Author's note: This series takes place beginning in September 1985, in New York city. There have been two Slayers since Nikki Wood died in 1977 - this is the story of the second, Niki Valtaine. 'Episodes' are broken into four Acts.
Disclaimer: I own all original characters but none of the ones created by Joss Whedon & Co., nor do I own the concept or terminology.

Reckless: Season One

Abandon - Act 1

Niki danced the knife between her fingers, the tip striking only the table top, never touching flesh. She danced the knife faster as her annoyance grew. Addison was on with another one of his 'you're a disappointment' lectures.

"I simply cannot condone such reckless behavior and blatant disregard for my authority." He scowled, drawing his white bushy brows together. "Are you even listening to me?" he demanded, taking a step forward and snatching the knife from her skilled hands. "I'm talking about your attitude," he said vehemently, shaking the knife by the blade to emphasize. "This is exactly the problem. You don't care about your duty. You don't care about the Council's directives..." he turned away, exasperated, as she continued to ignore him. "You have a job to do!"

"I do my job," she said evenly. It was nothing but the truth and they both knew it.

"Yes, but you aren't taking it seriously," he snapped. "You aren't doing your job the way the Council has outlined!"

"Why don't you come out on patrol with me sometime and tell me then that I don't take my job seriously," she replied, just as harshly. "The Council isn't often cornered in a sewer with a pack of vamps, now are they?"

"The Council's sole responsibility," Addison lowered his tone, "is to ensure the protection of the innocent. You are their primary weapon in the fight against the forces of darkness. I don't think it's too much to ask that you comply with their recommendations."

"It's funny, I don't recall anyone ever asking me if I wanted to be the Council's tool." Niki stood abruptly from the kitchen table and began to pace the length of the small, adjoining living room. The apartment was a little cramped, yes, but she was rarely there anyway.

"You were chosen," Addison said losing all patience. "And we are not going to have that discussion again."

"Whatever," she shrugged, almost disappointedly, and turned for the door.

"Where do you think you're going?" he took a step to block her way, the knife still in his hand.

"Uh, vampires don't slay themselves," she raised an eyebrow, "unless the all-knowing Council finally has something interesting to tell me..."

Addison again blocked her attempt to exit. "You're going to see that man again, aren't you?" there was a contempt in his voice that only a Brit could pull off. "That small-claims lawyer, that married small-claims lawyer."

"Logan," she said simply. "No, I only see him Monday, Wednesday and Sundays," she added sarcastically. She really had intended to go find something to make dead. Vampire or not.

"I don't like you seeing him," Addison said bluntly. "He's a distraction and besides... it's immoral."

"He's the adulterer, not me. I'm not judgmental," she shrugged. "And he's not a distraction. He kills vampires better than you do." She knew the sting would hit her Watcher where she intended and he dropped his gaze for a moment. She took the opportunity to slip past him and out into the hallway. "I'll be back whenever," she offered over her shoulder as she stalked down the hall, slipping her leather jacket on over her frayed, white T-shirt. She tossed her shoulder length blond hair out from under its collar as it settled down around her like a security blanket. That jacket had been more of a father to her than Addison had ever been. It had been given to her under very special circumstances and she treasured the comfort it offered.

Maybe there would be some new creature at the Nail Biter tonight, she thought. Something new and challenging to kill. The patron, Diego, didn't like her killing off his regulars, but he didn't mind being rid of tourists. Even demons hate tourists.

The cold night air greeted her along with the sounds of the ever present New York traffic and the glittering skyline. What a beautiful night to be reckless.

---

"We're just passing through," the big, burly man said, his hands gripping his Harley's handlebars tightly. The engine growled in response.

"Look pal," the night-watchman said, aiming the beam of the flashlight across the faces of the two dozen bikers, "this isn't a parking lot. It's private property. The owner would have my head on a plate if I let you stay here."

The lead biker smiled a wide smile. "Listen to that, boys," he turned his head to his compatriots, "the man's offering his head on a plate if we'll stay here." There were chuckles. Turning back, the biker's face transformed beyond the features of a human being. His voice was gruff and guttural now, not to mention hungry. "How can we refuse an offer like that?"

As the guard's eyes widened and he reached for his baton, the lead biker launched himself from his Softail custom and landed with a snarl before the terrified man. The guard stumbled backwards and turned to run, only to find himself faced with several more leather-clad bikers. They all grinned hungrily as their faces changed.

The guard whimpered weakly as they set upon him all at once, his final cry drowned by the roar of engines as the gang began to move out again.

