TITLE: ONE LAST APOCALYPSE – CHAPTER 2
Author: PhenDog ( phendog@hotmail.com )

A/Ns: Thank you for the feedback and reviews! It was because of the terribly enthusiastic response that this second chapter wrote itself so quickly even when RL was trying to keep me busy. See? F/B does pay off!

Special thanks go to ElizaBuffy who provides constant distraction…I mean, um, friendship! Stay away from the Bangel fic! Don't make me come over there…Anyway, Give Sassy my regards, and remember to tell the vet "no scruffing."

Also to Susi for a fabulous job of catching all my canon errors (about 7 of them wasn't it?) and making me lose all faith in Buffy's love life once more by teaching me that, no the Immortal is not just a demon, he is also another damn vampire…not to mention breaking my heart over the fact that Amanda from s7 died—a fact I had mentally blocked out. But you just had to re-open the wound.

And to Kim, for finding my little tribute the X-men and chewing me out once more about killing off Angel. Hope Florida's going well! I'm unbelievably jealous…

To everyone who read this fic before posting…Yes, I know it's Rona… thank you ALL for catching that. *LOL*

This chapter is mostly exposition like the last. After this I'll start getting everyone together in one place.

Final note: If anyone cares, you'll notice that I'm no longer using GMT on my time stamps and have switched to UST. It's due to the problems caused by daylight savings time…(which means if I go by Greenwich, I should probably have started out using Greenwich Summer Time (GST)…um, yeah) If you don't know the problem, don't worry about it…GMT (Greenwich Mean) and UST (Universal Standard) are, for the purposes of this fic, the same thing.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Buffy, AtS or anything else except my beloved computer named "Slate." (Obviously I don't own them, or I'd own a lot more than Slate and you'd have to pay to read this.) The Buffyverse belongs to Joss, ME (yes I know, old joke), and a whole bunch of alphabetical TV networks, `specially now that it's gone into syndication. Please don't sue, I know I don't have permission. Bad me. All my money went to bootleg X-files and Buffy episodes and Slate doesn't want to leave me!

So, anyway, now for even more:

Private Residence of Rupert Giles
Bath, England, 19/05/04
12:52:08 PM local time/ 11:52:08 UST

"Yes, sir. Thank you, and I'll let you know as soon as I do."

"I'd like to call Ted Randall myself, but I'm guessing the man's rather busy, just as you are, Rupert," came the response. "Still, I'll need to offer whatever we can in the way of aid…though I rather believe your sort of assistance would be far more valuable than anything Parliament can offer. Officially, anyway."

Giles swore under his breath as he heard the heard the call-waiting tone. His private line had been ringing earlier, but he'd ignored it. Unfortunately, this was his official line through the Council, and, given the current crisis, Lord only knew who it might be that was trying to ring through.

At least his conversation with Prime Minister Patrick Langstrom had been drawing to an end. The exchange of information had gone much more smoothly than that with the American President earlier, due to the fact that at least the head of the British government knew exactly who the Council was, what they did, and, in fact, communicated with them on a regular basis. At first, Giles had been tempted to feel a bit snobbish about it, but then realized the reason his own government was well informed compared to that of the Americans, had a lot more to do with the efforts made by the Council rather than the respective governments themselves.

He'd made a mental note to himself to make that particular change during the restructuring process as well, before realizing just how much the world around them was changing. If they made it through the latest event, chances were that ALL of the various governments would be quite well informed of the demonic side of reality and the forces that held it back. Demons and magic would be nothing less than public knowledge, even if the Council by some chance managed a modicum of anonymity for itself…this was simply too large to cover up in any reasonable manner.

He heard the tone again, and it jerked him back to the present reality. "Patrick? I'm very sorry, but I've got an incoming call I'm going to have to take. Er, I could put you on hold if you'd like to continue this?" he offered, vaguely appalled at the idea of doing so to the Prime Minister. However, there simply wasn't a better solution.

"Understood," the Prime Minister replied. "But don't bother. At the moment your time is more important than mine, I rather believe. Just call me back whenever you have anything new you think I ought to know. And…good luck."

Giles thanked him, knowing that they'd probably need as much in the way of luck as they could get, then switched over to the other call. "Hello?"

"Chairman Giles…thank God! This is John Cummings down at headquarters; Chairman Parks wanted me to get a hold of you…hang on. Let me tell him I've got you and put you through."

