He woke up in a bright white space. In front of him was a semicircular table. Above the table floated a moon, a sun, a pentagram, what seemed to be a set of waves crashing, a flame, a gigantic snowflake, an hourglass (complete with sand), and some thing he had seen on a poster in both Fred's lab and Hodgins office space. Six small spheres orbiting a clump of what looked to be twelve other spheres; one part of him wondered what it was, the other didn't really care. At the head of the table was nothing, but he felt a Presence.
An insidious feminine voice came from the moon, on the end of the table to his left. "Liam O'Donnell Angelus Angel Seeley Booth, yet again you have been the focus of much of our discussion."
A booming masculine voice came from the waves, sitting on his right between the sun and fire, "The more things change, the more they stay the same."
The strange orbiting thing sitting to the Presence's right spoke with a cold finality, "The Slayer dies; death is in her nature. Death of a demon, death of the Slayer."
"Why do you choose to talk to me now, instead of back when Jasmine had taken over Cordy? You are always coming in after it is too late, damn you!"
The fire, floating between the hourglass and the waves flared, "Silence, you know not in Whose Presence you speak."
From the sun on Booth's right came the voice that had so many times pulled him out of danger. "Oh, shut it hot head, you too, Angel. We gave you're a life as a Catholic and here you are cussing. What's done is done, the present and future is what concerns us, not the past. By the way, she's cute, when are you going to make your move?" The floor turned transparent, showing the scene on the Washington monument. "She's so concerned because, 'Booth does not faint. He must be sick.'"
"You made me faint?! Oh I am never gonna live this one down," despaired the only mortal in the room.
"Hey, buddy there's no room up here for your ego," came the voice from the sun.
"ENOUGH," came a Voice from the Presence. The Voice seemed to penetrate him to his very bones. Booth not only heard the Voice, but felt it as well. "His consciousness was brought before us for a reason. Let us reveal it to him and return his consciousness to the mortal realm."
"A-a-angel," started a soft, somewhat familiar female voice from the pentagram. "You have spent almost two years out of the supernatural fight. Now, however, we must ask you to rejoin it."
"It is in you nature to fight evil. Two pieces of your spirit are specifically designed for it," stated the weird orbital thing.
"Bones and the squint squad couldn't handle it. You want me, fine, but leave them out of it. I also want your word that Parker will be safe."
"You make demands of this council?" said a hard, cold voice from the snowflake. "Foolish mortal, we will involve whomever we wish to involve. There are strengths that must be shown. All is not as it seems."
"But if you think you need more help, ask the Watcher's Council," demanded the moon.
"Now, go back to the mortal realm. Find the one who killed the Slayer and deal with them. As has been stated, all is not as it seems and there are hidden strengths in all mortals," said the Presence. "Now, GO"
With that, Booth woke up to the concerned faces of Jack Hodgins, Zack Addy, and Temperance Brennan. Ignoring their worried looks and questions of his state of health, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed a number he had hoped to never dial.
"WC Enterprises, New York office. How may I direct your call?" came the cheerily optimist voice of the receptionist.
"Put me through to Rupert Giles."
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Miranda Travers sat at her desk waiting for the phone to ring. As the adminstative assistant to the head of the Watchers Council, she normally had a lot of work. Making travel arrangments, communicating with branches of the council, summarizing the reports of various watchers from around the world for Mr. Giles to review.
Some days, it made her sick to stomach. Her uncle, and grandfather were both heads of the council. And here she was, a secretary. Just because Buffy "To-Hell-With-Tradition" Summers hated Uncle Quentin, she got taken out of Watcher's school and stuck with an office job. Now, she was going to be the only Travers in the history of the Council to not be a watcher. Which was made even more ridiculous by the sheer numbers of slayers currently in operation.
Hopefully, if she did her current job well enough, Mr. Giles would see the error of Buffy's ways and readmit her to Watcher-in-training status.
"Ring"
"Finally!" She picked up the phone and spoke in the most friendly voice she could despite her true feelings about her job, "WC Enterprises, New York Office. How may I direct your call?"
"Put me through to Rupert Giles."
As far as the world at large knew, Andrew Wells was in charge of WC Enterprises. This provided a filter that allowed Mr. Giles freedom to actually get work done without having to constantly answer his phone. Furthermore, it was a safety precaution. After the bombing of the London office almost wiped out the Council, more safety measures were put in place to ensure that nothing like that ever happened again. But the fact that this caller knew the name Rupert Giles meant that he knew more about the Council than normal.
Not that it mattered right now anyway, because, "Mr. Giles is unavailable at the moment. May I take a message?"
"No, I really need to talk with him," the man answered, sounding frustrated.
