already knew, since he spoke to the wicca at least twice a week.

“T-they are cool. Willow’s keeping the house when we move. I kind of rented it to them.”

“Kind of?” he asked. That, he didn’t know.

“Yeah, very low rent, just to not be free. She didn’t like it much, but agreed.”

“And Anya?” he surely didn’t want to speak with his former girlfriend and fiancée, and he guessed the opposite was also true.

“She vanished a while ago, taking Andrew with her. I don’t know where they went, though.”

Xander found it odd. Not Anya disappearing, but with Andrew?

“I really need to go back to SunnyD. How are things in the front?” he asked. This conversation was getting too impersonal for his tastes. He looked like he was interviewing someone, not speaking to one of his oldest friends.

“Actually, pretty quiet. Since the rumors that the First was defeated around here, the big bads are skipping town. Looks like the Hellmouth reversed polarity.”

“What?”

“Never paid attention to physics class, Xan?”

“Too worried about sleeping. Demon-hunting is tiresome, you know?”

“Yeah, yeah, you whiner,” at least, he detected a bit of humor. “Anyway, Wood and Kennedy are training the Potentials that stayed behind, and Sam sent a few troops to our corner of the woods a few weeks back, so I guess we are cool.”

“Good, good. But if you need help . . . “

“I have your number. Look, I have to go, Bu . . . my sister needs me. Call me sometime next week, I guess we’ll be moving before next weekend.”

“I will. And Dawn?”

“Yeah?”

“Sorry, once again,” he said, voice full of guilt over the pain he caused her.

“No problem. See ya,” she said, voice cold and impersonal and hung up.

Xander looked at the cell phone, emotions crashing to the surface. He threw the small phone in the direction of the wall, the projectile flying at an absurd speed. It would have turned to several thousand pieces of plastic if not for another impossibly fast hand grabbing it from the air. Faith looked at the device and to Xander’s angered face.

“Who was it this time?” she asked, still wrapped in her towel, hair damp from the shower. She put the phone back in the nightstand and sat on the bed.

“Dawn.”

“She pissed you off?” Faith knew that Pip didn’t have it in her, but after the recent events, she didn’t know how to thread with them.

Xander sighed. “No, was pissed with myself.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

Xander thought it over for a minute, before walking to the bathroom.

“No, not right now.”

He entered the still foggy bathroom, locking the door behind him.  Faith sighed. She would never have the same relationship with him that Red, B or Pip had. The door to the bathroom unlocked a second later, and his head appeared.

“Faith?” he asked, sheepishly.

“Yeah?”

“This bathroom is too big for me alone. Care to join me?”

The Slayer looked him in the eyes, a bout of lust reawakening her fire. She stood up, letting the towel fall to the floor. Perhaps not the same relationship, but a good one, nonetheless.

“Move over,” she said, sultrily. He obeyed.

*****

Cordelia Chase was back in her job of public relations/manager/operator/annoying employee for some time now, her body still recovering from her ordeal. With the now absurd amount of jobs they were receiving, she didn’t even have time to take a break for coffee and some nail filing. Blowing up an evil law firm surely had its benefits in the market. She was answering the phone with one ear while the other was typing furiously at the recently installed computer.

“Yes, madam. You have a description. . . blue skin . . . two horns . . . bad manners . . . eaten your newspaper? That’s new. Ok, I’ll send one of our employees to check it out. Sure . . . Monday is fine? Ok, Monday it is. See ya.”

She put the phone in the cradle, and it rang again almost immediately. The former Queen C of Sunnydale was going to pick it up, but changed her mind.

“Damn, give me a break. I need some coffee, and I need it right /now/!” she screamed to no one in particular.

“Aren’t you picking that up? Might be another hopeless. Or is it helpless?” a voice floated from her back.

“Buzz off, dweeb. I need caffeine, now. And no demon is going to keep me away from it,“ she said, finally turning to him. It was still odd seeing him with Faith attached, but not in a bad way. The jealousy had died some time ago, and she was happy for them both. It was just . . . strange. And the crow perched on his shoulder also didn’t help things much in that regard.

“Can I speak with you?” he asked, seriously. His bird flew from its spot and landed in the back of a chair. Cordy followed the bird’s path with her eyes before answering.

“Sure. Speak.”

“Privately, please,” he asked. The reception was empty now, but people’s transit around it was intense.

“Can it be over coffee?” she pleaded. He nodded. “Faith, could you…?” she asked, pointing to the phone and the computer.

“Sure,” she said, and sat down. Her hand picked the phone.

“Just don’t scare the clients,” she muttered. Faith heard.

“Fuck off, “ she said, phone already perched in her ear. Cordelia grinned.

They walked to the coffee machine inside Wes’ office, and Cordy sat on the former Watcher’s chair, after serving herself of a cup. The table was filled with books and some old papyrus, but in amazing order. Xander sat in front of her, waiting for her to take the first sips of the hot beverage.

“So, what’s the what?” she asked, after some time.

“What do you think about working for Uncle Sam?” he asked.

“Huh?”

Xander explained it to her. Cordelia’s expression went from curious to surprised to scared while he spoke.  “No, Xander. I couldn’t. I don’t even know. . .” she started. One lifted hand halted her nervous rambling.

“Cordy, it’s not much different than this thing here. Just in a bigger scale. I know you will do perfectly fine. You kept Angel Investigations rolling for quite some time. You are perfect for the job.”

“Angel and Wes kept this thing rolling. Not me.”

“Not from where I’m standing. Dead Boy may be a good warrior and such, and Wes may be smart, but to do this, you have to /know/ people, how they think, how they react. You have to read them perfectly. And I don’t know anyone more capable than you to do that.”

“What if I fuck up?” she asked. It was so off-character to see her cursing, but the Crow thought it was understandable.

“We all fuck up one time or the other. The problem is why you fuck up and how are you going to stand up after that. And I guess Sam will provide you with a great team to work with. So, what do you think?”

Cordelia stood motionless for a few moments, only her face betraying some of her emotions.

“Can I at least talk to her?” she asked. She didn’t know Sam, only by some third-party information.

“Sure,” he said, and picked up his cell phone. He dialed one of the numbers in the mobile’s phonebook, and waited while it rang. The line was picked up, and after a series of sound that he recognized as a scrambler, Sam’s voice came over.

“Yes, Xander?”

“I have someone for you,” he said, almost emotionless.

“Who?”

“Cordelia Chase,” he said, the woman in front of him flinching with the tone.

“You are becoming predictable. I knew it would be her. I came to the same conclusion,” she said.

“Why didn’t you call her directly, then?”

“ I didn’t want to overstep my bounds. And I asked for some input from you, didn' t I?”

“Like you did with Dawn?” he asked, voice hardening

“I do what I have to do, just like you. I honor you because you are a friend of mine and of Riley’s. But if I have to walk over you to do something needed, I will,” she said, voice as hard as his.

“Understood. Is the job dangerous?” he asked, flatly.

“No, she’ll be the head of one of our research teams. She knows her stuff, and she did a lot of research with you guys to be able to pull a nice job. She’ll be a desk jockey, Xander.”

“Good. I’ll put Cordelia on the line.”

“Wait, I want to speak about one last thing with you. Faith?”

“She agreed. But if you fuck her or Dawn up, I’ll rip your heart out and shove it into the President’s mouth while it´s still beating.”

“Don’t threaten me, Harris.”

“This isn’t a threat. It’s a promise. Cordy will speak with you.”

He passed the phone to a white-faced Cordelia, and he left the room, to give them some privacy. He went to the Slayer’s side, who was busy with the phone calls. He noticed by her posture and attitude that she was two minutes away from throwing the desk with phone, computer and everything else against the far wall.

Cordelia appeared minutes later, and returned the phone to Xander’s hand, right on time to avoid a tragedy. She placed her hand on the Slayer’s shoulder, and the woman calmed down promptly.

“Whatever it is that they are paying you, tell Wes to triple it. I’ll help with the intimidating factor,” Faith said, standing up and almost breaking the phone. Cordelia giggled.

“So, how it did it go?” Xander asked.

“We still have some things to straighten out, but I believe I’ll be working for her,” Cordelia said, still thinking about Sam’s proposal.

“Ok,” he said.

Cordelia turned to Faith. “ She said she’ll get in contact with you to solve your legal problems, and to set up your new job. And thanks for the phone.”

“Five by five.”

At that moment, a weary and covered-with-demon-goo Wesley Wyndham-Pryce entered the hotel, followed by an equally weary and dirty Charles Gunn.

“Hey, Wes, what happened?” Cordelia asked.

“Remember that easy mission Mr. Furbink asked for us to perform?” he asked, dropping bonelessly over a chair.

“Yes. What’s with that?”

“Remember me to ask Mr. Furbink what he thinks it is easy about a nest with more than fifteen Croachi demons.”

“Ugh,” Faith sounded disgusted. Croachi were ugly suckers, and deadly.

“Ugh it is. Anyway, it served another purpose. One of them told us that he heard that Angel might be in San Francisco.”

Xander and Faith looked at each other.

“We’ll be leaving tomorrow,” Xander said, eyes narrowing.

“I’ll go with you,” Cordelia said.

“Had a vision?” Faith asked.

“No, just a hunch.”

“Care to go on a bike?” Xander asked.

“Do you have a spare helmet?”

“Faith does.”

“No problem, then. Thanks, Wes. And now, take your filthy, demon-innards covered body from my reception and go take a shower. This goes to you too, Gunn. And put some of that perfume that I gave you guys after it. Those things stink. Meanwhile, I’m gonna call Mr. Furbink and rip him a new one,” Cordy said, hands flying to the keyboard to find the phone number of the man.

Xander and Faith looked to one another, then to Wesley and Gunn, and promptly dissolved in a fit of laughter.

*****

Somewhere else

Same day

09:38 PM

The man walked by the dimly lit corridor, approaching a single steel door. He pulled the key from his pocket and turned it in the lock. The door opened slowly, the room’s single occupant not even aware that someone had entered.

“I guess I have to thank Heaven for a few miracles,” he said to the almost unconscious form chained to the wall. “And kill them all after I conquer it.”

Chapter 6: If Three is a Crowd, Six is a…

San Francisco, CA – Near Fisherman’s Warf

Two days later

02:25 PM

They had arrived the previous day, late at night.  After booking two rooms at a hotel, Faith and Xander decided to patrol a little, just to get the ‘feeling’ of The City by the Bay.   Surprisingly, they found only one vampire, and he was hiding, scared of something.  Before they had a chance to ask him anything, he decided to flee.  Faith and a well-thrown stake ended his run forever.

The following morning, the trio decided on a little sightseeing, attached to a lot of information gathering, since they didn’t know squat about Frisco’s underworld.  To the two women accompanying him, information gathering meant that they asked every single price of every single item of every single store they entered.  Add to that a complaining mystical crow, which was being harassed by the local bird fauna, and one could call Xander’s mind state as explosive.

Right now, said man was at an ice cream store, trying to calm his boiling-point nerves with a double hot-fudge sundae, a pack of Twinkies in the inner pocket of his jacket, only waiting for him to finish.  At his side, on the table, rested a local newspaper of the most ‘esoteric’ variety, already read in full.  Nothing weird was being reported in it, and this was almost as weird as the other option, perhaps weirder.  Either the underworld acted way over carefully on the town or something was taking care of it.