Giles growled slightly at the thought of hanging up on Langstrom just to be put on hold, but knew that if Terry was doing as he'd asked, the man was probably rather busy as well. He was pleased to find he only had a few seconds to wait, until a weary voice came on the line.

"Sorry…hang on a sec…" there was a sound of rustling papers. "Okay."

"Terry? What's going on?"

"God, I wish you were here."

Giles shook his head, thinking the same thing. Unfortunately, that morning he hadn't bothered to make the two to three hour drive in traffic, nor had he wanted to allow himself to be jostled on the public train to go all the way to headquarters and do work that could just as easily be accomplished in the comfort of his own flat. Now…he simply didn't have time. These weren't the kind of calls that could be handled during a commute. "Regardless," he prompted, "how are things coming together?"

On the other end, Terry realized that even though it wasn't the reason he'd been trying to reach Giles, he might as well take the opportunity to give an update. "I've phoned the international covens and mage guilds who've promised to contact everyone else. They'll send as many magicworkers as possible to California. Robin's aware of what's going on and will find a way to get down there, either with his Slayers in tow or else following close behind. He said he can act as supervisor down there until one of us shows up if we need him to, so long as we tell him what to do."

When Terry mentioned Wood acting as a temporary supervisor at the gathering site, Giles winced, though he knew it had been partially due to his own suggestion. Nevertheless, Robin Wood was the physically closest person they had who might serve in that capacity. Perhaps Giles had been willing to let Robin lead the large group of Slayers over the Cleveland Hellmouth; still, he didn't know if the man was qualified for the massive task that faced them now. Then he remembered that Robin Wood had also acted as principal of Sunnydale High, and realized that if he could handle that, he could probably deal with some witches and sorcerers for a little while as well.

"Meanwhile, the Scryers are trying to assess just how bad the situation is, and I think they've got one of the local covens working on it too, though we're trying to see if we can't get reports from closer in where they might be more accurate and informative. I know there's a west coast guild that's got some fairly powerful members. Michael's on that. Then I've got everyone else in the office working on tracking down anyone else on the fringe…." he trailed off thinking. "Er, yes, that's it…all we've had time for so far, I think."

Setting down the pen with which he'd been taking notes, Giles nodded to himself, glad the man was efficient in crisis. Terry Parks had been excited to be elevated to his post as co-Chairman—a title he had earned for his intelligence as much as his enthusiasm—but he was fresh, and Giles knew this was probably his first real test. He thought he might as well give a little encouragement. "Thank you. Better than I expected actually. You're doing quite well."

"Thank you, sir. Perhaps…anyway, all that is important, but it's only part of the reason I called." Giles heard Terry's voice trail off slightly, as the man considered what he was going to say next, now a little embarrassed for having phoned.

"You said you wanted to speak to Buffy yourself? I recall you made a specific point out of it. Well, anyway, she wants to talk to you, too…and only to you. She's been calling, and she's fairly insistent. I was wondering what you'd like me to do?"

Giles briefly debated with himself, knowing that, really, he shouldn't be taking the time for Buffy at the moment. But, it was true that he had wanted to be the one to talk to her, explain the situation, and make sure that she wouldn't be drafted into the whole nightmare against her will. He hadn't, however, expected her to call the Council on her own, and had thought he would have the opportunity to wait and talk to her when he found the time. If she was calling headquarters though…at least it meant she knew what was going on. Very likely at least some of the calls he'd ignored on his private line earlier had been from her.

"Do you still have her on one of the lines?"

"Yes…"

"Put her through."

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1592 S. Westchester Ave. – Private Residence of Cyvus Vail
Los Angeles, California, USA 19/05/04
4:54:12 AM local time/ 11:54:12 UST

Wesley sat up. He felt his stomach lurch with the sudden movement, but even as the nausea arose, it was quickly overcome and shoved aside. It was then he realized that aside from that, he felt just fine—physically strong and better than he had in quite some time.

The ex-Watcher pulled his knees to his chest and looked briefly around, trying to assess his situation. Wherever he was, it wasn't a place he was overly familiar with, but it did seem, for whatever reason, to be a place he ought to remember. The walls were painted a dark, rich red and were highlighted by mounted museum style lighting on the wall. White ionic columns rose from the floor and met the ceiling in each of the corners. The furniture was sparse, but what there was of it was massive and wooden in an impressively masculine style. Above the table that was clearly the focal point of the room hung a massive crystal chandelier that again bespoke power and wealth. It was a dining room, certainly, but one that was meant to suggest dominance.