"His assistant, Mr. Wells-"
"I don't want to speak to Andrew. He wouldn't be willing or able to help anyway." Miranda was confused by this response. True, Andrew was one of the less experienced Watchers in the Council's employ, but he had proved quite capable in tracking down the rogue slayer, Dana. And he was always extremely eager to help. The man on the other end of the line sighed and spoke again in a voice that made him sound tired and depressed. "Is Xander there??"
"Mr. Harris is currently out of the country," answered a surprised Melinda. Alexander Harris was not even officially a member of the Council. As one of Buffy Summer's oldest friends and one of the few non-supernaturally enhanced survivors of the Battle for Sunnydale, he was now an independently contracted advisor. Currently, he was in Africa, recruiting new Slayers and still mourning the loss of his fiancé, the former demon Anyanka. This mystery caller knew too many of the upper echelon of the Council to be just another businessman selling a product or a prank caller. It was time that she get more information on him. "Sir, may I get your name and reason for calling. That way, I can direct you to the proper person or department."
"This is Special Agent Seeley Booth from the FBI. I am investicating a death. There is evidence at the scene that possibly identifies the victim as one of Giles' students. I really need to speak with Giles or any other one of the Scoobies. Just not Andrew. What about Willow? Is she there? Or is she still in London?"
Miranda had just about been ready to give Agent Booth the number for Agents Charles Gunn and Riley Finn in the FBI's Cleveland field office. Then he mentioned the phrase "Scoobies." The use of the nickname for Buffy Summer's support group from Sunnydale told her that this man probably already knew that number and had purposely called Rupert Giles directly. As it was there were two members of the old Sunnydale unit in the office that day. Neither of them were completely considered to be "Scoobies", though. "Ms. Lehane and Mr. Pratt are both in the office today. Though neither of them are in the administrative branch, I am sure they can help you. Which would you prefer?"
"Pratt? William Pratt?" asked Agent Booth in a shocked voice.
"Yes sir," answered Miranda. He definitely was there in the office looking so good that she could almost forget his origins. Almost.
"No, you better let me speak to Faith."
"I will transfer you now."
Agent Seeley Booth looked around as he waited for his call to be transferred. Zack and Hodgins had stopped staring at him and had turned back to preparing the body for travel to the Jeffersonian for more detailed examination. Bones, however, was still looking at him with her "what the hell is going on expression. He couldn't really blame her. After all, he had been acting in a very strange manner. He had seemingly collapsed in the middle of a crime scene on top of the Washington Monument only to get right back up and place a call on his cell phone as though nothing had happened. He could practically hear the gears turning in her head, cranking out hypotheses as to his behavior only to discount them as lacking in evidence.
As their eyes met –God, what beautiful eyes- he could read the questions in her eyes. All she wanted was a clue, something to help her reason out a situation that she didn't understand. Instead, he just grinned at her in the most charming way he knew how. Bones was a scientist, preferring facts and data to gut feelings, instincts, and trust. But she did trust him. And from what the Powers had said, he was going to need her trust as well as that of the squint squad if he were going to get them through this. The world of science would soon be left behind.
For someone to kill a slayer was big; killing the Slayer had given Spike the status of an alpha vampire. But to kill Bu…her meant that there was a major player in town. Not someone for amateurs to deal with.
He kept trying to stay in the Seeley Booth persona, but every time he even contemplated the fact that Buffy was de… gone, the remnants of Angel roared out, denying that such a thing were possible.
Bones finally turned away, apparently accepting the fact that she would have to trust him on this issue at least for now, and assisted Zack with the body while Hodgins gathered samples from the piles of ash around the body.
As she did so, a voice from the past filled his ear.
"Yeah, this is Faith, go ahead."
She still seemed to have that devil-may-care attitude it seemed, but it had been tempered. Prison would do that to a person. After Sunnydale, she had helped Buffy train the new slayers. However, word had reached Angel while at Wolfram and Hart that Robin Wood, her Watcher, sometime lover, and the only known child of a Slayer, had been killed during the pacification of the Cleveland Hellmouth.
"Hello? I swear, if this is another prank call, I will have this number traced and come kick your ass!" Well, she had not completely mellowed.
"Faith Lehane, this is Special Agent Seeley Booth of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I require your assistance in a case I am currently working on," said Booth, trying to deepen his voice and sound as little like Angel as possible.
"Any requests from the FBI need to come from either Agent Finn or Agent Gunn. Their number is…wait a sec…let me see if I can find it."
Oh well thought Booth. Might as well just jump right in. She'll find out eventually anyway.
He stopped disguising his voice.
"Faith, listen, I think we have a dead slayer here, but I'm not sure. I called for Giles hoping he could confirm or deny the preliminary id I've made based on circumstantial evidence. I hope I'm wrong, I REALLY hope I'm wrong. I'm having a team of forensic scientists examine the remains and they will be able to give a more concrete identification, but personally, I need to know if my suspicions are correct."