He was finishing his ice cream when Faith and Cordy entered the store, each one carrying just one bag, surprisingly.

“So, how was ‘research’?” he asked, smiling.  He could never be pissed for long with such beauties.

“The clerks didn’t know much, but they said that some weird things have being happening in this town for a while now.  Mysterious murders, lights in the sky, which means…” Cordelia said.

“That our ‘friends’ do their things in here as well.  The newspaper is quiet about it,” Xander said, pointing to it.

“Perhaps the editor is a man planning for an Ascension?” Cordy asked.  Xander cringed, along with Faith.  “What? It’s possible, isn’t it?”

Nobody answered verbally, but the answer showed in the expressions around the table.  Xander called the waitress, asking for the bill.

“Let me pay this up, and we’ll go to the newspaper to search their archives,” Xander said.

*****

While Xander was dealing with the bill, two brunettes and one redhead were approaching the ice cream shop in a hurry.

“You sure this is the place?” one of them asked.

“Of course I am.  The vision was pretty clear about it, and I’ve been here before.  You doubting me?”

“’Course not.  I just find it odd that nobody is running.  Where’s the demon?”

They entered the shop, and one of them promptly waved her hands, freezing everything and everyone in place.

“Why?”

“I’m tired of just freezing them after they hit one of us.  So, where is it?”

They searched the small store twice, nothing weird on sight.

“Anything?” the apparently leader asked.

“Just a strong vibe around that table,” another one answered, pointing to /the/ table.

“Vibe? What kind of vibe? Evil?”

“Not exactly.  Just .  .  .  dangerous, I guess.”

At this precise moment, a black crow entered the shop by the frozen-open door, landing on Xander’s shoulder.  The eyes of the youngest one almost jumped out of their sockets.

“Oh, shi-it!” she exclaimed, much to the surprise of her sisters.

“What?” the other two asked, almost in synchronicity.

“We fucked up.  We fucked up badly!” she answered, eyes focused on the cawing bird.

“Watch the language! Why we fucked up?”

“What did you see in your vision? Exactly?”

“I .  .  .  I saw this place and something else.  It looked like light a-and darkness, and there was something in the middle, like wild animals.  And Power.  With a big ‘P’.”

“Did you see a crow? That crow?” the young one asked, pointing to the bird.

“N-no,” she answered, but she stopped for a second.   “Wait.  I saw something.  It looked like a shadow over the thing.  I-it looked .  .  .” and she looked to the bird.  Her attitude changed to one of defiance.  “How do we vanquish it .  .  .  them?”

“We don’t.  We release them.  Now!” she said, in a no nonsense voice.

“Why?”

“Just do it.”

“Why?”

“DO IT!”

The tone didn’t leave space for anything else.  The brunette waved her hand again, and time and action resumed themselves.  The trio seated on the table looked to one another, trying to understand what happened, when suddenly the man looked to the bird for some seconds and then to the three sisters.

“Ladies, I believe you were looking for us, and we for you.  Care to sit down?” he asked, grinning.

It seemed like the freezing had reverted to the young women.  They stood mute, looking at the man that had spoken to them.  The bird took flight once again, going out.  The other people at the store noticed it, but nobody made a comment.  Paige, the youngest, was the first to react.  She walked slowly forward and sat down, the two other women on the table adjusting themselves for everyone to sit.  Her sisters followed suit a few seconds later.

“Well, I believe introductions are in order.  I’m Xander, and these are Cordelia and Faith.  My flying buddy just told me you are ‘The Three’.  Since I’m not familiar with the term, at least if it doesn’t involve armored vampires, care for some explanations?”

“A-are you a Crow?” Paige asked.

Xander’s face didn’t betray his sudden surprise.  “You know about the legend?”

“I-I had a friend who told me a story once, about one.  When I got into this gig, I researched a bit more.”

Her sisters looked at her, surprised and somewhat pissed.  “Care to enlighten us, o sister of mine?” Piper asked, somewhat annoyed.

“There’s a legend, I-I guess it’s not a legend anymore, that a crow takes the souls to their final resting place, but sometimes, when something truly horrible happens, the crow brings the soul back to set things right.”

Xander clapped lightly, smirking.  “Nicely said.”

“So, you’re some kind of zombie or demon?” Phoebe asked.

“No, I’m human.  Mostly.”

“What do you mean, ‘mostly’?”

“My .  .  .  connection with my feathery sidekick,” that earned a mental scolding from said sidekick, “ gives me some extra stuff in the supernatural side of things.”

“What things?”

“Speed, strength, stamina, the basics,” he said, keeping the immortality bit out of it on purpose.

“Is he evil?” Phoebe asked Paige, which seemed transfixed with him.  She noticed the dangerous-looking brunette sitting at his side giving her sister the evil eye, so she took the opportunity to elbow her sister lightly in the ribs.

“Wha .  .  .  No.  Yeah.  Maybe.  They are driven about their mission of Vengeance, but we should be safe.  We are safe, aren’t we?” she asked, a bit worried.

“Sure.  My initial ‘mission’ is fulfilled.  I’m just tying up some loose ends,” he said, and Cordelia snorted, murmuring, “Understatement much?”

“Anyway, this ‘Three’ thing Blackie was telling me about?”

“Blackie?” Piper asked.

“The crow.”

“Oh, yeah.  How does he – he’s a he, right?” Xander nodded, “knows about us?”

“Don’t have the slightest.  But he’s a mystical bird.  I guess it’s in the resume somewhere he must know those things.”

Paige smiled slightly.  Piper answered him.  “Ever heard of the Charmed Ones?”

Xander hadn’t, but from the reaction he got from Faith, she had.  The Slayer was frozen on the spot, mouth hanging open.  He looked at his girlfriend.  “Faith?”

She looked back at him.  “R-remember when I first showed up in SunnyD?”

“Who doesn’t?” Cordelia quipped.

“Cordy,” he said, sternly.  “Yeah, Faith.  What about it?”

“I never told that to anybody.  When my Watcher died, she gave me two options; either go to Sunnydale and meet you guys or come to San Fran and ask for the Charmed Ones.  They are this wicked trio of über-witches or something.”

“You witches?” Cordelia asked.

“Guilty as charged.  And what is this Watcher stuff?”

“Ever heard of the Slayer?” this time Cordelia spoke.

Phoebe and Piper had.  The latter spoke.  ”This table is getting interesting.  We are only lacking a werewolf to make the perfect card game or a really bad joke.”

“Sorry,” Xander said, “but I don’t know where Oz is right now, otherwise we could be shuffling cards already.  Does a Seer count?”

The Charmed Ones looked to Cordelia.  “Welcome to the club,” Phoebe said.

“What is this Slayer stuff?” Paige asked.

“Vampire Slayer.  Empowered girl, given strength and speed to fight the forces of darkness.  Demons, Vampires and the occasional incorporeal evil,” Faith said.  “Yours truly.”

“Oh.”

“So, what did I see in my vision?” Phoebe asked.

“What was it?” Xander asked, and Phoebe gave them the rundown of what she saw.

“I guess you saw me, or better, what makes the Slayer tick, nowadays.  Predator spirits or some shit like it.  You gotta ask Red about it, though.  And I guess BoyToy over here, as well.”

“Red?” Piper asked.

“The Wicked Wicca of SunnyD.”

The trio of sisters looked at one another, shaking heads.

“Look, this conversation is getting too interesting for the Ice Cream Shop.  Can we move to a place where we won’t scare the customers if our job’s clients decide to show up?”

“Sure.  Where to?”

*****

Halliwell Manor

Same day

04:47 PM

They sat at the manor’s living room, and began chatting amicably.  During their conversation, Xander picked up a thread he didn’t like at all.  Apparently, the Charmed Ones didn’t question their ‘superiors’ much.  That was good behavior for soldiers in the field of battle, but for three women with the power they held, it could mean some serious problems in the long run.  He kept it for himself, but with the slightest glance he traded with Cordelia, he knew she had realized it as well.  He beamed internally with it, she really was the person Sam was looking for.

During their talk, Faith stood stock still for a moment, hand flying to the inner pocket of her jacket.  A second later, a series of lights appeared and disappeared in the middle of the living room, leaving a man standing on its wake.  Since none of the hostesses jumped, Faith let the stake in its place, but her hand over it.

“Star Trek much?” Xander asked, surprised.  The crow, perched in the back of a chair, communicated to him what the new guest was.  The brunette’s eyebrows lifted almost to his hairline.  “You know the strangest people in this business,” he quipped.

The recent arrival looked at Xander, his eyes bugging out.  “What is he doing here?” Leo asked.

His ex-wife answered him.  “Hello, Leo.  These are Xander, Faith and Cordelia, a Crow, the Vampire Slayer and a Seer, respectively.  And they are here as our guests, so far.  Why? You know them?”

Leo didn’t answer his ex, instead, he approached Xander and held his hand for shaking.  “I’m Leo Wyatt.  I must say it is a pleasure finally meeting you.  And I must extend our thanks for your dealings with The First.”

“’Our thanks’? Why?” Xander asked, without holding his hand.

“The Elders have a debt of gratitude with you, Mr. Harris.  You dealt with a major problem and kept the Balance steady in the process.”

Xander’s good mood disappeared in a flash.  “If you know my story, I suggest you leave, now.”

Leo looked into him, and actually shivered.  “O-ok.  Fine.  Talk to you later, girls,” he said, and orbed out.

“What was that?” Piper asked, dumbfounded.  Her sisters were equally curious about a man who could apparently scare Leo, an Elder himself.

“Story of my life.  Don’t worry, nothing to do with you, ladies.”

“X just have some problems with the ‘upper management’, if you catch my drift.”

“What happened?”

“Ask Leo, when he returns,” Xander said, closing the subject.

They managed to re-start a good talk a couple minutes later, after a few unsuccessful starts.

The ‘shop talk’ took the best part of a couple of hours, they trading stories back and forth.  By unspoken agreement, no one mentioned Faith’s shady past, even when the matter of two Slayers appeared, or the subject of Xander’s ‘talk’ with Leo.  He guessed that they were hiding things as well, and he most surely wouldn’t blame them.  In the middle of one of their stories, they mentioned a locator spell.  That made Xander halt them with a lifted hand, much like a student in class.

“Can I ask for a favor?” he said, after conversation died out.

“It depends.  What do you want?” Piper asked.

“Well, the reason for us to be here is that we are searching for a shady bastard that is slipping trough our fingers.  Cordy hadn’t had a vision about him, and the underworld is either silent or don’t know about it.  So, I was thinking if you could make a locator spell to try and find him.”

“Who is this guy?” Paige asked.  Xander explained, helped by Cordelia and Faith, so that they would have a mostly balanced view of the vampire with a soul.  In the end, they all agreed that he was too dangerous to be left on his own.

“I don’t know if it would work.  We need something from him, something pretty personal if we want to find him,” Piper said.

“Got it covered,” Cordy answered, opening her purse and handling them the Claddagh ring that Angel had given Buffy so many years ago.  She turned to Xander and Faith, noticing the question in Xander’s face.  “He kept it after he returned from that mess with Acathla, and I saw him sometimes caressing it when he thought nobody was looking.  Is it personal enough?”