Wesley also found himself noticing the red and white marble floor, but more because it was rather uncomfortable to lie on, than for any other reason. It was not only painfully hard, but felt astonishingly cool in the otherwise warm room.

He shifted slightly, turning at the waist to take more of it in, and realized that his shirt felt itchy and stiff against his skin. Quickly, he shrugged out of the leather jacket and looking down at the dark material of the black turtleneck to see the even darker stain spread across it and the tear where… This time when the nausea came, it did so violently and suddenly. He retched, bringing up foamy bile, until his sides ached, and he had to heave to draw in the air. He could remember the feel of it, the achingly cold metal that had been lodged in his gut. When it had slipped in, there was only the feel of surprise and the odd sensation of invasion as it pushed past the slight resistance of his flesh and innards to penetrate. Wide-eyed, he'd looked up at the ancient impassionate face of his attacker. Then the red demon, Cyvus Vail, had leered and twisted. That's when the pain had come, even as Wesley had made one last attempt to attack with what remained of his energy, but it wasn't near enough and had done no appreciable damage to his enemy as he, himself, collapsed.

He remembered dying. He remembered the cold and numbness that had spread to burn away the pain, making him shiver in her arms even as she held him and warmed him with the sound of her voice, talking him into oblivion. That confused him, because it was a memory he couldn't possibly have on so many levels. First, if he had died, why was he here? Secondly, Fred had died weeks before that night had ever occurred—a painful truth that haunted his existence—and therefore the memory couldn't be real, no matter how it felt. That didn't confuse him half as much as what else he remembered, however. He remembered being the one who held himself in his arms, watching his face covered in the blood that crusted it even now. He recalled staring up in the final moments, and the feeling of admiration and anger tinged with the slightest feeling of compassion. This was all overlaid on an incomprehensible alien surface he couldn't begin to understand.

Nervously, he gathered the courage to lift the shirt, letting his fingers find the spot unerringly and gingerly test the flesh. The skin was unbroken and unmarred even by a scar, evidence that countered his torn and stained clothing, suggesting it hadn't really happened; though he knew with unwavering conviction that it had.

Uncertain of what had occurred to bring this about or how he even felt about it, Wesley pushed himself up and stood, glad this time his stomach didn't turn treacherously on him again. He remained cautiously silent, fearing that he might draw the attention of Vail once more, and knowing that he was likely just as powerless to defend himself this time as he had been before.

Then, his eyes fell on the corpse. He was overtaken with the image of delivering the blow that had literally demolished that leering head with his bare fist in an inhuman show of force. This time, he didn't bother to question the memory and just accepted that his enemy was dead. Knowing that at least allowed him to wander about in this second life with less trepidation.

The mansion was eerily silent as he walked up its stairs and through its halls. Wesley vaguely wondered where Vail's servants had gone; it was possible that they had fled after the death of their master. Nonetheless, the thought of meeting up with one or more of them caused him to arm himself from the various weapons displays along the walls.

At last he found himself in a bedroom with heavy black curtains and a garishly ornate four-post bed. It demanded attention, and briefly he took in the headboard with its oak and ebony inlay depicting demonic sacrifices and rivers of blood—something very fitting to Vail's tastes, he was quite certain. It was almost hypnotic, until he felt the mental alarm, and wrenched his sight away.

Curious, he walked over to the window and drew aside the heavy brocade. The first thing he noticed was that the sun was just rising, and he squinted painfully while his eyes adjusted. Then, he saw the reality of what was greeting his gaze in the city below and found himself wondering if he might not still be dead after all. Certainly, if he was, he hadn't gone to heaven.

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Private Residence of Rupert Giles
Bath, England, 19/05/04
12:59:36 PM local time/ 11:59:36 UST

"Oh God, Giles!" His long familiarity with her voice could already sense the slight frantic edge that nipped at her otherwise controlled tone. "What the heck is going on? `Cause I just saw on TV that `hell on earth' isn't just a saying anymore."

"Buffy," he said, using her name to ground her slightly. "No, it isn't. It's looking as though this time the situation isn't good at all, but please, tell me what you've heard."