---

Niki strolled into the small, dark bar known as the Nail Biter and the usual characters shuffled out. She ignored them. Any who knew enough to fear her deserved to get away. At least, this time. Her little 'rules' were quite flexible. Some heavy metal band or other screamed through the background as she waded through the small clusters of tables to the bar.

"Evening, Slayer," the man at the bar said with no small amount of exasperation. "I can always tell it's you because my sales plummet when you walk in." He continued to clean a glass with the white rag under the center of the three spotlights which hung from the ceiling above the bar. The shadows which hung from his face made his long nose look like a beak. His upswept eyebrows drew together as she reached behind the bar for a bottle. His broad smile diminished only slightly. He never really stopped smiling.

"Then you should think about getting new customers," she suggested, pouring herself a healthy portion of the golden liquid. As the barkeep continued to clean his glass, the slayer frowned and looked around the bar, eventually pawing behind it looking for what she knew he kept somewhere.

"Looking for this?" he held up a vial of white powder. He shook it for emphasis but pulled it out of reach as she made a grab for it. "It's not good for you."

"I'm touched that you care," she said dryly, settling back into her stool, knowing he would eventually give it to her. She fingered her drink without taking a sip, staring down into its golden abyss.

Felix finally set the vial down and slid it grudgingly towards her. Without looking up, she uncorked it and sprinkled some into her drink, being sure not to spill any. Setting the cork loosely back into the mouth of the vial, she swallowed the drink with gusto. Instantly the misery was gone, replaced with a floating bliss and heightened senses.

"Okay," she said quickly, Felix' image sharpening and deepening to the extreme. "What have you got for me?"

Felix, who wasn't always happy about the fine print of his job, set the glass back on the shelf behind him. He began to slowly fold the cloth, over and over again as he spoke. She was blinking rapidly and her eyes were bloodshot. The stuff was never meant for humans. "There's something coming," he said taking his eyes from hers. "Something ugly, by demon standards – not like we're used to in the big apple."

"A face for radio, gotcha. Anything else?" she was eager now, excited about the prospect of killing something, unlike just about every other minute of the day. Something about the stuff awakened the lust in her blood for it. It was as if she wasn't really a Slayer until she had the stuff coursing through her veins.

"It's vampiric," Felix offered, finally unfolding his cloth and taking the glass back off the shelf to scrub it some more. "It also happens to be the carrier of a rather nasty disease."

Niki frowned, but in interest, not anger. "A vampire with a disease? That's impossible. They're undead, how can they be sick?"

"Well, I didn't say it was a vampire, did I?" Felix frowned. "I said it was vampiric. It was a vampire, until it contracted the plague."

"Bubonic?" she asked with a trace of amusement.

"Nosphoric," he answered, his smile still present, but sharing none of her amusement. "An ancient Macedonian sorcerer's trick. Only vampires can be carriers, but once they've got it..." his smile actually faltered, if only for an instant, "they're not really vampires any more."

"What does this sicky want?" Niki asked, sipping gingerly at the remains of her drink. "A cure?"

Felix actually laughed. "No," he tried to calm his outburst. "Oh, dear me, no." He shook his head. "You're so naive." To her frown he elaborated. "The thing doesn't know it's sick. Most of the time, it looks just like any other vampire – that is, just like a human. Only when it needs to feed does it change, and then you can't miss it." He laughed again, ironically. "No, it doesn't want a cure. It wants to wipe out the human race, just like it was programmed to by the plague." He folded the towel and set the glass back on the shelf. "And naturally, it's going to start with you."

Niki sighed resentfully and up ended her glass. "Naturally."

---

Abandon - Act 2

The vampire slowly stroked his chin, acting very thoughtful. His wasn't a terribly handsome face, a bit high in the cheekbones, a bit thin on the lips, but he characterized himself as 'just this side of austere' and left it at that. On his black T-shirt was emblazoned KISS in silver letters.

"I know you're hunted," the man opposite him said, keeping always to the shadows of the alley, never saying more than a few words at a time. The vampire's responses were characterized by long periods of silence. What does one say when this sort of thing happens? What does a vampire say?

"I can make your troubles go away." The figure shifted in the shadow, lifting something from his pocket. Pearce tensed as he feared the man might draw a stake. But it wasn't a stake. It was a silver bracelet. The vampire frowned nonetheless.