“Yeah.  Come on, let us prepare,” Piper said, and they climbed the stairs to the attic.

The six people arrived at the attic, and the Charmed Ones started reading from a rather large book, while the trio from Sunnydale went quietly to a corner, as not to bother them, Xander’s crow perched on his shoulder.

The witches started mixing a lot of stuff and chanting.  Xander noticed it was even more stuff than when Willow and Tara used to create such a spell.  For the finishing touch, Phoebe threw the ring on the potion, which emitted a bright light for a few seconds and stabilized.  Then they looked expectantly to it for a few seconds, but nothing happened.

“Strange,” Piper said.  “The spell is right, and it shows that he is still in this plane, but nothing more.  Either he is protecting himself with some serious magic or something is interfering with the spell.”

“Could it be a Hellmouth?” Xander asked.

“I sincerely don’t know.  Maybe.  Too much mystical energy in the area, but I guess it would give us a reading, even a faint one.”

“Damn, DeadBoy.  I /will/ stake you, just because of the annoyance.  Thank y.  .  .” he turned abruptly to his crow, which apparently was talking to him over their connection.  “I guess it won’t hurt.  You sure?”

The bird flew to the rim of the cauldron, and drank a bit of the potion.  The Charmed Ones screamed.  “Hey! This thing is poisonous!”

Blackie cawed once and flew back again to his perching in Xander’s shoulder.  “He told me that the potion could help him track DB.  Don’t worry, he isn’t a normal crow,” he answered.

“Of course not, he’s yours, dweeb,” Cordelia spoke.  This caused a round of giggles to cross the room, and the bird to caw.

“What is my problem with strong, beautiful women?” he mockingly asked to the skies.

“They all think you are funny?” Paige spoke first, still giggling.

“Stupid is more like it,” Cordelia answered her, which elicited another round of giggles.

“Ok, ok, I give,” he said, grinning.  “Come on, Faith, let’s try and find our slippery vampire.  We can drop Cordy at the hotel, eat something and go hunting.  We can try and go out later to that club of yours,” he said, looking to the sisters.

“Give your names at the door, I’ll have a table reserved for you,” Piper said, handling him a business card from P3.

They walked out of the manor, and while they were giving their goodbyes, Faith noticed something that caught her eye.  While in prison, she didn’t have much to do, so she decided to use her time to learn.  She obtained her GED, and she developed a secret passion for cars and computers.  All of her free time she would spend in the library, either reading or browsing the ‘net.  And what was her surprise to see one of her ‘dream cars’ passing slowly right in front of her .  .  . 

*****

Near Halliwell Manor

Same day

6:54 PM

The search had been a complete bust.  Either the guy was clean as he claimed or someone had forewarned him, any of the two being bad, since he was the only real suspect.  It had another aggravating circumstance; it made SIU Inspector Nash Bridges late for a date.  Anyway, he wasn’t a happy man tonight.  Joe was at his side rambling about some other crazy moneymaking plan of his, but he wasn’t paying attention to it, matter of fact, he was thinking on his excuses for being late for dinner.

His mood cleared a bit when he saw the stunning brunette ogling the car.  The classic Barracuda was real eye-candy material for the car lover.  Nash slowly removed the foot from the accelerator, as to extend the mutual appreciation.  He looked at her more thoroughly, wishing that he could be some years younger, because with a body like that and those looks, she could easily be a supermodel.  He passed her up and started to speed up again, looking once over the rearview mirror, and seeing her climbing a bike.  He loved his car.

But then something started nagging at his brain.  He had seen that face somewhere.  Being the head of SIU wasn’t easy.  He was chosen for a lot of attributes, one of them was that he was a /very/ /good/ cop.  So, his mind kept spinning over the memories of magazines, outdoors, everything that he imagined could have that face stamped on.  As it should be, it reverted to his job.  And then he remembered.

“DAMN!” he screamed, twisting the steering wheel forcefully and pushing the handbrake.  The car executed an almost perfect one hundred eighty degrees turn, and he stepped on the accelerator once again, releasing the brake.  The car jumped forward like a wild stallion, gaining speed in mere seconds.

“NASH!” Joe screamed at his side, holding on as best as he could.

“Hang on, bubba!” he said, hand flying to the police siren.

*****

Faith climbed on the bike, and it started on the first try.  Cordelia would go with Xander on his bike, so she picked up her helmet and put it on, adjusting the straps with the ease gained from experience.  She looked back one last time, to see if she could spot the Barracuda one last time.  What wasn’t her surprise when she saw the car making a wild turn right in the middle of the street.  The driver was a very good one, because he controlled the wild swerve like a pro.

That’s when she noticed him fumbling with something in the dashboard.  Her vision caught it easily.

“Oh, shit!” she said, hands twisting the throttle to the max.  The bike shot forward, not even waiting for Xander.

Meanwhile, the brunette was waiting for Cordelia to put the helmet on.  He didn’t understand a thing when Faith throttled the bike and ran away, until he heard the siren and the ‘Cuda pass at his side speeding up.

“Oh, shit!” he said, mimicking Faith’s words.  He picked up his cell phone and threw it to a surprised Cordelia.  “CALL SAM!” he screamed, and shot forward, following the police car.  Talk about keeping a low profile.

*****

“Five-George Thirty One calling Dispatch.  We are in pursuit of a suspect over Prescott Street.  Suspect is driving an off-road white and blue bike, going east.  We need backup, over.”

Some seconds passed, and a feminine voice was heard back.

“Dispatch to Five-George Thirty One, backup is on the way, over.”

*****

Xander accelerated his own bike, gaining on the yellow muscle car.  He looked forward, and he saw Faith making a dangerous curve to the right, back tire smoking on the asphalt.

*Can you give me some aerial support?* he asked his crow.

*Of course,*  the bird stated, flying higher.

The car would have a difficult time in making the curve at such speeds, so when it decelerated, Xander forced the bike to give every single drop of speed it could outta it, and he swerved to the right, waiting for the car to begin its forced turn.  The moment the yellow monster lost speed, the biker took advantage of the opening to the right and made the curve as well, his left leg almost hitting the spinning tire of the ‘Cuda.

As soon as he was clear from the car, Xander opened the throttle again.  Faith was a couple of blocks in front of him, racing like a maniac.  The off-road bikes wouldn’t be faster than the car, but they could use their maneuverability to try and escape the policeman.

Faith sensed something in her back with her enhanced Slayer senses, and she risked a quick lookout: Xander was there, good.  She looked up, and saw the crow flying ahead of her.  Even better.  She did have an idea, and she pointed up to the crow and shook her hand left and right, as if signaling the streets.

Xander understood it.  “Smart girl,” he said, and he communicated her idea to the bird.  He promptly flew to the right, Faith following the move at breakneck speeds, entering an apparently empty street.  Xander decided to help her escape even further, by reducing his speed and staying right in front of the ‘Cuda.

Inside the car, Nash was cursing, while Joe kept on giving directions to dispatch.

*****

The Charmed Ones followed a fuming Cordelia Chase back to the Manor.  The Seer was fumbling with Xander’s cell phone, trying to find the number for Sam Finn.  She finally found it, and she made the connection.

“Come on, come on .  .  .” she rambled, while the scrambler was aligning.

“Yes, Xander?” Sam asked.

“Not Xander, your future Second in Command.”

“Cordelia? That means you’re on?” the voice of the Director of STCA was a happy one.

“Yeah, yeah.  But that comes later.  Our main agent is being hunted by SFPD.”

“Tell me,” Sam demanded, all professional.  Cordy explained in some sentences what was happening.  “All right, I’ll do what I can from here.  Her pardon is already signed up, and we can come over with a convincing back story.  I’m putting her and you in the Federal database, effectively now, with some backlog to make it convincing.  I’ll make the needed phone calls.  Welcome to the STCA, Overseer.”

Cordelia was about to complain about the ‘Overseer’ bit, but the line went mute, and she found herself being the focus of three pairs of curious eyes.

“Eh .  .  .  what?”

“What is that ‘agent’ stuff?” Piper asked, voicing the question of her sisters.

“I can’t explain it all, but me and Faith, we are federal agents, as well.”

“How so?”

“Look, I can’t get into specifics right now, but the Government isn’t entirely stupid in relation to our ‘jobs’, ok? So, me, Faith and some other people are part of an Agency that deals with it.  I’ll send someone to contact you as soon as I can, ok? But let me finish cleaning up this mess,” she said finally, dialing another number in the cell phone.

*****

Xander still kept following Faith and delaying the Barracuda, but when he saw another police cruiser joining the chase, the latter became moot.  So, he sped up again, trying to gain up to Faith.  Over the connection with his crow, she saw the Slayer taking a shortcut over the middle of a park, her reflexes and strength making the almost impossible course almost a breeze.  The cruiser had to turn around the park, giving the Slayer some breathing space.  She stopped the bike for a second, eyes scanning for the bird.  She saw him over her, making a calm turn to the left, so she pressed on the throttle once again, making a lot of gravel and sand fly through the air.  Thankfully, the park was almost empty, and she managed to get out without endangering anyone out of the chase.  The moment the tires touched asphalt once again, she looked behind her, trying to find her boyfriend.  Her enhanced eyes caught him entering the park the same way that she did, so she turned around the first corner, entering another empty street.

*****

“Damn! They are good! Why are we chasing them?” Joe Dominguez asked, leaving the radio chatter for a moment.

“She’s an escaped convict.  I remember her face from a wanted poster,” Nash said, while making a sharp turn, going against traffic.  Horns and screeches around them signaling the danger.  Nash finally managed to enter a parallel street to the one that the woman had entered.  He accelerated and turned around the first corner, trying to intercept her.  He crossed the street she was racing down on, and stepped on the brakes, halting right in front of her, a couple seconds before impact.  He braced himself and Joe got down on his seat, waiting for it.

What he saw would be imprinted in his mind forever.

She saw the impact coming, so she did what anyone would do, she turned the bike sideways, trying to reduce speed, while frantically pressing down on the brakes, her right foot hitting the ground for balance.  In a microsecond, she forced the bike to change angles, so her /body/ was facing the ‘Cuda, instead of the bike.  A couple of feet before impact, she planted her left leg on the ground and pushed with all the strength she could muster. The inertia on the bike was great, but not greater than the Slayer’s strength, so the bike took the air and they flipped over the car, /sideways/, making a sharp one hundred eighty degrees tumble six feet above the police officers and landing on the other side of the car, with the tires still smoking.  The moment she touched the ground and steadied herself and the bike, she opened the throttle all over again. She would have to remember thanking Xander about the stunt driver memories.

“Tell me I saw that,” Nash asked Joe, both absolutely surprised with it.

“You saw that, because I saw it as well.  I don’t believe it!”

“Damn, she’s good!” he said, and pressed down on the accelerator as well.

*****

Back on the manor, the trio of witches had retreated to another room, leaving a screaming Cordelia to deal with the bureaucracy of the San Francisco Police Department.

Once they were out of earshot, Piper turned to the ceiling and called “Leo!”

A second later, the Whitelighter orbed to the room right in front of them.

“They are gone?” he asked.

“Yeah, sorta.  Can you explain what the heck this is all about?”

“Well, I asked a couple of questions upside, and I guess I can explain a few things.”

“Well, explain away,” Paige spoke.