Buffy outlined a brief synopsis of the CNN report. "And I can't reach Angel, Giles! Or any of the others, either. I tried calling, but…I'm afraid something might have happened to them!"

Giles sighed. He'd hoped to be the one to tell her, knowing her thoughts would inevitably go to Angel and his friends in Los Angeles. He hadn't initially been certain whether or not to tell her what he knew about what had caused the current situation, aware that even if he didn't, she'd probably find out sooner or later. Knowing that, he made his decision.

"Buffy, I…I don't know if they made it or not, but…it looks as though it's very possible they might not have. They targeted a rather large and powerful group and, somehow, either directly or indirectly, they managed to tear the dimensional fabric. I received a phone call earlier today…"

On the other end of the phone, Buffy listened quietly, her stomach clenching with fear at each sentence. The footage on CNN had been shocking, but this was Giles, and she knew that whatever he said was very likely true. Lorne had thought they might all be dead…and probably was himself. She found her throat constricting and a hard pain growing in her chest at the thought, as her thumb absently stroked the handset of the phone. After returning from the hell of Acathala to which she herself had sent him, she had come to think Angel would be around forever—at least to the point of outlasting her.

Giles heard her silence and paused. "Are you alright, Buffy? I know it's a lot to take in…"

Long ago, she'd realized that any chance of a romantic relationship with the vampire was doomed, but that didn't mean that deep down inside she didn't still care what happened to him. "Yeah. Just a little shocked, you know? Angel…" Knowing her Watcher's feelings on the matter of the vampire, even though he tried to hide them from her, she started to babble. "I mean, I know the term star-crossed was made for us…so that's not it. It's just, I mean, what if he is? Gone, I mean. And Wes, and, um, all the rest. I've met them a few times, and—"

Well, she was taking it better than she could have, he supposed. The guilt that had haunted him for the better part of the year returned, and he found himself suddenly wishing someone had told her of Spike's resurrection. Instead, they'd respected both the vampire's wishes and their own and had managed to hide his presence from her. Andrew had said she hadn't even known about Spike and Angel's recent visit to Rome. Certainly, now that it was very likely too late, she'd take it harder when she found out. Now, however, with everything else, he was glad it was one less thing for her to deal with. He looked down and realized he was polishing his glasses as he talked into the phone. "Yes. It is rather, er, sudden, I'm afraid. Unfortunately, at the moment all we can do is wait, and hope for the best."

"Yeah." She paused, and then asked, her voice tiny, "Giles? What's going to happen now?"

Briefly, he outlined his plan and told her about his morning.

Suddenly, she interrupted him. "The President? The President took your call, and actually spoke to you and stuff?"

He chuckled slightly. "Well, I AM more or less the head of the Council now, you know. All things considered, whose calls would you prefer he be taking?"

"Yeah, I mean it's definitely a good thing that you're in charge of all this, but, um, wow?"

"Yes, well…" he finished his quick update. "Hopefully, we can erect some sort of barrier around the city for now—keep it from spreading. Unfortunately, it won't hold forever, and at some point, we're going to have to think of how else to handle the actual problem."

"Um, I know they aren't exactly our usual weapons, but I'm thinking nuclear weapons are sounding real good right about now."

"Randall…sorry, President Randall suggested the same once I managed to convince him the city might be beyond saving. I told him it was out of the question. The effect such a thing could have on an already existing tear…" Giles shook his head even though he knew she couldn't see it. "We can't risk it."

"So you're calling in all the Slayers, aren't you?" she asked. "Bringing them all to California, too? With everyone else?"

He hesitated, knowing he was going to have to address what her own part in it would be. "Yes. Most of them, anyway."

"If the TV even showed the half of it, it's going to be a big fight. A lot of them aren't going to make it."

"No, probably not," he agreed quietly.

"I want to be there," she stated unequivocally.

Giles started. It wasn't what he had been expecting. "Buffy, I can't ask that of you!"

"But you're asking everyone else?"

There was a challenge in her tone, and Giles sought to defuse any impression he might have given her that she wouldn't have anything to contribute. "It's not that…it's just that you've done so much for humanity already. You've been in so many battles and given so much…too much. You're finally starting to have a life that doesn't center around slaying, and I want that for you. A lot of people are going to be drafted into this fight, whether they want to be or not. It isn't fair, and it isn't right, but that's just the way it is. " The tone grew shy. "But you…if anyone's earned the right to say `no,' you have, Buffy. I've asked you to fight too many times, and now that there are others…they can't replace you, but they make it so that I don't have to ask you again. And I won't."