"What's that?" Pearce asked as the man in the shadow offered him the bracelet. He flatly refused to touch it until it was identified. He didn't know all the tricks and trinkets in the world, but he knew someone would have to be especially stupid to take a talisman of any kind without knowing what it was for.

"Not magic," the man answered, offering the bracelet further from the shadow until Pearce finally took it, albeit hesitantly. "It will protect you from those like me and those who work for me."

Pearce looked down at the sliver chain with a small silver plate on it, like a dog tag. On the little plate was a symbol IXI. "How's this going to protect me if it's not magic?"

The man sighed. "Year wear it on your right wrist and anyone who sees it and knows what it means won't stake you." The man finally stepped from the shadow as Pearce examined the bracelet contemplatively.

"Will it protect me from your Slayer?"

Addison shook his head. "No. She's never seen this before and probably wouldn't care either way anyway." The Watcher sighed. "And that's part of the problem." He looked up into the vampire's eyes, his gaze hardening. "Her careless attitude could cost innocents their lives. The Council cannot allow that."

"What you're asking..." Pearce shook his head, looking back down at the bracelet. "It's risky for me. You said yourself this thing won't keep her from staking me. And all you're offering me is protection from the Council?"

"What else can I give you?" Addison frowned, his bushy white eyebrows coming together. "What more could a vampire ask for?"

"Peace of mind," Pearce said instantly. He held up the bracelet as a point. "Your guarantee: no matter how many people I eat, this stays permanent. No slaying of the Pierce. I have carte blanche. Agreed?"

The Watcher ground his teeth together. If worse came to worse, he supposed, no one really knew this agreement had ever been made. "Agreed," he offered his hand and Pearce took it. "Now you know what to do. You could never kill her in combat, not one on one."

Pearce shrugged. "I know that. I have to get close to her. Make her trust me."

Addison raised an eyebrow. "Her problem is that she trusts your kind too much. And the only way she'll trust you is if she has no reason to trust you."

"Which brings us back to the fact that this little trinket," the vamp held up the silver chain, "won't keep me from getting staked."

Addison shrugged. "I didn't argue when you said it was risky. But I didn't chose you at random." This got Pearce's attention. "I chose you," he said slowly, "because you are one of the most elusive vampires the Council has ever tried to track. With our protection, we also have the opportunity to keep tabs on you. And surely you find nothing wrong with that."

"An institution devoted to killing those like me... and yes, I'm extatic that they'll now know each time I take a piss."

Addison nodded. "Good, so you'll get close to her, then you know what to do." He turned from the alley and walked out onto the street. "And I'll be watching you," he said over his shoulder. "It's what I do."

---

The echo of the many engines slowly died down as the Harleys stopped in front of the warehouse. Perfect place to call home. Lots of room for the hogs, and just enough foot traffic to make take-out unnecessary.

The lead vamp climbed from his bike and lit a cigarette. The flame from the match danced for a moment before he flicked it to the pavement and squashed it under his snake skin boot. Now to arrange for a lease...

After a moment, as the other gang members dismounted, the lead's attention was drawn to sounds coming from inside the warehouse. He frowned and shifted his great, leather-clad weight onto his impatient foot. Finally, the small service door near the corner of the building swung fully open and clanged against the cement of the wall. After a long moment, during which the bikers assembled into a rough skirmishing line, most lighting cigarettes and some fingering blades or chains, a figure appeared from the darkness within the vast building. Then another. And then another.

One by one vampires filed out of the warehouse to stand in a long neat line, parallel to the biker gang. All of them wore black, either leather or fabric, and their faces were pale to the point of being white. Most had accentuated the black of their hair and eyelashes with some type of makeup and they displayed their many silver or black piercings prominently. There were at least thirty of them.

The leader of the Goths strode forward, the thin silver chain which joined his ear to his bottom lip swaying as he walked. He wore tall black boots with thick heels and carried nothing but a short, shiny dagger.

When the Goth was only eight feet from the biker, he stopped, looking the gang leader up and down with clear contempt. "Are you lost?" his voice was thin and serpentine.

The biker raised an eyebrow and looked along his line of road warriors. "No, we just found our new home." He snarled. "Looks like it already has a pest problem, though."

The Goth's face was unreadable, either from the amount of makeup or the various metal gear attached to it. "You seem to have mistaken our great home for your dwelling." He made a small bow with his black nailed hand on his chest. "I forgive your oversight and will allow you to leave."