“The Slayer, and a few other Champions are under the jurisdiction of the Powers That Be.”

“Powers That Be? What are they? Some kind of Elders?”

“No, they are above us, and from a different branch.  We don’t mess with them and them with us, so we just are aware of a few things.”

“What it has to do with the trio?”

 “The PTB have some sort of plan, where all the involved must do some actions to keep the balance between Light and Darkness steady in the mortal realm.  Apparently, Xander messed up their plans quite badly.”

“How so?”

“Did he explain how the second Slayer line was formed?”

With the three nods, he continued.  “Well, the first Slayer, Buffy, had a series of problems in her life, and she got .  .  . unbalanced.  So, the PTB decided to make a test to see if she was still worthy, and she failed.  The test was for her to choose between a vampire which she probably loved and a human who was a friend since the beginning.”

“Xander,” Phoebe spoke.

“Exactly.  The test was set up so that Xander would be revived if the Slayer chose wrongly, but instead of being revived by the test, he revived himself, turning himself into a Crow in the process.  He killed the Balance Demon and the demons that he had ‘contracted’ to make the test.  And he then proceeded to help the Slayers and Potential Slayers to defeat the First Evil, destroying it in the process.”

“The First Evil? What is it?”

“It was as its name states, the First Evil, the one created when the Universe was created as well.  He couldn’t interfere in the mortal realm, but when the second Slayer line was formed, it caused an imbalance that allowed him passage.  It planned on destroying the Slayer line once and for all, thus leaving it with safe passage to your realm.  Problem is, it pissed off the one single entity that the entire Creation doesn’t want pissed off.”

“What?”

“Vengeance.”

*****

Xander saw the incredible stunt that Faith pulled, jumping over the car.  It was impressive.  Problem was, they could deal with a single car, but the number of police cruisers joining the chase was starting to worry the Crow.  Time to even the odds a little bit.

He couldn’t shoot a police officer in cold blood, not under those circumstances, but he could make them miserable enough.  Xander reduced speed, allowing one of the cruisers chasing them to approach.  When it was close enough, he put enough pressure on the brakes to make his bike stop with a skidding halt.  The cruiser shot past him, and he drew his 9mm with a single fluid motion, pressing the trigger twice.  Both bullets penetrated the front right tire, blowing it to smithereens.  The driver, unable to maintain control over the car, twisted the wheel with all of his might.  By sheer luck, the car didn’t tumble, but it impacted with the cars parked on the street with massive force, effectively killing any kind of pursuit and blocking the street for any car traffic.  Xander re-holstered the weapon, and continued racing, the bike passing with ease over the small passage left by the wrecked cruiser.

He focused on his connection with his crow, locating him and Faith.  He took a small shortcut, entering a street to his right, down a couple of blocks, and then he got down a staircase between two buildings, scaring a couple climbing it and an old lady near the base of the steps.  It should be funny with all those bumps along the way, but he was so worried with his girlfriend he barely even noticed it, focusing on finding her.  He got out of the stairs on the same street the Slayer was racing down, a couple hundred meters behind her, but still in front of the Barracuda.

He positioned himself better, cutting cars left and right, and he quickly gained on her.  Xander thought it over for a second: this was beginning to get too dangerous for innocent civilians.  He and Faith had the advantage of their powers and stunt driver memoirs, but the policemen didn’t, so he ordered his crow to find a suitably enough hiding place.

A few seconds later, an image appeared on his mind, along with the way towards it.  He ginned, and managed to side with Faith, motioning her to follow him.  He made a sharp left turn on a closed light, causing several sudden screeches and some minor accidents, not enough to hurt anyone, but sufficient as to halt the yellow pit bull behind them for a few seconds.

Nash asked for a helicopter to assist on pursuit, while he dodged the damaged vehicles.  He managed to watch both bikes disappearing in an alley to his right, so he stepped on the accelerator once again, the 426 Hemi engine with twin Carter AFB four-barrels giving him the proper response.  The SIU inspector made a sharp turn to enter the alley, but in the last second he realized he was going a bit too fast for it.  The left side of the car impacted with the wall, but the tremendous horsepower under its frame didn’t allow it to reduce enough speed as if to stop, so it ended entering the alley, at the cost of scratching the entire left side of the car, from the middle of the driver’s door to the back.

Joe almost cried when he realized what had happened, and Nash’s face only reflected a single feeling, rage.

“I’M GONNA KILL THEM!” he screamed, and pressed down on the pedal.

By the end of the alley, they saw both motorcycles taking a right turn, so they followed them, Nash pressing the steering wheel with so much strength that his knuckles were white from it.

When they cleared the alley, Joe noticed the tail of one of the bikes entering a garage door.

“THERE! That garage!” he yelled.

“I saw it,” Nash said, following them.  This was it.  He entered the garage building, and apparently, the exit was right to the left of the entrance.  “Cover the exit!” he said to Joe, which disembarked in a second.  He flashed his badge to the man guarding the garage.  “Where did the two bikes go?”

“The ramp,” the black man said, confused.

“How many floors?”

“Three.”

“Anyone else in the building?”

“No.”

He pressed on the accelerator once again, climbing the ramp to the second floor.  He looked around, and he heard the sound of their engines climbing the other ramp.  He climbed it as well, and was assaulted by the strong sunlight.  The third floor was actually the roof of the building.  Good. 

Nash saw both bikes stopping near the edge of the building.  They couldn’t jump to the next building, because of the safety low wall around the roof.  He stopped his car and jumped off, drawing his automatic.

“FREEZE! POLICE!”

Faith and Xander removed their helmets, looking to one another.

“What now, BoyToy?”

“Up for a little Spider-Man impersonation?” he grinned that lopsided grin of his.

“Sure,” she said, looking to the building right to her side.

“You first,” he said, standing between the gun and her.

Faith started running, and surely the bullets started flying, impacting on the mystically powered body behind her.  She placed her right foot on the low wall and propelled herself up, and like she had done so many times in the last couple of months, she flew through the air, landing smoothly in the rooftop of the neighboring building.  As soon as Xander knew she was safe, he ran himself, jumping right behind her, leaving a dumbfounded police inspector holding an empty automatic behind.

A couple of minutes later, Joe appeared at the roof, sweating like a pig and breathing very hard.

“What .  .  .  happened?” he asked between breaths, noticing the bikes and the discarded helmets.

“I don’t know, bubba.  I sincerely don’t know.  But I intend to find out.”

Then, the sound of his car’s radio took him out of his musings.

“Five-George Thirty One, come in, over.”

“This is Five-George Thirty One, over.”

“Be advised, Five-George Thirty One, do not, I repeat, do not proceed with the pursuit, over.”

“WHAT? Please, repeat, Dispatch, I understand we are to suspend our pursuit? Over,” he asked, surprised.

“That is correct, Five-George Thirty One, over,”

“On whose orders? Over.”

“They came directly from the Chief of Police, over.”

Nash threw the mike back into the car.

“DAMN!” he screamed one last time, Joe’s jaw dropping to the ground.

*****

Xander and Faith moved through empty streets and back alleys, counting on the crow to provide an aerial view of their surroundings.  They just stopped long enough for Xander to buy a new jacket and t-shirt, so he could discard the bullet-ridden ones.

Once they were far enough from the garage building, they climbed in a cab, giving the driver the name of their hotel.  Faith fished her cell phone out of her pocket and speed-dialed Xander’s phone.

“Yes?” answered a nervous-sounding Cordelia Chase.

“Yo, Queen C? We’re five-by-five!” she said, looking at the smirking face of his boyfriend.

“Thank the Goddess! Where are you guys?”

“Going back to the hotel.”

“I’ll meet you there,” she said, hanging up.

She closed the phone, looking back to him.  “She seemed worried.”

“Who wouldn’t be?” he asked.

“I don’t know, she’s still so bitchy sometimes.”

“It’s her way of dealing with stuff, Faith.”

“Are you ok?” she asked, changing subjects.

“Yeah, just pissed.”

“I-I’m s-sorry .  .  .” she started, but a single digit in her lips stopped her rambling.

“Don’t be.  I would do everything again.  And I’m not pissed with you, but with Sam.”

“S-she wouldn’t do something like that, Xan.  She seems real nice.”

“Right now, I don’t know,” he said, none of them talking much because of the driver.

“What now?” she asked.

“I’m not in the mood for DB right now.  What about we go with our initial plan, shower, eating and some clubbing?”

That perked Faith right up, but she looked worried.  “Isn’t that dangerous?”

“Nope.  Not after I speak with Sam.”

“Don’t you go pissing up on my boss, Boy Toy!” she exclaimed.

“I won’t.  Not much, anyway.”

They kept silent for a few more minutes.

“Damn, I liked my bike,” Faith said, looking back.

“Me too.  Don’t worry, I’ll try to speak with Sam about them.”

“You better.”

*****

Faith and Xander’s Hotel Room

Same night

09:28 PM

Faith was lain down on their bed, naked and with her hair wet after the shower, listening to Xander complaining to her boss.

“Look, Sam, you better keep your promises to me and Faith.  I wouldn’t like to have to deal with you,” he said, in his calm, spooky voice.  Faith actually shivered when he used that voice.

“I said it once, Harris, don’t threaten me.  I did what I promised.  It’s not my fault the bureaucracy involved can’t move along, the President signed the pardon, the intel is supposed to have been sent to al the local and federal authorities, but they must not have processed it yet.  But don’t worry, San Francisco already knows about Faith’s status as a federal agent, as does the Cleveland Police Department.  I believe Cordelia spoke with you about the story we concocted?”

“Yeah, she did,” he said.  The STCA created a file in which Faith was first a victim of a madman (which was partially true), and later a federal agent undercover, so that was the reason for her to have escaped prison.  Until her APB and the Wanted posters would be lifted or recalled, they would still have some trouble, but nothing that a phone call wouldn’t solve.  “What about our bikes?”

“I’m dealing with it as well.  They should be back in your hands tomorrow.  But did you have to shoot a police officer?”

“I shot his car, not him.  Is he ok?”

“Yeah, he is.  Problem is the man that chased you guys, he is creating quite a storm over it.”

“Who is the guy?”

“He’s a police inspector, named Nash Bridges.  He’s the head of SIU, or Special Investigations Unit.  He’s a very good cop.”

“I betcha.  I used to have a jacket and a t-shirt covered with bullet holes that proves it.”

Sam laughed on the other side of the line.  “Look, Xander, try to keep yourself and our friend out of trouble for now, ok? And tell her I expect her here by the end of the month, ready for training.”

“I will.  Bye, Sam,” he said, cutting the connection.  “She said that I should keep you out of trouble.”

The Slayer snorted.  “I heard.  What are you thinking on doing ‘bout it?”

Xander smiled his lopsided grin, removing his t-shirt.

“I think that this bed isn’t troublesome.  What do you think?” he asked, dropping right by her side.

“I think you’re completely wrong,” she said, climbing over him.

“Maybe.  Wanna prove me wrong?”

“I could never resist a challenge.”

Chapter 7: Blast from the Present

Somewhere in the African Savannah

Two months later

02:25 PM

The big black man pushed the door aside, sighing as he got in, trying to escape the oppressive heat.  The bar was maybe the seediest he ever walked into, but people knew him, and the beer was cold enough.