"Well, then there's no problem. You didn't ask. I offered. This IS my fight. Those were my friends that caused it, and I want to be there to see it through. Besides, yeah, okay so I saved the world a bunch of times. What's the point if it ends now? I think I'm up to stopping one last apocalypse. Or at least offering back-up."

Her blunt logic almost made him smile in spite of himself, even though it would have been a smile tinged with melancholy. He was tempted to argue, but recognized the edge to her voice that meant it was a fight he couldn't win. "Alright. One last apocalypse for the both of us, then. I'll make the arrangements and have someone send you the information on when your flight leaves later today, with an extra ticket or two if you need it, so get ready; Andrew and his Slayers can come up later."

There was another pause, and his voice changed slightly. "I always knew I could never ask you to fight if you really didn't want to. It seems the opposite is true as well…just remember, I didn't see you go through so much just to see you die now, Buffy. I don't know how else to put that."

Her voice was hard. "Don't worry about it. It happens." She paused. He could almost hear her add, `but if it does, don't let them bring me back again,' and he shivered, positive that the words in his head matched her thoughts exactly. It was a promise he'd made to her before their fight against the First, and he knew he'd keep that promise no matter what it did to him.

"Are you going to California, too? How about the others?" she asked.

"Very likely I will be, yes. Robin and Faith are on their way. Willow will be there as well, and I know Xander will be asked to bring the Slayers he's gathered."

"Okay. I know you've got better things to do than talk to me right now, anyway, but thanks. And…and you'll let me know if you hear anything? About the others?" she asked anxiously.

"Of course," he assured.

"Okay. Bye, Giles. See ya in California."

She hung up, and he found himself saying farewell to a dial tone.

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Temporary Slayer Training Camp
Kjandi Village, Namibia, 19/05/04
1:17:18 PM local time/ 12:17:18 UST

Keri rolled her eyes at Sami and Jessica as their instructor, Vi Laskin, pointed to a diagram of a Krall demon and outlined its vulnerable spots and how it could be killed. The physical lessons and practice training were interesting enough, but the more mundane parts of being a Slayer could be far more boring. After learning about several hundred demon species, they all started to look the same.

Vi caught the looks that were being passed by the group of Slayers- in-training, who sat on the grass beneath the sparse trees that shaded their makeshift classroom, and crossed her arms as she spoke up. "Hey, guys! This stuff is important, even if it doesn't seem like it now. What happens if you actually meet a Krall and can't kill it, because you don't know its heart is in its left thigh?"

"Have you ever fought a Krall?" Keri asked pointedly, crossing her own arms and staring directly at the girl who was actually a few months younger than she herself was.

"No…" Vi frowned thoughtfully as she was forced to admit it. "But if I did, I'd be a lot better prepared than you." When she had volunteered to track down Slayers in Africa with Xander, she'd thought the correspondence courses to continue her schooling would be the worst part. She hadn't counted on the fact that half of the girls wouldn't speak English, or that the mosquitoes would be the size of smaller rodents…not to mention what the rodents were like. The worst part turned out to be the boredom, though. Aside from the occasional tribal deity, Africa wasn't exactly the demonic hot spot it once had been. The cities were too small and far apart; modern demons seemed to prefer civilization and nightlife to political unrest. They found it more entertaining, and seemed to believe it offered a greater chance for chaos. On her own, Vi wouldn't have found the dearth to be a problem, but trying to entertain a group of Slayers who, though excited about their new roles, were rapidly growing restless, was getting old quickly. At the moment, there were sixteen of them.

"When do we get to fight real demons?" Jessica asked. Although she was a shy girl, Jessica's eyes always lit up at the mention of actual battle, which worried Vi slightly. The girl's parents were nature photographers and hadn't wanted to give her up. Vi had the feeling that up until this point, she'd lived a pretty sheltered life and was eager for the chance at something different from constant years of living in an RV and taking pictures of giraffes.

"How `bout, when we get see real demons?" Uhra, one of the recruits from an African farming family, asked in her broken, rhythmic English. In the entire time in Africa, there had only been four incidents which required Slayer response, and, as a result, some of the girls had never actually even had a chance to think about using their new skills.