The biker's eyebrows shot up in surprise. He looked about himself, as if looking for the fool this snake was talking to. "You'll allow us to leave?" He laughed a great belly laugh, immediately joined by his gang. With a rough gesture of his hand, the laughter stopped. The snake was still standing there, placidly. The biker growled. "I make boots out of the likes of you!"

The Goth cocked his head slightly. "I throw your kind out altogether." He looked between the rows of leather-bearing and black-clad creatures of the night. "I will still allow you to leave."

The biker snarled and yanked his cigarette from between his own lips, stuck out his tongue and jammed the still burning end against it with a hiss. Throwing the butt away, he slid his hand into his leather vest and found his Bowie knife. He brandished it meaningfully as his comrades grinned eagerly. "I'm making no such allowances for you."

The Goth made another small bow, then in a flash threw his small dagger to the other's heart. With a howl of rage, the biker stumbled back, dropping his Bowie, the other's knife up to the hilt in his undead flesh. The biker gang rushed forward with snarls and curses, swinging their various weapons as the Goths met them head on, slashing and stabbing with their many small blades.

The lead Goth was ignored as he watched the lead biker draw the blade from his chest and toss it angrily to the ground. To prove his annoyance, he vamped out, snarling and gnashing his teeth. The Goth did likewise and they found each other in hand to hand combat.

The biker had superior strength and weight, but the Goth had surprising speed and agility, managing to dodge and block most of the biker's attacks. Had they both been human, the fight would have ended with the biker tired out, or the Goth failing to duck from a lethal blow. But with nearly limitless stamina, they kept up their dance until all that could be heard from behind them, among their respective armies, were groans and curses. The cult and the gang virtually annihilated each other, maiming beyond recognition or decapitating until there were none left to fight.

Suddenly, as the Goth ducked a vicious left hook from a meaty fist and twisted under another swing to find himself behind the great biker's back, his vampire hearing told him someone was trying to cut in on their tango. Without the chance to turn around he hissed and evaporated in a shower of dust, the stake remaining where his heart had been.

The biker turned around, intending to deliver a blow right to the face of the twitchy little punk, but his fist found itself locked in the iron grip of a blond haired girl. He winced as her grip tightened.

"I was hoping you two would meet," she said with a smile. "I'm glad no one got lost – my directions have been known to be a little confusing." She squeezed and twisted his fist and he winced even more. She glanced at the array of un-dead bodies and body parts spread out before the warehouse. "Call me lazy, but I'm sure glad I didn't have to stake each and every one of you." And without another moment's hesitation, she thrust the stake into the biker's chest. With a scream he disintegrated to the pavement.

Now it was only a matter of clean up. Find the heart, pierce the heart. One of her favorite games. She strode forward to the mangled vampires and vampire parts. She smiled as she hefted her stake. There were probably even some nice jackets she could borrow.

---

Abandon - Act 3

He slowly closed his briefcase with a subdued click. There was the constant thrum of the engines and the gentle vibration through his seat that kept him awake all day. He hated flying during the days. His window screen was pulled down tight and he rested low in his seat to avoid the rays of the blasted sun from the other passengers' windows.

He always preferred flying at night, but his business was pressing and he couldn't be as selective as in the old days. He spread his hands across the black leather top of the briefcase. Inside the inner pocket was the key he had been assigned to carry. The key that would change the course of history to favor those who lived in the old days. Those like himself.

He smiled. What was riding in the cargo hold was beyond anything this world had seen in centuries. In millennia even. Soon they would reach the great America he had heard about. Soon the Nosphorus would awake.

Deep in the darkness of the jet's underbelly, packed between crates of suitcases and miscellaneous baggage, a simple steel coffin resting in a long wooden crate, the coffin wrapped in many chains, the crate – a simple hasp and padlock for which there was but one key.

Resting comfortably inside the steel of the coffin, a corpse was sleeping, ready to be woken in New York.

---

"That is exactly what I'm talking about," Addison waved his hands adamantly. "You were given a simple task: track the motorcycle gang and learn their intentions, but you couldn't keep your stake in your pocket, could you?"

Niki rolled her eyes. "It's not my fault they happened to run into each other..." She shrugged innocently, but Addison glared, knowing full well her part in it. "They were clashing cultures, it was bound to happen sooner or later."

"Now we don't know their reason for coming to this part of the state," the Watcher muttered angrily. "We know nothing about their involvement in the trail of murders spanning New Jersey," he sighed, shaking his head, "we don't even know if they were responsible." As though Niki weren't paying attention, which was true, he raised his voice. "Do you see how that is going to be a problem?" he demanded.