“Zan!” the barman bellowed loud enough to be heard over the background noise of the bar.

He approached the short, balding man, which was holding a piece of paper in his hand.

“You got a message,” he said, and gave the paper to him.

Zan’s eyebrows twitched once, and returned to their normal stoic self.  The message had only one telephone number and a name.

“What does this . . .” he checked the paper once again, “Cordelia Chase want?”

“She didn’t tell me, just that it was private and urgent.”

“Thanks, Jono. Give me a cold one, please,” he said, sitting on a stool.  In seconds’ a cold beer was patiently sitting in front of him.  He drank from the bottle, ignoring the glass completely.

This surely was strange; no one, not even his mother had a phone number where he could be reached or one of those e-mail things.  Sure, he called her once or twice a year, but she didn’t know how to reach him.  He came to this bar maybe twice a month, if that much.

So, how had did this woman found him, and more importantly, why?

A faint alarm bell started sounding in the deep recesses of his brain.  He downed the rest of his beer and stood up, going out of the bar.  As soon as he reached the street, the oppressive heat struck him.

“Bloody marvelous African weather,” he murmured, eyeing a building some hundred yards away.  He tried to walk in the shade as much as possible, but it proved to be a fruitless enterprise, since he was covered in sweat in seconds.

Before entering, he checked out the neighborhood, and apparently everything checked out fine.  He entered the telephone company’s building, and a couple of gasps were heard.  He turned to the white couple wearing the typical tourist outfit and shook his head.

“I’m not him,” he said, trying to sound as neutral as possible, but it sounded like a low growl instead.

“But you look . . .” the young woman said, and the man at her side nodded dumbly.

”I get that a lot,” he said, and turned to the attendant, ignoring the young couple completely.  “Any empty cabins?” he asked the woman in Swahili.

“Number four is empty,” she said.

“Thanks.”

He walked into the cabin, the small ventilator on it working full time, and he removed the hook from its cradle.  He dialed the long string of numbers, and waited for a while.  When the phone on the other side was picked up, he recognized the sound of a scrambler aligning.

The alarm bell changed into a full blown klaxon, signaling an aerial strike in mere seconds.  He immediately hung up and looked from one side to another, cursing internally about his lack of a gun.  The small store was almost empty, except for an old man in cabin number two and the attendant who was now calmly reading a magazine of some sort.

The telephone at his side started to rang a few seconds after he finished his third eye swoop of his surroundings.  He looked at it scared, but curious at the same time.  Who was this Cordelia Chase?

He removed the hook from its resting position once again with the greatest care, as if he was dealing with something highly explosive, and placed it on his ear.

“If you are breathing over there, it means you got my message, right?” came the voice of someone young on the other side.

“Who are you?” he asked, still eyeing his surroundings.

“My name is Cordelia Chase. As you already know.”

“What do you want?” he asked, nervously, standing up and opening the cabin’s door.

“To talk.  You see, we used to have a common acquaintance.”

“Who?” he asked, opening the cabin’s door.

“Kendra.”

It was as if someone had injected muscle relaxant enough in him to fell an elephant.  He sat down, his legs like jelly, hands shaking.  He closed the cabin silently.

“I don’t want anything to do with the Council, or what is being created now.”

“We are not the Council, I can assure you that.  Who wants to be compared to a lot of badly dressed stuffy Brits, anyway?” she asked, and somehow the cheerful tone made him relax a little bit.

“How did you know Keni, anyway?” he asked.

“If you want to know, there is a plane ticket in the airport with your name on it, valid for a week,” the woman said, and hung up.

Evander ‘Zan’ Zabuto stood up and got out of the store, straight for his truck and his bags.  He had a plane to catch.

*****

Over the Atlantic

Following day

04:23 PM

He refused the seventh drink offer the stewardess made, and was blithely ignoring the onboard movie.  Zan only had his headphones on, without music, and his eyes closed so no one would bother him while he was remembering.

~~O~~

Special Air Services HQ – Hereford - England

Approximately five years ago

09:00 AM

The military committee who was overseeing Captain Evander Zabuto’s post-mission briefing looked at him with something akin to hatred in their eyes.  They had no proof of his allegations, except from the weird audio recordings and since the video surveillance equipment was useless -  it had been deactivated even before the team had entered the building -  it was his word against seven dead soldiers, eleven dead children, five adults and no terrorists.

But how could he explain to them that the terrorists in question, the ones they were supposed to stop were already dead?  That the only way to kill them for real was a good piece of wood through the heart?  That bullets were mostly useless?  He tried, that was true, in a general ‘I’m not a crazy pillock ready to go to the loony bin’ way, but it was proven fruitless.

The trio of high ranking officers were quietly chatting among themselves while he stood ramrod straight, waiting for something.  Once in a while a stray look would come in his direction, and he believed that if heat vision worked he would be a smoking pile of ashes in the ground.

The conversation ended, and he looked at the highest ranking officer, General David Eddington.

“Captain Zabuto, in light of the evidence presented before this committee, we can’t form a precise course of action for you.  In my opinion, you should be court-martialed and left to rot at some brig,” he said, disgust clearly evident in every word, “but since my two estimated colleagues and some . . . outside resources . . . have pointed out, apparently there was nothing you could do, since the only thing those bloody audio recordings prove is that they were already dead before your team got in.  So, we have nothing to do with you.  Matter of fact, we don’t /want/ anything to do with you.”

The meaning was clear, they were giving him the boot.  If he picked it up, it would probably be considered honorable discharge and he would get his pay and be forgotten, if not he would be put aside in some base around the world and forgotten the same way.

So, he took the only decision he could.

~~O~~

The airplane

Zan knew that his father had more than evidence enough to back up his claims.  The heated discussion over the phone when he was back from the mission was proof enough that his father had more interest in keeping the Council’s secrets than helping his own son.  After all, the almighty Samuel Zabuto was a Watcher to the core.

~~O~~

African Savannah

A few months ago

01:47 PM

“Your father died, Zan,” came the sad voice of his mother over the phone.

Zan took a deep breath, his mind in turmoil of confusing feelings.

“How?” he asked evenly.

“The Council’s HQ blew up.  Apparently there were no survivors.  The police is blaming a terrorist group over it.”

He took another deep breath, and after a few moments of silence, he spoke back.

“Now I can join the feeling with reality.”

The ex-SAS, now safari guide heard his mother’s breath stop for a bit on the other side.  So, he continued.

“He died to me when he refused to help me.  He could have provided me with just enough evidence to clean my name, mother.  Instead, he decided to protect his beloved Council.  Good riddance to him.  He won’t be missed, at least by me.”

In the other hemisphere, Sarah Zabuto decided to break an oath that she took a long time ago.

“He helped you, Zan.  Not in the way that you wanted, but he helped you.”

“How did . . .” his mind suddenly returned to the words of General Eddington. “‘Outside resources’.  Father told them to boot me,” Zan’s anger build up a thousandfold in a matter of seconds.

“He did not.  He asked a favor to a friend of his on the military, telling him that what you did had a rational explanation, but couldn’t be divulged to anyone on the government.  So, they changed your penalty to an honorable discharge.”

Zan started crying, but out of anger.  He almost broke the telephone, but controlled himself enough to speak his mind.

“The Council.  Always the damned Council.  Because of them, Keni is dead.  Because of them, a ton of other girls are dead.  Because of them, I was booted out and painted as a failure and a traitor.  So nice of Father, mom.  Pretty thoughtful of him.  Now I hope he rots in Hell for all eternity.”

“Zan . . .” she started, only to have the telephone hung up on her.

He stormed out of the phone company, and only called his mother three months later.

He didn’t apologize.

~~O~~

The plane

The ex-SAS trooper kept on thinking about the past and the strange phone call of that Chase woman.  How did she meet Keni?  He still remembered the first time he met the Jamaican girl.

~~O~~

Jamaica

Seventeen years ago

02:02 PM

He was sitting on the porch, waiting for his father’s return.  They had moved a month ago, and only now the reason for them to come from England to Jamaica would be revealed to him.  He knew it had to be something related to the Watcher’s [Watchers’] Council, since his father was so fiercely attached to them he wouldn’t take a vacation if it wasn’t expressly ordered by that bastard Travers.

So, when he heard the car’s engine stopping in front of the house, he ran inside, passing the kitchen like a madman, scaring the hell out of his mother and going out by the front door.  What he saw surprised him.

Attached to his father’s leg like a human limpet was a pretty young girl, around five or so, with chocolate skin and large, scared eyes.  She was looking around, looking at everything with wonder in her eyes.  They locked eyes and gave one another a slight smile.

He approached her with slow steps, and stretched his hand.  Before the girl could shake it, his father got in the way, speaking with his most severe tone.

“Evander, she is Kendra, a potential Slayer.  I will train her and I want no interference.  Understood?”

He deflated instantly and lowered his hand. “Sure, Father.”

They walked inside in silence, and after his father had shown the young girl around, he managed to find her alone at her room, a bare place with a single bed and a small closet that Zan though it was supposed to be for visitors.

“Hello, my name is Evander.  How are you?”

The girl looked at him with a mix of wonder and fear.  With a shaky and heavily accented voice, she answered.

“S-scared,” she said, lowering her eyes to the ground.

He got closer, trying to appear the least menacing as possible, and lifted her chin.

“Don’t worry, Father may look scary, but he is a nice man.  He will treat you right.  And if you need anything, talk to me.”

She looked up finally, and relaxed a bit. “T-thank you.”

He smiled, and walked out.  When he was crossing the door’s threshold, he heard her voice.

“Y-you can call me Keni.”

~~O~~

The plane

He had a sad look on his face, remembering the sad destiny of Kendra and hearing about her death from the mouth of his Father.  That was the beginning of the end for both of them, and now the only thing that remained from those times was a feeling of emptiness that nothing could fulfill.

He finally fell asleep, trying to erase the memories, and failing miserably.

*****

STCA HQ – Cleveland, OH

Eighteen hours later

Zan looked outside the window of the car.  The neighborhood where they ended up was bad to say the least.  He had been picked up at Cleveland’s airport and escorted to a car, and brought here by a solicitous, yet apparently mute driver and another mute escort.  Old senses were brought back bit by bit, and he started noticing several things: first, both escorts were armed.  No surprise there.  Second, the SUV they were riding in was also armored, and that came as a no surprise either.

What was interesting was what he noticed as he passed in front of the SUV when he was climbing aboard at the airport.  Apparently, there was a second set of front lights hidden inside the front grille of the car, and he could bet a good sum that they were ultraviolet lamps on those.

Smart thinking.  But the look and feel of the guys around him screamed ‘government agents’ over every pore of their beings, even with the apparent crosses dangling from their necks.  And he could bet that if he put his hand down his seat he would probably find a gun and a stake hiding there.

Who were these guys? A new Council with American background?

They entered over a side garage entrance to a small building, and Zan noticed that apart from the rundown look, the amount of almost hidden cams belittled what the building truly was, a hidden fortress.  Even the apparently bored-looking security guard at the garage entrance had that Special Ops ‘feel’ to him that was hard to disguise from one with almost the same training.

