A/N: Thank you, reviewers. Reviewers, thank you. All of you. I'm repeating myself, aren't I? Oh well. I feel I should reply to the "mate"-thing. As you may have noticed, it's only the Council that uses the word to describe Buffy and Angel's relationship - intentionally, of course. I'm using the word, and other similar ones, to point out how the Council views B/A - not as a couple in love, but as a demon-pair. The word will be mocked by some of the characters further down the line. Oh, and BloodThirstyGoddess. There is more. There is much, much more. The story, this part of it anyway, is about 330 pages in Word at the moment, and not completely finished...

CHAPTER 10: SO FOUL AND FAIR A DAY

Quentin Travers sat in his office late at night, finishing some paperwork. It was Christmas Eve, but it didn't matter. After all, a good Watcher always had to be alert and ready – regardless of holidays and alike.

And right now, work was piling up, to say in the least. He had called the entire Council to a meeting the following afternoon at which they were going to discuss the most suitable way to handle Angelus from now on. They wanted to stop him from leaving London, and they realized that they had to be ready for an assault when the turned Slayer finally succumbed to the poison wearing down her body. Who knew what he might do?

When the door opened with a slight creak, Quentin found himself stiffen slightly, but he quickly covered it when he saw his secretary step inside.

"Sir, it has happened," she said. "The turned Slayer is dead." He nodded slowly.

"Thank you, Nancy. I'm about to leave for home now, but make sure that any news regarding Angelus before tomorrow morning gets reported straight to me."

"Yes, sir."

Quentin turned off his computer, which he hadn't actually used at all today – would he ever get used to drumming his fingers on a keyboard instead of holding a pencil in his hand? – and put some important papers in his briefcase before he exited the office, walking through the dark, empty halls to get out of the building.

He would have to contact that law firm in Los Angeles tomorrow – Wolfram & Hart. Even though he was still doubtful that they would actually prove to be much of an asset, this might be the perfect time to contact them. He wouldn't admit it out loud to anyone, but if they wanted to take Angelus out as quickly and smoothly as possible, they might very well need help.

Quentin stepped outside, inhaling a deep breath and holding it in his lungs for a moment before releasing it again. Well, not that the air in London was the most refreshing, clean source of oxygen, but it was better than inside the old building. He hadn't been outside all day. Now he was heading home to enjoy a good scotch, reloading for tomorrow when the matter of Angelus would be discussed mor thoroughly with all his colleagues Council.

When Quentin searched through his pocket, looking for his car keys, he heard something behind him. Someone? He turned around, scanning the dark parkinglot, only lit by a few faint lanterns at the entrance. Nothing. He shrugged to himself and turned around to open the car door.

"Hello, Mr. Travers."

Quentin jumped at the familiar voice, cursing inwardly for letting himself show that he was startled. He spun around, staring straight into Angelus' eyes. His… unusually grim eyes.

Well, he had after all just lost his mate – and Quentin knew that Angelus had always regarded threats against his females seriously.

"Angelus," he greeted, not sure how to act. The ensouled Angelus didn't kill humans without a good reason – all the records of him were in agreement. The question was exactly what would fit into the "good reason"-category. Should he try to get into the car and drive away like a maniac, a coward? No. He was head of the Watcher's Council – of course he would stand up to Angelus. Right decision or not.

"What can I do for you?" Quentin asked as gentle as he possibly could, keeping his voice steady.

"Oh, well, not much. I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am." Quentin stared at him blankly.

"Excuse me?"

"I've wanted to do this for a long time. And now, when I finally have no reasons left not to do it… I can't return what you gave even the slightest bit." He paused for a second. "And I'm so very sorry about that."

The next moment was one of perfect stillness, complete silence, during which neither man nor vampire moved or spoke. At least one of them knew what was going to happen next – and probably the other one as well.

And then, the moment was over.

Angel grabbed Quentin's head and twisted it hard to the side, looking him straight in the eyes for the split second it took before the body slumped to the ground. He stared blankly at the body, no emotions entering his mind. It was an accustomed move, and accustomed situation which made his demon sheer inwardly.