It was almost as though he could hear the voices of the other people in the office and the mutterings of Hodges as he collected the minute particles that would make or break a case. "Faith, did you hear me? Are you there?"
Then, in quite possibly the quietest voice he could ever imagine her speaking in, she replied. "Angel? Is that really you?"
"Well, kind of, but not really. Well, mostly. It's hard to explain."
"We thought you didn't survive LA. Last time Spike says he remembers seeing you, you were on the back of a dragon trying to cut off its head. He's with us now, you know? Wait a sec. WHY THE HELL AREN'T YOU?!!" That was the Faith he knew: angry as hell and not afraid to let the world know it. Bones had even heard her, looking up from processing the body.
"Faith, I'm not exactly in fighting form. I'm not the same person I once was. But I need your help now. We have a dead girl and I think…I think that it's Buffy. Can you tell me where she is right now? Have you heard from her recently?"
He could hear Faith get out of her chair and start pacing. "This discussion isn't over Angel. You've got some serious explaining to do"
"And I'll be happy to explain it, but just not now. Faith, I wouldn't call if I didn't have a good reason. Where is Buffy?" Eventually, he would explain it to her, but not with the squints around and definitely not over the phone.
Faith sighed. "Tell the truth, I have no idea where B is. There are safety measures in place for her protection. Ever since Caleb and his goons killed off most of the old Council and a bunch of potential Slayers, Giles has been kind of anal about safety. Enough to dive me crazy. But the point is, we get a bunch of reports signed by Buffy all from different locations. As well as… well, she's got protection and I don't know where she is."
Faith was hiding something, but Booth wasn't going to back down and so he pushed for more information. He just had to know if the body was Buffy. He couldn't stand to see her face on the holographic display without being prepared for it.
"Is one of those locations DC?" From her silence, he assumed that it was. "Because I have a body of a young, athletic woman burned beyond recognition. But some of her clothes are still intact and relatively undamaged. Add to that the fact that she is surrounded by piles of ashes and on top of the Washington monument adds up to a very unusual case with slayer undertones. Not to mention the fact that she's wearing the same silver cross that I gave Buffy when we first met."
"The first time you met the girl, you gave her jewelry? Damn boy, you move fast! But seriously, all the Council-aligned slayers wear silver crosses. They're sort of like our dog tags, only without our name, blood type, and religion. The one you gave Buffy is in the foyer of the London Headquarters at the Shrine of the Unknown Slayers. Look, I can't give you any definite answers, but the fact that it is a slayer means we have to investigate. I've got a new Watcher to break in, so I'll head on down there. I'll see if I can get one of our staff witches to transport us, but I kind of doubt it, none of them are as cool as Red. But we can take a plane and be there in the morning if we have to," stated Faith.
"Fine, but try to get in touch with Giles, I really want to know. See you soon," responded Booth, ending the call.
"Who was that?" asked his partner, understandably upset at having been snubbed. "Zack and Hodgins have the body ready, Hodgins has his samples, and you've just been chatting on the phone. Can we get to work on this case?"
"It was an old friend. We're gonna need her help on this case, I think," answered Booth, massaging his head to try to stave off the oncoming headache. "Let's just head to the lab and get an id"
This was going to be a long car ride.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Faith hung up the phone, a thoughtful expression on her face. Angel seemed tired and worried. She didn't think that the dead girl was Buffy- she had her own suspicions about Buffy's location- but she had been wrong before. Many times. Regardless, a slayer was dead and regulations demanded a report being filed. Might as well do it herself. Plus, she might even see a little action in DC. First to pick up her new watcher. He wasn't Robin, and wouldn't be able to take his place, but he knew his way around a stake. He was definitely better than Wes was when he took the job- hell of a change THAT man had gone through.
She grabbed her jacket and the overnight bag she kept in her office and headed for his office. He was sitting in his chair, stacks of unread reports surrounding him and I-Pod in his ears playing heavy metal. Picking his nails with a ceremonial dagger, a habit picked up from his ex-girlfriend, no doubt. And definitely not a typical Watcher. As she walked into his office, the dagger was thrown straight at her head. Slayer reflexes kicked in and she caught it centimeters from her nose.
He took the earphones out of his ears and look up at her. "You see, you can do it," he said in his Cockney accent. "This Watcher stuff is pretty simple. A fella could get used to it."
"Don't get too settled, Spike, we're headed to Washington DC. Your granddad asked for some help," Faith responded, turning away and heading for the magical affairs department.
"Granddad? What are you on about?" William Pratt asked, scrambling out of his chair.