She shrugged. "It's kinda simple: if the murders keep up – I killed the wrong vamps, though there's really no such thing – and then I just go out and keep killing vamps until the murders stop." She frowned at him in irritation. "I don't see how this is a problem!"

"It's a problem because you're talking about human lives!" Addison shouted, slamming his fist down onto the kitchen table top, making the glasses jump. "A fact you seem to care less and less about with each passing day!" He stormed across the room and switched on the television. A newscaster was reporting next to a crime scene in which several body bags were being sealed up. "They are human beings," he shouted across the small distance from the living room. "They go about their bloody merry ways until a vampire stumbles across them and then it's toe tag city. What you don't seem to understand is that it's your responsibility to prevent that! Each and every one of them – do you understand me?" he demanded. "Each and every one's blood is on your lazy, thrill seeking hands. Yes, it is kinda simple," he spat, "you're not doing your job. I don't give a rat's ass how many gangs you can get to flatten each other in one night! Your job is to listen to the Council and kill whom we say you are to kill and track whom we tell you to track. Had you listened to me, these three people–" Addison rapped the glass of the television screen, "might still be alive and our harmless little Hell's Angels might be on their way out of town."

The Watcher marched back into the kitchen to the sullen Slayer. "It's all a game to you, isn't it?" he demanded. "How can you care so little for them that you ignore me?" His voice dropped in volume as he saw she was now paying attention. He slowly sat in the chair opposite her. "I know you hate this. I know you hate me. You always have." She looked up, her eyes conveying exactly what he feared – confirmation. "For God's sake, don't punish them because I ruined your life."

Niki stood with a crash, knocking her chair back onto the floor. "I don't punish them." She snatched her leather jacket from the coatrack by the door. "They punish me."

Addison looked sadly to the window as the door slammed shut yet again.

---

Niki walked dejectedly down the dark streets of the inner city. Sirens wailed in the distance. There were always sirens. Why? Why alert everyone when something terrible has happened? Shouldn't we know it has happened? Shouldn't we expect it? Is there a vampire waiting in this alley? In the next one? What's the difference?

She found herself counting the gritty footfalls which were approaching from behind. They were quicker than her own, but they were slowing as they grew louder, falling into step with her own slow paces.

"Hey there," said the familiar voice. She barely glanced up to see the man with short cropped blond hair who now walked beside her. They looked out of place, walking together – he in his brown blazer and khakis and she in her threadbare white T-shirt and leather jacket.

Without any invitation, he slid his hand inside her jacket and around her waist, drawing her closer to him as their footsteps became indistinguishable. "What's wrong?" he frowned, letting her pull herself free from his embrace after a moment.

She stopped in the middle of the street and turned to him. What was he to her? A distraction? Definitely. An addiction, like all her others? "Nothing," she said quietly. "Let's go somewhere."

---

Pearce watched in silent fascination as the two crossed the crowded bar for one of the private back rooms. He knew who she was. And he was sure she knew he knew. Somehow, she didn't care. It certainly wasn't the reaction he had expected. This entire club was filled with vampires, and yet she ignored them, intent on the man beside her and the back room where they were headed. Then the scent found his vampire nostrils. Lust. They lusted for each other. Was that more powerful than her lust to kill his kind? What kind of animal was she?

After almost ten minutes of staring into his drink and mulling over what he had thought would be his first battle with the Slayer, he stood and followed them. He had to know.

Their bodies rose and fell like some liquid creature trapped amid the sheets. The gasps made the vampire's heart race. There was nothing like human passion to stir his hunger. The vulnerability — the sheer exposure of human mating made him lust for his own passionate encounter. He turned from the curtain and moved purposefully across the bar.

They weren't supposed to be vampires here, but they couldn't afford to screen everyone, so they simply ignored the problem. They also weren't supposed to serve people to customers. But they did.

The large man put his hand on Pearce's chest as the vampire moved for the most secluded door. "Far enough, skinny," the bouncer boomed. "No one goes in without Vince's say so." He leaned in close to Pearce's ear. "And Vince don't like vampires."

Pearce made an unconcerned gesture, somewhere between a shrug and a wave, allowing his sleeve to fall back and the silver chain to flash in the directed light. "But what wouldn't Vince do for a friend of a friend?"

The bouncer caught the vamp's wrist and brought it closer to his face. IXI. He squinted, then released the wrist. "In you go. Rules are: one person a night. You leave the body here–" he held up a finger in warning, "and no turning 'em. I don't want any messes like they had over at O'Shay's."