They parked in a nondescript area in the basement floor and disembarked.  He was promptly flanked by his two escorts and they walked in group to a rusty steel door, naturally disguised in a shadowed corner.  One of his escorts opened the door with a key and they walked in, standing in a small room with a less-rusty looking door in front of them.  The same agent as before opened a small panel at a side and put his hand on it, the scanner reading his palm and body heat at a single pass.

Zan heard a series of bolts moving inside the door, and it opened.  They passed on, and the ex-SAS noticed that the external look of the door was another disguise, since it was at least a foot thick and made of steel.  As soon as they were in, the door closed over hydraulics hinges and the long corridor lighted up.

The black man noticed that it was small, only allowing one man comfortably at a time, and that the light fixtures on the ceiling had two sets of lights on them, only one set active now, normal fluorescent lights, the other were UV lamps. And sprinklers.  And at even distances, either a crucifix or a David’s cross adorned the walls.  And the huge amount of cameras . . .

Whoever designed this building was a genius.  Not only was it almost impossible to get in if you were human, it was downright impossible if you were a vampire.

/Who/ were these guys?

The long corridor twisted and turned around after a few yards, and it confused the hell outta him, but he had a brief suspicion that they were going to another large rundown building that Zabuto had seen almost at the end of the block, on the other side of the street.

They ended their trek at a small hallway with a couple of soldiers on guard with M-16 assault rifles in their hands and weird looking grenades on their belts, infrared goggles resting on top of their heads.  The guards gave him a passing glance, while one of his escorts touched another hand panel on the side of an elevator door.

The car arriver with the typical ‘ding’, and they entered.  Instead of the common floor buttons, there was a numeric pad on it.  Escort #2 pressed a six digit code and the doors closed, following a smooth descent for an unknown number of floors.

Those people were really paranoid concerning security.  They arrived at a floor, and the door opened, showing a small man with rimmed glasses and the general appearance of an accountant.

“Mr. Zabuto, I’m here on behalf of Ms. Chase.  Follow me, please,” he said, and turned around, without waiting for an answer of the tall black man.

Zan followed the man silently, his original escorts having stayed behind.  They walked over a long corridor of closed doors.  He noticed that the security measures here were now mostly on display, but he could see that some stuff was still hidden under carefully placed objects and angles.

The ‘accountant’ took him to a spacious meeting room, with a large desk for at least ten people and a series of monitors.  It wasn’t tastefully decorated, matter of fact it reminded him of a classier military briefing room, the main difference being the comfortable chairs and the absurd level of technology in it.

“If you could please sit for a while, Director Chase will be with you in a moment,” the man said and left, again without waiting for his answer.

So, another piece of the puzzle fell into place.  He was in some sort of Agency.  One problem was: What kind of Agency?

A side door opened, and through it entered a stunningly beautiful woman, dressed in an impeccably cut feminine power suit in dark blue, which he supposed managed to hid a gun or something like it somewhere in her tall frame, with practical yet tasteful shoes and just a hint of makeup over olive skin.  She stopped for a moment, and let her eyes wander over his impressive physique, somehow confirming her young age to his eyes.

But Evander Zabuto was smart enough to not judge a woman over her age, her initial behavior or her hormones.  Keni had been a good lesson.  The appreciation moment ended as soon as it began on both sides, and the woman extended a hand to him.  He shook it promptly.

“Evander Zabuto? Cordelia Chase,” she said, all serious and business-like. “Please, take a seat.”

He sat in one of the chairs, and surprisingly, the woman sat at his side, not in the head of the table, as her position would demand.  With this single gesture, one of trust, he relaxed slightly.

“Please, call me Zan.  Everyone else does,” he said, with his deep, cultured British accent. “So, aside from a couple of questions I would like to ask about Kendra, why am I here?”

Cordelia smiled slightly.  Straight to the point, she liked him . . . it.

“Why don’t you tell me . . . Zan?  We chose you for a reason.  Prove to me that we were right,” she said, and looked him straight in the eyes.

He cleaned his throat for a second, while putting his thoughts in order.

“Well, I believe I’m in some kind of American Agency that deals with the supernatural side of things.  The excessive amount of religious symbols, the UV lights and everything else I’ve seen so far points to that.  Add to it the Special Ops looks of more than half the people I saw here, the Spartan yet practical setup of everything else and it gives me a general idea that the military are also involved.  Since you knew Kendra, it tells me that you also knew about the Council, and somehow my . . . relationship with one of its former members and my military training gives me the sureness I’m here because of a job offer.  Am I right, Director Chase?”

Cordelia was surprised.  She was right, he was perfect.  She clapped her hands lightly and smiled.

“I knew I was right.  You are the perfect choice, but before I make the offer, I will answer all of your questions, so if you want to say ‘no’ you at least will have your answers.  So, ask away.”

“Ok, first of all, where am I?”

“The place you already know, the name of the Agency is Supernatural Threat Combat Agency or STCA for short.  Another one to add to the alphabet soup.”

“Any relation to the Watcher’s Council?” he asked, warily.

“No, or at least not one to be disgusted over.  We have some ex-Watchers in our payroll, and our mission is basically the same, but the methods are completely different.”

“So, no slave girls?” he asked, resuming his disgust in a single expression.

“Nope, unless if you want to count me and Sam, I think sometimes we spend weeks in here without seeing the sunlight,” she said with a grin, but her face darkened for a moment.  “We have another special case, but we’ll come to her later.”

“The Slayer?” he asked.

“Yes and no.  Yes, she is the special case, but no, not for the reason you are thinking.  If you say yes, I’ll explain, for now, let me say that she would be here regardless of our rules or decisions.  She /wants/ to be here.”

He let the matter go for a while.

“Why me?”

That was the loaded question.

“Well, you see, we all got thrown in this job for one reason or another, but most of all, because of our experience in the matter.  No one in here hasn’t suffered one kind of supernatural attack or other, either to himself or to someone close.  So, we prize experience above it all, and you have both military and supernatural, as an ex-SAS and as a Watcher’s son.”

“Again, why me? I’m British, you surely must have someone in your midst to fulfill the teams, if I’m getting this right.  And I’m not experienced enough to teach a Slayer how to fight the Watcher’s way.”

“Who said anything about filling the teams?  The teams are filled, what we need is a Field Commander.  You.  As for the Slayer.  Please; no Watcher from the old Council could train the newly empowered  Slayer.  I guess no one can, nowadays. The potentials, sure, we even have some ideas on this, but the Slayer herself, I guess not.”

Zan’s mouth fell to the ground with her diatribe.

“M-me? Why? I-I mean . . .” he blurted out.  If it wasn’t for his skin color, Cordelia imagined that he would be beet red.

“An ex-SAS, who has some very successful missions under his belt, plus an intimate knowledge on Watcher’s fighting methods and ideas.   We don’t have many of those hanging around.”

“And my last mission?”

“You want my sincere opinion or lies?”

“Your opinion.”

“If your father wasn’t dead I would kill him myself,” she said, with steel in her eyes.

“So I gather you know about the back story?” he asked, grinning.  He was really starting to like this Cordelia Chase.

“Probably more than you do.  But we can discuss British assholes later, back to your questions, please.  And your last mission was a big fuck up, no one knew what your team would end up facing, and no, I don’t blame you.  So stop worrying.”

“H-how . . .” he started.

“My best friend used to be exactly like you.  I know how you self-sacrificing White Knight’s deal with failure.”

“White Knights?”

“Never mind.  Next question, please.”

“What is that thing about the new Slayer?”

Cordelia then proceeded to tell him a resumed version about the recent past, the battle with the First and the change in the Slayer line. She omitted Xander’s change and Buffy’s downfall, simply because he still didn’t need to know that.

“So, you’re telling me that this new Slayer is some kind of ultimate predator, empowered by Mother Nature?”

“Sure is. Want to meet her? It might be nice to know who followed Kendra’s footsteps.”

“She’s still the same girl? How? As far as I know, no Slayer lived that long.”

“Another long story for another time.  So, wanna meet her?”

“Sure.”

“Okay.  Faith, you hearing me?” she spoke with a bit more volume.

Zan found that extremely odd.  Why didn’t she pick up the intercom in front of her?  Was the girl hearing from the outside?

A few moments later, the intercom beeped.  Cordelia pressed the speakerphone button on it.

“Yes?”

“Yo, Boss C!  What’s up?”

“You busy?”

“Nope, just toying with a few motors.”

“Come here, please.  I wanna introduce you to someone.”

A laugh from the other side.

“I must warn ya, Boss, I’m an one-man girl nowadays.  What Boy Toy will think about it?”

Cordelia grimaced.  “Come down here, /now/.”

“Sure thing, C.  Be right there,” the incorporeal voice said, and the black man could easily identify the smile on the unknown face.

“She was listening to us talking?” he asked.

The Seer looked back to him.

“Not in the general sense, no.  Her senses are so sharp nowadays that she can hear almost anything inside the base without too much trouble.  But as she said herself, she can control it in some weird way, and she can be selective to what she truly hears, or focus on.  She recognized my voice calling her name, and answered back. These walls are not soundproofed, we have some secure rooms that we tested against her,” she continued.

“Where is she, right now?”

“Motor pool, three floors up and about a hundred meters . . . that way,” she said, pointing to the left wall.

Zan couldn’t suppress the whistle that came unbidden to his lips.  Cordy smirked.

“I know what you mean.”

“So, what can you tell me about Keni?”

“Sorry, who?” Cordelia asked, surprised.

“Kendra.”

Cordelia remained silent for a few moments, eyes unfocused.

“Sorry,” she apologized, “it’s just that I have a hard time in changing Kendra the Vampire Slayer to Keni.”

A sad smile crossed his face.

“I can imagine.  She was a wonderful girl, caring, with a heart of gold.  I saw her for the first time when she was around five.  Scared, small, but wanting to do her best.  I loved her like a sister I never had.  Then, little by little, bit by tiny bit, my Father and the Council ruined her, changing her into a tool, a weapon.  The Slayer.”

A delicate, yet strong hand grabbed his own, and squeezed sympathetically.

“I’m sorry.  I know how the Council was.  But I didn’t know Kendra that well, she never opened herself much with any of us.  But . . .”

And she told her part of the story of the Jamaican girl who, like hundreds before her, lost her life in an endless war.  When she was almost finished, the main door opened up with a bang, admitting a brunette bombshell wearing a grease-stained jumpsuit, sneakers and an attitude.

“Subtlety, thy name is Faith,” Cordelia groaned.

“You raaaang?” the Slayer asked, eyeing the black visitor.  “Oh, my God, we are hiring Blade!  Boss C, how did you manage it?”  she asked, smiling that knockout smile of hers.

Evander Zabuto groaned.  He had a serious problem in his life, being almost a twin to Wesley Snipes.  They had obvious differences, when you looked closer, but at first glance, he was always confused with the Hollywood actor.

“I am not Blade.  Nor am I Wesley Snipes.  So, could you please cut the jokes?  My name is Evander Zabuto.  Zan, if you prefer.”

“Sure thing, Daywalker,” she said, smiling.  “I’m Faith.”

Zan groaned again.  “Is she always like that?”  he asked to a smiling Cordelia.

“She’s on a good day.  Don’t worry, she only calls people by her appointed nicks.  Don’t even try making her change it, won’t work and you will only grow tired.  Faith,” she said, turning to the Slayer, “Zan here is the son of Sam Zabuto, Kendra’s Watcher.”