"I—"

"Sooner than you'll want to," Xander interrupted Vi as she sought an answer. He'd walked up from behind without her noticing, catching the Slayers' attention immediately. Some of them admired him, some them feared him a little bit, but all of them respected the man with one eye who was unquestionably the leader of their little group. "I just had a long chat with one of my friends, and we're going to America. All of us, and I assure you there will be enough demons to satisfy all of you. Pack up the camp, then we're gonna go fly out of Windhoek. Questions later; now go!" he barked, and they obeyed.

Only Vi and Xander remained while the others scattered. Rona, the other member of their group who had actually lived through the final battle in Sunnydale, walked up to join them. The look on her face mirrored Xander's exactly, and it was apparent she'd been privy to whatever he'd learned.

"What's going on?" Vi asked nervously.

"We get to stop being summer camp counselors for one thing," Rona responded, before Xander had a chance to start.

"It's bad. Willow contacted me, and apparently there's something really big happening in L.A…"

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Via Corrienne 135
Rome, Italy, 19/05/04
2:41:12 PM local time/ 12:41:12 UST

"Buffy!" Dawn announced as she blew in the door. A rumpled looking Buffy came into the main room of the apartment and was quickly wrapped in a hug. "I stayed to watch the President, then came right home."

"Dawn," Buffy breathed, holding her sister tight and suddenly realizing that she'd have to figure out what to do with Dawn. Asking the Immortal to care for her didn't really seem like the best option.

"Did you see it? They…they're telling people to leave if they can, and then they're going to seal off the city somehow— "

Dawn was babbling, so Buffy cut her off. "No, I didn't see it, but I talked to Giles. It's pretty bad, Dawn. He's calling together everyone he can, and then they're all going to go down to California."

"And you? Are you going, too?"

"Yes…and Andrew if he wants, and all the Slayers he's been working with."

"I'm coming with you." Dawn said it as a statement, not a question, setting her mouth in a firm line and knowing what was coming.

Buffy turned to her. "You most certainly are not!"

"Am so! I'm seventeen years old, Buffy! You were killing vampires two years before you were ever that old!"

"And I'd died once by the time I was that old, too—and I had superpowers."

"That is so not fair. I'm sick of everybody treating me like I'm just ordinary! I'm not totally helpless. You sent me away during the battle with the First, remember? And I came back…AND I survived. You need to give me a chance once in a while. I want to do this."

Buffy stared her down as both sisters stood as mirror images, chins out and arms folded defiantly across their chests. "But I don't want this FOR you. I told you before that being a Slayer isn't fun; it's like a curse. It's something you DON'T want. So just…STOP WANTING IT. I don't want to have to watch out for you there, and worry about you, and then see you killed!"

"It's my planet, too. Don't you think I care if people live or die? Okay, so maybe I can't fight like you and the others, but I can still do whatever I can to help out. Don't I get that choice? I kinda like the world too, you know. Don't I get the choice to fight for it? Xander doesn't have any superpowers either, but he gets invited to the battles. Andrew does too, for crying out loud! And I am SO much better at fighting and researching and everything else than Andrew. You can either let me fight with you or on my own, but you can't stop me either way. And for the record? I don't want to watch you die again, either."

Buffy's face was burning with anger and frustration as she continued to glare directly into her sister's steady glance, but finally she broke and turned away. "Okay, squirt. Go pack. We're leaving in a few hours."

Dawn didn't say a word and just nodded before she turned to her room and started pulling out clothes.

Buffy pushed open the door of the room she shared with the Immortal in the apartment that was in his name to begin with. "You heard that, I suppose?"

"Yes. Your sister is very brave, but then she has been for as long as I've known her."

"Too brave…sometimes it's hard to tell the difference between bravery and stupidity."

"Sometimes." He smiled slightly, but Buffy wasn't sure why as she continued to arrange toiletries, picking up where she'd left off when her sister arrived. At least packing would be easy. Their escape from Sunnydale hadn't left any of them with much in the way of personal possessions, and in the year since, she hadn't acquired that many more that she cared enough about to take with. Her only complaint was that her weapons would have to be packed away. The airline would most likely frown on the idea of her carrying them on. Of course wooden stakes could still be conveniently tucked away…

She turned to him, even as she made a messy semblance of folding another shirt and tucked it in the suitcase with the others. "You wouldn't want to come with, too, would you?"