Pearce smiled as the bouncer stepped aside. "Don't you need Vince's say so?"

The bouncer smirked and tapped a finger to a small blue sticker on his big chest.

Hello, my name is

Vince

---

Abandon - Act 4

Niki made a little moan, spreading her hand across his smooth chest. She felt his fingers interlace with her own. His breath was gently caressing her eyelids. Her lips twitched into a smile. The fact that there were a dozen vampires on the other side of the curtain had only heightened the excitement, but now it threatened the bliss.

As she simply lay there, however, she began to realize that a threatened bliss was the most precious kind. She could lay here forever. She could drown in him. Her own blond haired addiction. She wondered if he could tell how little he meant to her.

Her eyes shot open as the distant and muffled scream penetrated the bliss.

---

Pearce's fingers were numb. He hadn't expected her to struggle so much. His face contorted in pain as her teeth sank into his fingers. He pulled his hand from her mouth, allowing her to scream again. Then he backhanded her, sending her tumbling to the cushions on the floor. He should never have untied her.

"Be quiet," he hissed, looking worriedly over his shoulder to the door. "You're not even supposed to be here."

"I don't want to be here," she sobbed, cowering against the far wall, massaging her wrists which had be bound too tight for too long. Her dark hair hung in a mess over her tear stained face as she crouched low. "Please don't k- kill me," she begged, crouching lower as he approached, his hands out as if to pacify her.

"Aw, crap," he rolled his eyes. "I'm no good at this."

"Problem?" the big bouncer asked, amused, entering and closing the door behind him. The girl crouched even lower when she saw him.

"Why couldn't you have gotten a fang junkie or something," Pearce looked from the sobbing girl to the big bouncer. "I can't stand it when they beg."

The bouncer laughed jovially. "That bracelet's made you soft, Pierce. You can't take it like you used to."

Pearce raised a suspicious eyebrow. "You know me?"

"Saw your trinket, did some checking," the big man said proudly. "Not too many vamps get special orders from Watcher central." Pearce was speechless. "The Prince of Pierce," the bouncer said with an amused tone. "How you've fallen from grace."

Pearce slowly dropped his gaze. "Couldn't you just find me someone else?" He felt the shame of his own words, but couldn't avoid them. He wasn't the Pierce anymore.

The bouncer smirked and as the girl squeaked in terror, he reached for her and took her by the hair. He lifted her to her feet, then struck her hard across the cheek, sending her unconscious to the floor. "There. Feast away, great prince." Pearce looked down at the unconscious girl, then turned with the bouncer at the sound of the new voice.

"Vince, Vince, Vince," Niki was shaking her head. "I thought you got out of this business ages ago."

The bouncer suddenly looked uncomfortable. His eyes shifted about the very incriminating room. Shackles, bloodstains... a vampire. "It's not what you think," Vince said at last, slowly sliding his hand into his pocket.

Niki simply continued staring at him, blinking only twice. Vince now looked very uncomfortable. His hand found his pocket empty and he was edging towards the door. Suddenly a high flying kick caught him in the chin and sent him down onto the floor, missing the pile of pillows, with a crash to lay unconscious.

Pearce swallowed. He looked the Slayer up and down as she did the same. If she could tell he was a nervous wreck, she didn't let on. "Hello," he said bravely.

Her right eyebrow slowly raised in curiosity. Her face then cracked into a smile. "Hello?"

Pearce felt her amused contempt from where he stood at the other end of the room. He frowned. He could take it from Vince, but the Slayer would respect him, dammit. Even if he had to make her. "Oh, shut up," he muttered angrily. He widened his stance and raised his arms defensively. "Let's go."

Niki could no longer contain any of her amusement now. She laughed out loud, albeit briefly, as a tight fist caught her squarely in the jaw.

---

Addison slowly closed his eyes. The whine grew to a higher pitch. "Please ensure your seat backs and tray tables are in their upright and locked positions as we will be ascending to thirty five thousand feet. Thank you for choosing British Airways and I hope you will enjoy your flight."

There was nothing more the Watcher could do for her. Not now. Not yet. Maybe not ever again. But none of it was up to him. It wasn't even up to the Council. For once, it was up to Niki. His confidence in his plan was less than optimal, but it was the best he could do. When it was all said and done, at least there was another Slayer to be called. That was the only comfort he drew as the plane slowly pointed East to England. Was it any kind of comfort? Was it any kind of plan?