Faith sobered instantly.  “I never met her, for obvious reasons, but people told me she was a good Slayer.  Wanna share some stuff later?  I would like to know a bit about her.”

“Yes, I would.  Nice meeting you, Ms. Faith.”

“No miss in here, Blade.  Just Faith.  Need me for anything, Boss C?”

“Nope, go get dirty somewhere else.  Just looking at you makes me wanna take a bath,” she said.

“I could hug ya, then you would really need one.  Later, Boss, Blade,” she said, and departed.

Zan smiled, and looked to Cordelia. “I guess I’m running out of questions, so the next one is; what is your offer?”

“Come back to fight the good fight with us. We answer to no one but the President himself. And I like to put my head in the pillow at night and sleep my beauty sleep with a clean conscience,” she said the last part almost as an afterthought.

The ex-SAS smiled, took a deep breath and looked her straight in the eyes.

“I need some time to think.”

“Sure, I will ask someone to escort you to your hotel.  Need I remind you that everything spoken here falls under that Secrets Act thingy?”

Zan laughed.  “No, you do not, Director.”

“I’m not Director, Sam is.  I’m the Chief of Staff. The Director bit is because people like to think I run this show. I don’t, Sam does.”

‘Are you sure?’ Zan thought, with an internal smirk. “Then no, Chief.  You do not.”

“Okay, wait a bit, I’m going to find someone to take care of you.”

*****

A few hours later, Cordelia was having an internal fit over a pile of paper over her desk, when her phone rang.  She flipped the cell open and waited while the scrambler aligned.

“Chase,” she said.

“I’m in,” came a cultured and deep British voice, and he hung up.

Cordelia smiled, wondering if he would be pissed with the call sign she had already issued to his file.

Chapter 8: Public Service

Cleveland - OH

Eight days later.

07:32 AM

One good thing of dying and being buried in a shallow grave in a backyard, and then coming back alive: almost no one knew about it.  So Xander had managed to keep his ‘special circumstances’ under wraps most of the time.  If someone looked around, he or she, if paying enough attention, would probably see a large crow flying high over the sky, following the man around.  Aside from that, using jeans and a t-shirt, helmet and a backpack, Xander was the typical young man on the way to his mundane job.

Changing jobs from Sunnydale to Cleveland was easier than he expected, his old boss had a good old friend in construction business as well, and with a phone call and a recommendation letter later, Xander was re-employed faster than a vampire went ‘poof’.  And even better, he got a promotion over it, and a good raise.

He arrived in the construction area, a new shopping center, and parked his bike in the usual spot, nodding to whomever he crossed paths with, trading the usual banter with the closest acquaintances and friends.  He stopped over the main shed, and grabbed his helmet and tools, going to his designed area, after talking with his crew and setting the plans for the day.

The day passed quicker than he expected and he was punching his card with a small smile over his face.  He grabbed his cell phone and hit a number on speed dial.  The phone rang twice and a silky voice answered him.

“We Do Sexual Fantasies, Faith speaking.”

Xander laughed, and got into the fun.

“Hello,” he said, holding his nose and making an irritating nasal voice, “I was wondering if you would have a ‘Slayer Covered in Chantilly for Dessert’ on your menu?”

Faith gave him a wicked laugh, and continued.  “We do, sir, but the Slayer in question only does this fantasy if provided with a decent dinner before the fantasy begins.”

“Would Italian be adequate as dinner for this Slayer?”

“It would,” she said, a thousand-watt smile present in her face.

“The Slayer would be free in about forty-five minutes?” he continued, still holding his nose.

“Yes, sir, she would.  Thank you for using We Do Sexual Fantasies.”

“Pleasure is all mine, I can guarantee,” he said, and folded his phone, while smiling like a maniac.  He wondered if Blackie would be too pissed in searching for a good place to buy two cans of chantilly.

Or perhaps three.

*****

Three cans of chantilly later and an order of pasta for later pick-up and Xander was en route to their flat.  It was closer to the STCA HQ since the Crow’s job was pretty much mobile, in a better neighborhood than the Agency’s, but to get home from the actual construction site he had to pass through the neighborhood, matter of fact, his route passed just three blocks from the building itself.  He could meet Faith and they could go pick up dinner together.

Before he could make the necessary turn, his bird showed him an image that chilled him to the bones.  A young girl was being attacked, and from the looks of it, it wasn’t a robbery or vampires.

He opened the throttle to full, hatred consuming his entire being.  He arrived in the scene some seconds later.  Bad neighborhood, at night, a young girl and three guys.  With heartbeats, two holding her, one was lowering his pants.

He jumped off the bike, not even worrying with setting the stand.  Rapist #1 watched him approaching, and stupidly confided in strength through numbers.  Wrong decision.

Without speaking a single word, he threw a haymaker that Xander saw coming two weeks ago.  Not even bothering to dodge, he grabbed the hand.  His tactile telepathy flashed and in less than a second his mind painted the entire scenario, and the trio’s past.  Without stopping, he twisted, hard, and pulled the arm in a way it wasn’t supposed to go, breaking all the ligaments in the wrist, dislocating a shoulder and breaking both the radius and the ulna.  The rapist started screaming, and Xander decided to be really nasty.  He back stepped enough to be in perfect range, and kicked the man as strongly as he could in the groin, with his steel-capped boot.  The man lifted four feet in the air, propelled by the mystical strength of the Crow, and before he was in the apex of his unwanted flight, his brain short-circuited with the pain and he went unconscious, landing hard on the dirt ground of the alley, a puddle of blood, sperm and piss forming in his hastily closed pants.

The remaining duo was stuck between running to the back of the alley, a dead end, or facing the enraged man.  Being that option-less, they decided to use their smarts, one of them opened a pocketknife and the other grabbed the girl, drawing a gun and pointing to her head.

“Let us go, or she gets it!” Rapist #2 yelled.

The girl, in panic and getting into shock, did what came naturally, and fainted, going limp.  The thug wasn’t expecting it, so he let her drop, losing both the momentary focus he had on Xander and the aim he had on the girl.  The Crow decided to use the distraction to his benefit, and with his preternatural speed and copying a move from a comic book, he took the lid of a trashcan and threw it with all his strength, straight into the guy’s head.  The impact was so great that the lid bent almost in half, and he heard the sound of breaking bones, and a huge spray of blood coming from what remained from the guy’s face.

Rapist #3 was so scared now that he pissed his pants, his entire body shaking like an earthquake in Tokyo.  Xander approached, his rage reflecting on his eyes.  The man let the knife drop to the ground, and did as he would if being arrested, dropping on his knees, with his hands entwined behind his head.

“Don’t kill me, man! Please, I’ll tell you all that you want to know! Don’t kill me! I’ll do whatever you want! Please!”

The Crow approached him in silence, and grabbed both sides of his head, the telepathy engaging once again.  With all he had seen in the last minutes, if he were another kind of man, he would have puked his guts out.  Being who he was and what he was, he only got more enraged.  He spoke, in nothing more than a whisper.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get off easy,” he said, and with a pull, he broke the last rapist’s neck as if it was a twig.

He would draw his calling card on the alley’s wall, but the girl needed assistance, fast.  He grabbed her from the ground, finally noticing her looks.  She was around ten, if that, and from the clothes, living on the streets.  Dirty blond hair, and some freckles gave her a cute appearance.  Xander removed a small strand of hair from her face, and his telepathy showed him the girl’s recent past, making him finally assemble all the pieces from the info he gathered from the thugs.

It wasn’t a random act, and it wouldn’t be the first time they did something like that.  They would rape and kill her to set an example.  The Crow stood up, leaving the girl leaning against the wall for a moment.  In her current state, he wouldn’t be able to take her in his bike, so he grabbed it and put it a couple meters ahead of the alley, chained to a lamppost, right in front of a building.  It looked as if it belonged to one of the tenants.  He returned to the alley, while fishing his cell phone from his pocket, speed dialing another number.

“Chase,” Cordelia answered on the other side, probably not worrying in checking the caller’s ID.

“Cor, I need a favor.  Medical emergency.  Young girl, around ten, almost raped.  Going into shock, from the looks and her memory, she barely eaten in the last days.”

“Bring her in, front entrance.  The team will be waiting.  What happened?” she asked, while her other hand grabbed the intercom in her desk.

“I’ll explain when I get there.  See ya in a few,” he said, shutting the phone.  He gently grabbed the young girl, and ran to the mouth of the alley.  He thought on running to the STCA HQ on foot, but luckily, a taxi appeared.  Xander managed to make it stop, and he gave the surprised driver, a woman, the address.  In a couple minutes they were parking in front of the decrepit-looking building.  Xander passed a ten-dollar bill to the lady, and ran out, being intercepted midway by the medical team and Cordelia.  He gently laid the girl in the stretcher, and the team ran inside, already checking her stats.

“What happened, Xander?” Cordelia asked, all professional.

“I was coming here to pick Faith up, Blackie showed me the girl being attacked by this trio of . . .,” Xander thought on a lot of names and descriptions to describe those animals, but changed his mind.  “Anyway, I got there on time,” he said, and explained all that he did, sans the extreme actions he took.  “I think it’s better for you to clean up my mess, the Cleveland PD might ask a few questions.”

Cordelia bristled.  “Why don’t you clean you own mess? I might agree on what you did, but we ain’t your cleaning service. You do your job, I do mine.”

Xander didn’t bother in complaining.  “I would, only problem is that I ain’t finished.  I have bigger game to hunt.”

“How so?”

“Tactile telepathy is quite useful to wake up old girlfriends from a coma, and to learn all the shit a guy did in the past.  I have three sets of memories now showing me a very big fish to fry.”

“Need any help?” Cordelia asked.

“No, this isn’t a demon-related crime.  Normal humans did it.  So, it’s my job, not yours.”

Before Cordelia could proceed, Faith appeared running.

“I heard from security that you were here. What happened, Boytoy? Who’s the girl?” the Slayer asked.  Xander gave her a brief rundown on what had happened.

“Need any help to bash some heads, Xan?”

“No, Faith.  You’re the Slayer, demons are your calling, not humans.  As I said to Cordy here, this one’s all mine, I don’t want you falling into this.”

Fatih gave him a small nod, both pissed and relieved at the same time.  If possible, she would never harm another human being.  Ever.

“Sorry about cutting our fun time short, hon.  I’ll make it up to you,” he said, hugging her.

“Don’t worry about that.  Just do what you have to do, and come back to me,” she said, returning the hug, and kissing him fiercely.  Cordelia, surprisingly, remained silent in all that.

“I will,” he said, and ran away, going back to fetch his bike.

“Good hunting,” Faith said as he disappeared from view.  She could still listen to his feet hitting the ground at an impressive rate.

“Ditto,” Cordelia said, and looked to her.  “So, what did you two horny bugs had planned?” she asked, changing the mood completely.

“Wouldn’t you want to know?” Faith said, with a smirk in her face.

*****

Xander grabbed his bike and ran back home, not even bothering to check the alley.  A few minutes inside, and another man, dressed entirely in black, walked out of the door, face painted in a pattern that reminded a clown, only darker, more evil, and carrying a sheathed Japanese sword in his right hand.  He went to the roof of the building, a man walking with so many guns strapped to his body and the sword would definitely call all sorts of unwanted attention on the streets below.  Once he reached the roof, the black bird was already there waiting for him.