He shrugged and smiled sadly. "I'm afraid you don't get to be called `Immortal' if you get yourself killed."

Buffy looked up for a moment, "True. Just as you don't get to be a Slayer if you don't at least try, apparently." Then she shoved away the moment of her anger that threatened. Giles was right; you could ask people to fight, even take them to the battle, but in the end, you couldn't force them to do anything against their wishes. Besides, although he might be a renowned lover and possessed many other fine talents as well, the Immortal wasn't a warrior and never had been. Even his small magic wasn't the type that would be useful for battle. The vampire's reputation might have seemed otherwise, but that was mostly due to the fact that he had always been good at hiring others to promote his image. In all actuality, his main role during his extended life had been simple hedonism and even occasional benevolence—part of the reason he'd managed to avoid dusting for so long. Her voice was kinder as she added, "Don't worry. I understand; you're not exactly the `grr arg' type. A lot of people who shouldn't be fighting aren't going to get the choice, but it's no more your battle than it is theirs."

"But you feel that it is yours?"

"Yes…that whole destiny thing." She reached a hand up to the better than human face and drew it down to her own as he readily captured her mouth, melding her lips to his.

The Immortal released her and ran his thumb across her neck, feather- light in the way he knew would make her shiver. "I shall remember you, Slayer. I've enjoyed your company quite a bit."

"Yeah, me too," Buffy said, allowing herself to smile up at him. "It was a lot of fun." It had been, too. After the wreck of her love life in Sunnydale, she hadn't realized just how refreshing such a casual relationship could be…and, if you were going to have a casual relationship with someone based entirely on fun and sex, there really wasn't anyone better than the Immortal.

He laughed musically. "Yes, most certainly. Perhaps if you survive this, and still aren't involved with anyone else?"

"I'll definitely look you up," Buffy promised. Then she grew serious again, as she remembered the reason she was leaving.

The Immortal watched her face and knew her thoughts. Placing a hand on her bare skin where her low neckline revealed much of her chest, he asked permission. "Let me do this for you one more time?"

Buffy nodded and cleared her mind, concentrating only on the feel of the vampire's touch. At first his skin had the typical vampire feeling of coolness against her own, but slowly, a heat seemed to form between them and sink into her, searing but comforting, cleansing her and burning away the worry and doubt to leave her with only the calm.

Finally, he withdrew as his hand, and she opened her eyes to see him smiling back as he spoke to her. "So much power. I shall miss that."

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Porter Apartment Complex – Main Entrance
Cleveland, Ohio, USA 19/05/04
8:52:44 AM local time/ 12:52:44 UST

"Okay, we all here?"

When Christi finished the count, she nodded, and Faith nodded back. The Slayers had been gathered.

"Good. You all saw the TV, and you know that's where we're going. Who's scared? Raise your hands."

Initially, no one did, then a single hand went up, and as the others looked around and saw it, a few more tentatively followed. Others resolutely kept their hands down, either more afraid of the brunette Slayer's reaction or truly unwilling to show fear. Faith waited until she was certain no more hands were going to go up.

"Right. So look around, and if you've got your hand raised, keep it there. See who has their hand up, and who doesn't. The ones with their hands up? They're the smart ones who might just make it through this, so I'd stick close to them, because the rest of you are gonna be lucky to make it past day one."

There were some startled looks, then the hands went down, and the girls started to talk before Wood interrupted them, and stepped up with a handful of plane tickets. "Everyone line up for boarding passes."

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Adicio Valens Mage Guild and Coven
Mendocino, California, USA 19/05/04
6:00:13 AM local time/ 13:00:13 UST

Alicia Thomas looked over at Jeremy and grinned as she pointed to the tiny fireball that floated above her other hand. He grinned back, and pointed at the yawning Kevin, sitting one row ahead of them in the assembly hall. She nodded, and with a flick of her fingers, sent it straight at the portion of his bottom that showed through the cutout in the back of the chair. It made a tiny hole in the jeans and burned the skin beneath.

Kevin yelped and looked around, shooting a glare as he noticed the two faces giggling behind him and trying to cover their laughter with their hands. "Hey! It's WAY too early for that crap! Cut it out."

"Don't swear, or I'll do it again," Alicia cautioned. Their parents were sitting nearby, and she knew that if they overheard, all of them would get in trouble.

"Ah, crap's not swearing! If I'd said shit, or fu—" he trailed off, then yelped again as a second fireball placed a minute burn right next to the first. "Hey, ow!" An adult shushed them.

The microphone at the front of the room squealed, and then the Preceptor began his speech to the gathered assembly, both young and old. "I know it's early for you, and not all of you might have turned on your radios or televisions when we woke up this morning, but there's a situation going on in Los Angeles, and we are the largest major guild nearby. Because of that, we are likely going to be heavily involved…"

Someone popped a videotape into the VCR in the back of the room, and the projector began to display a rebroadcast of the CNN footage, as silence fell on the room.

When it ended, discussion began immediately, and the Preceptor had to yell to call for silence. He then proceeded to outline the plan as it had been given to him by the Council representative. Finally, he drew to a close. "I can't, in good conscience, ask any of you to do this against your wishes, and I understand that many of us have families. Still, as this is so close to us, our choices are likely going to be to either participate, or prepare to flee until we know it's safe to return. Now I'll be asking for volunteers…"

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1592 S. Westchester Ave. – Private Residence of Cyvus Vail
Los Angeles, California, USA 19/05/04
6:12:19 AM local time/ 13:12:19 UST

Finding himself walking into a bathroom done handsomely in black marble and chrome, Wesley walked over to the toilet, closed the lid, and sat down, resting his head on his hands to think—or more accurately, to attempt to think clearly.

It was different than it had been before…before what? He struggled briefly to remember, and managed to push the mental haze aside. It was different than it had been before it had happened; before he'd died and woken up…different. He laughed at his inability to find another word, but `different' was, indeed, the one that seemed to fit the best, he decided. The rough sound of his chuckle echoed on the hard surfaces of the room, and, as it cracked, he found his thirst.

The moment he realized it, it grew, and he leaned over to turn on the faucet of the clawed bathtub that stood nearby, so close that he didn't even have to stand up. He cupped his hands and drank from them thirstily, slurping the water and licking his palms, until refilling them and doing it several times more. Then he scrubbed at his face and arms, using more of the water to try wash off the blood that was so thick it even caked his hair. Fortunately, the injuries that had caused the blood loss had been healed along with the wound that had been fatal.

At least it seemed he was safe for now, so long as he stayed in the house. For some reason, the demon hoards ran past it, wreaking destruction all around, but whenever he found a window and watched them, they slipped past the house as if failing to even notice its presence. It seemed that whatever other properties Cyvus Vail had imbued his property with, he'd made it demon-safe. It was highly intriguing that humans seemed capable of entering freely, but demons did not. It made him wonder about the politics of the situation, that Vail was apparently more afraid of his own kind—but then, humans were largely ignorant, while demons were disloyal and highly competitive. The larger and more powerful the target…

Nevertheless, knowing he was trapped didn't offer much in the way of comfort, particularly because it forced him to be alone with himself, which at the moment, he did not want to be. It was all so confusing, and he found himself fearing for his sanity. His mind, his recollection of his life until now, all seemed to be there— though perhaps a bit harder to access—but now he was no longer alone in his own head. Unfamiliar thoughts and memories occurred to him, triggered randomly in a way he could not control, and he could sense the other presences. Besides that part of him which he identified clearly as `Wesley,' there was a strong, cold, alien component that, for the moment, remained dormant. However, he sensed it would not always necessarily be so. He could recognize it, and call it `Illyria'—or at least a part of what had once been the god—even though he hadn't the faintest idea how that could be so. Then there was the smaller, weaker presence, barely there, that edged at his consciousness. He scarcely dared to believe, and the knowledge of what that presence represented pained him almost as much as it caused him to rejoice.

Still, it hurt. It felt like it was too much, like there wasn't room for it all. It would take a while to sort it out. In the meantime, he only fervently hoped not to trigger those other thoughts and memories, because it was all just far too overwhelming.

Wesley was shaken out of his reverie as he suddenly tensed, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He looked around momentarily before realizing that the feeling had nothing to do with anything perceived by his human senses; instead, something primal and deep down was warning him there was someone else in the house— someone who was coming closer. He carefully slid the sword he'd taken from the wall out of its sheath and held it ready in front of him as he stood up.

The door swung open smoothly on its hinges, and he had a moment of adrenaline as a figure appeared in the doorway. The scream that followed instants later ended abruptly, and there was a thud as a body dropped to the floor.

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