“Go.”

The bird flew away, and he ran to the edge of the roof, at the last moment his legs propelled him to the other side of the street, the flaps of his coat making him look like an even larger bird of prey.

The Crow was on the hunt.

*****

Almost an hour later, Xander arrived at the place he had on his stolen memories.  From what he could gather from the girl and the two rapists, she was a runaway, and until some time ago she worked as a slave in the place in front of him, on the other side of the street, a dope house.  She managed to run away one day, and the three thugs were sent to get her back and teach her a ‘lesson’, until Xander intervened.

The roof he was in had a straight view from the warehouse, a three-story building with a front entrance on top of a small set of stairs, and a side entrance big enough for a small truck to park in.  To the right side of the warehouse was an old building, only two stories, full of graffiti paintings and a small gang of thugs sitting on the front steps.  To the left, another warehouse, apparently empty.  He knew that he had four spots to attack before the main event, so he got to business straight away.

Xander could simply walk trough the front door and deal his own type of lesson, but he knew that there were other kids inside, being used to mix and turn the raw materials into street merchandise, so he had to be a little subtle.  First, the guards.

He broke the stairway’s door with a single kick, and walked down, the crow staying behind checking the street.  Top floor, apartment 4-C.  The door was open, a thug was standing there, away from the other occupant’s view, smoking a joint, a shotgun almost forgotten at his side.  He noticed Xander too late, a dagger hit him straight in the neck, silencing him and killing him at the same time.  Before he fell to the ground, the Crow grabbed him, depositing him silently to a side, and he removed the dagger, cleaning it in a clear piece of his blood-stained sweatshirt.  He left the shotgun where it stood, and glued himself to the side of the door, removing a small mirror from one of the pockets of his coat.  Using the mirror, he managed to spot two other men inside, one sitting on a couch watching TV, the other checking the warehouse over the window to the living room.  He couldn’t let them sound the alarm and put the kids in danger, so he had to do it silently.  Storing the mirror again, he stepped to the door, arms extended.  A crossbow quarrel shot from each one of his arms, one hitting couch-guy in the neck, the other in window-guy’s right eye.  Window-guy stood as he were, the window holding his body in almost the same position.  In the dark, no one would notice a thing until it was too late.  Good.

Xander then noticed movement with the corner of his eye, hand instantly flying to the insides of his coat.  With a single motion, he unsheathed the ancient katana, and in a continuous motion, he struck upward, making a hand holding a gun detach itself from the rest of the body of the last thug.  He moved one step forward before the downward stroke, and with the added reach, he struck, effectively cutting the guy in /half/.  He flung the sword expertly, cleaning it of the blood with the movement, and sheathed it again.

One point dealt with.  Three to go.

*****

Second spot was easier, only one guy, in the building right to the side of the one Xander was in.  The Crow jumped from one roof straight to the fire escape ladder attached to the building’s side.  He climbed at a quick pace and stopped at the edge of the roof, ordering Blackie to do a quick sweep of it.  The large bird saw the man sitting at a chair, eyes checking a Playboy magazine, an M-16 at his side, and headphones stuck to his head.  Xander shook his head, what the fuck did the guy he was guarding?  If someone decided to strike the factory, he would only notice it if the place exploded with an atom bomb.  He climbed the rest of the steps, and approached the sitting duck from the back.  He grabbed the guy’s head, and twisted.

He spared a moment to check the centerfold dead guy was looking, and climbed down to street level.

*****

Spots three and four were the hardest, but if he did it right, he would only need to strike one of them, and the other one he could bother after he freed the kids.

So, he ran back, away from the warehouse, and did a wide circle, going through side streets until he had managed to appear right on the side of the rightmost building, where the street gang made their spot, right on the building’s steps.

Blackie once again took flight, checking the gang.  Eight members, some automatics clearly on display.  The space in between buildings was dark.  The only illumination was provided by a single lamp.  Xander looked around, and finding the right spot, he hid himself, and with a small rock and some good aim, the lamp shattered, making some noise.

As predicted, gang leader sent two members to check it out.  With a lot of cursing and bravado, they entered the alley, guns on their hands.  But, as almost any gang, the foot soldiers were just older kids, that banded together to do stupid things.  So, the bravado died as soon as they entered the darkness, and knuckles went white with fear.  Xander, dressed all in black, was virtually invisible, hidden behind a dumpster, katana drawn and resting over his bent legs.  The thugs passed him, walking to the back of the building.  Xander stood up and walked to their backs, and in a swift motion, two heads rolled.  He hid the bodies inside the dumpster, leaving the heads on display right in the middle of the alley.

It didn’t take long, gang leader, seeing the delay, sent four thugs this time, leaving just him and his lieutenant to ‘guard’ the factory.  The thugs entered the alley, guns pointed.  But this time, one of them was smarter than average, and decided to check Xander’s hiding spot.

He saw the white face and froze for a moment, and the last thing he saw was the moon reflecting on something metallic, and his world went black.

The three remaining ones were close enough, so Xander sprung out from his spot like a coiled tiger, sword flashing in two figures eight.  Heads and hands holding guns fell to the ground, no sound being emitted.

Now the clock was ticking, the plan wouldn’t work for a third time.  Xander sheathed the sword once again and ran to the mouth of the alley, checking his wrist crossbows.  Blackie showed the two last thugs looking worried, hands on the triggers.  The Crow formulated a plan, it would be risky both to him and the bird, but he had to distract those two for a few seconds.

The bird made a low pass on the other side of the street, calling the attention of the thugs, and then he made a wide curve, coming back in their direction.  The duo pointed their guns at him, and he passed a couple feet in front of them, going the other direction, away from where Xander was.  The heads followed, and that was their mistake.

The Crow jumped from the alley, wrist crossbows pointed, and with two silent motions, two heads now sprouted two long appendages from the back.

Xander ran past them and went straight to the front door of the warehouse, the sword in his hand once again.  He kicked the door in, and not even the reinforced framework held under his supernatural strength.  The guard sitting right behind the door took a foot of steel through his heart even before he managed to lift his gun halfway.  With the map of the place on his head, he ran to the back room where the slaves mixed the dope, one hand with the sword and the other now holding one of his automatics.  Another thug guarded the door, armed with an Uzi, and as soon as he saw Xander appear in the corridor, he pressed the trigger, discharging a lethal volley of 9 mm slugs on the crammed space, almost all of them hitting the Crow dead on.

It had absolutely no effect, except to piss him off.  Xander lifted his own gun, shooting the guy twice, once in the head, once center mass, splattering blood and brains all over the steel door on his back.  The supernatural warrior searched the dead weight, finding a keychain with two keys in it, and he used them to open the door.  What he saw inside made his blood boil.

Children, ten of them, around seven to twelve from the looks of it, some of them sporting huge bruises and others had some burn marks, but the distant looks from them pictured an even worse story.  They were mixing cocaine, and none were using masks.  They were being doped and poisoned at the same time.

Vengeance screamed inside of him anew.  He heard the crow caw in his mind.  /They/ /will/ /PAY!/

He spared a moment to check if there was another entry point available for anyone, but aside from the door he has guarding, there was none. And lucky him, someone had soundproofed the room. So, the kids would be safe in there for the time being, and the room had enough evidence on it to make the cops extremely happy.

He walked out and locked the door, guarding the keys with him, and he started searching.  He did not have to search much or wait too long, the gunfire brought all of the remaining dealers from their hideouts.  First one to appear got two shots, one in his right knee, and other in his liver.  Liver shots were deadly, if not treated on time, and with the extra loss from the destroyed knee, guy was fifteen minutes away from a painful death.

Second one, right behind him, got his gun arm severed at almost the shoulder, and another knee shot.

Xander could be merciful and end all of them quickly enough, but as soon as he had opened that door, all mercy had flown out of the window.

He would kill them all, oh yes, but it would be /painful/.

*****

Twelve bastards later and Xander was approaching the last door on the warehouse, the screams of pain and mercy at his back creating a horrendous symphony of vengeance.  One guard at the door, two shots from him, two from Xander, the first having no effect, the latter sending the guy to the ground without a knee and having blasted a large piece of muscle and severing the femoral artery.

The Crow kicked the door in, the boss was behind a turned desk with a double barreled shotgun.  He unloaded both shots at the same time, hitting the Sunnydaler right in the middle of the chest, blowing away his heart, lungs, and creating a lot of collateral damage.  Xander fell back a couple feet, his body shutting down to repair itself.

The boss was a man named Jeckle.  He had a rap sheet longer than a soccer field, going from simple things like shoplifting to attempted murder, but the unsolved crimes that had his name attached to them would triple the size of the sheet.  He was a sadistic bastard, but he was smart, and he had a lot of contacts.  And he had seen a lot of shit during his years, but nothing like the clown who had decimated his entire gang in a single go.

Fucking bastard.

Jeckle threw the emptied shotgun away, and grabbed his .45, walking slowly to where the guy had fell, weapon pointed to him the entire time.  Step by step he approached, and now he had a clear view from the clown’s painted face, his shirt destroyed from the shots, showing a lot of . . . clear skin?

“Hi there.”

Jeckle’s mind forgot for a moment that he was armed and holding a gun in his hand.  It was more than time enough for Xander.  The katana flashed for the last time, cutting a low arc that hit the drug dealer in the hand holding the gun and stopped right in his spine.

Xander removed the sword and the boss fell down, bleeding profusely from his wrist and trying to hold his intestines in.  The Crow grabbed his head, and the tact telepathy acted again.

Xander actually smiled with the info he got, and he sent back all the pain and fear he collected from the girl and the two thugs he killed in the alley.  The guy wouldn’t last long, but his last minutes alive would be triple hell.

Perhaps as a taste of what he would see in the afterlife.

*****

Xander came down the stairs, after sparing some time collecting the cash they had stored in a vault and throwing it in a bag he found, and he was promptly intercepted by another five gang members, probably the guys from the other warehouse, point number four.  He stopped right in the middle of the stairs, his torn and bloodstained clothes showing the fuckers that they weren’t dealing with something normal, like cops.

“I will give you five seconds to run, and then I’m going to start hunting you.  One . . .”

They didn’t even stop to think, turning tails and running away.  The Crow drew one of his automatics, and pointed.

“You know, I hate running,” and he pulled the trigger five times, “and I hate hunting running vermin.”

*****

The Crow left the warehouse behind, his symbol painted in the front door in blood, the kids still locked in the soundproofed room, the key dangling from the one of the, and a telephone out of the cradle, with a police attendant on the other side, listening to the moans and screams of the dying men spread around the rest of the building.

He fished his still working cell phone from his pants’ pocket and hit one of the speed dials.

“Chase.”

“Wanna spend some of those taxpayers’ money in something useful?”

“What?”

“Meet me at this address,” he said, and blurted out a place from his last stolen memories.  ”Bring Faith and a team with you.”

“We don’t deal with humans, dweeb,” she said.

“Who said anything about humans?” he replied.

“. . .”

“My thoughts exactly,” Xander replied to the sudden silence.  “And Cordy, could you please bring me a black t-shirt? Mine is somewhat torn,” he said, while ripping the remaining pieces of cloth from him.

The reply made him shut the phone with a laugh.