But Angel himself felt nothing.

Rob Smythe stepped into his office for some late night work. Yes, it was Christmas, and everyone else – including Quentin, had gone home, ours ago in fact… but this was the way he worked. His position on the way up within the Council wasn't one earned through dawdling and long, unnecessary holidays. Besides, with everything going on – with the recent news of Buffy Summers' death… there was plenty of work to be done.

To Robert's surprise, the small lamp at his desk was on, spreading a stream of light over part of the large office.

Someone was there.

When he realized who was sitting at his desk, he froze. The dark figure almost looked like a ghost in the blue-ish light from the computer screen. Smythe backed away and tried to leave as quickly and quietly as he could. Just as he put his hand on the doorknob the still figure at his desk moved. He could practically feel the hard gaze, burning in his back.

"Please don't try and leave, Mr. Smythe," Angel said in a low, dangerous voice. "I'd have to stop you." Considering for a moment to ignore the comment and go on with his escape, Smythe kept his hand on the doorknob. How far would he get before getting caught? Would he be able to get outside? The streets might be pretty empty on a night like this – most people were at home with their families after all, but still. It was safer than here.

"I know what you're thinking, and I'm just saying for your own good; don't. It won't be pretty," the vampire said. Smythe turned around slowly, finding that Angelus was still sitting in his chair, behind the desk. Was he really that confident that he wouldn't dare trying to escape?

Or maybe his confidence regarded being sure that he would be able to catch him either way.

"What are you doing here?" Smythe asked, glancing at his computer. Computers – they were a fairly new idea within the Council, but they had found that it was the simplest way to keep track of files, maintain contact with other organizations. Of course everything in it was strictly confidential. And as far as he knew, he had made sure to log off last time he was here.

"Oh, yeah. I'm taking a look inside your private files." Angel nodded at the computer.

So much for the password then. Perhaps his birthday wasn't the greatest idea – but it was what the instruction manual for the computer had suggested…

"You don't mind, do you? Seeing as I am one of the worst vampires that you have in your records, I'd think you'd want to have a professional opinion from an insider's point of view. I found a few interesting facts. And yeah, there were some files in there I just happened to throw away."

"W-what do you want?"

"That's a big question. Not a great question, not one you would expect from Mr. Robert Smythe, runner-up for the head-boy title in the Watcher's Academy." Smythe winced slightly. Ah, spot-on. Just as Angelus was known for. No, he hadn't been the best, number one back at the academy, and it was a sensitive spot. Especially considering who had been the top student.

"Seems Wes kicked your ass even back in school, huh?" Angel said, smiling slightly. Smythe just stared at him, and Angel shrugged.

"Very well, let's get back to your question. What do I want? You know that the thing is?" He got up from the chair and approached him slowly. "Whatever it is that I want, I'm not gonna have it again. Ever. Someone ruined it. This somehow inclines me to… ruin things, too."

"B-but I didn't shoot you mate."

Angel shot him an evil glare. "There is that word again, what is that? Mate. What do you think vampires are, huh? Birds? Fishes?"

"I-I didn't mean…"

"Of course you didn't. You were just following the exact same pattern as hundreds before you, reading and learning from the same books you people used hundreds of years ago, staying well within the Council's narrow-minded ways. Must be nice. So cut and clean." He fell silent, studying Smythe, who soon felt his skin crawl, his hands tremble slightly under the hard gaze.

"What – what do you want me to do?" he asked finally. "Your… she is already dead. There is nothing to do about it."

"Why don't you tell me the story again. Tell me how nobly the Council chooses young girls, and for what purpose."

Smythe stared at him blankly for a moment. Surely he already knew all this – Angelus had met and studied all the three active Slayers during the last few years, not to mention followed one around more or less involuntary when William the Bloody made his name known by killing a Slayer at the Boxer Rebellion.

"Well," he began warily.

"Go on."

"The, uh, the Council believes that… vampires are demons and demons need to be eradicated. The Council fights evil. The Slayer is the instrument by which the Council fights. The Slayers change and the Council remains, it's always been like that."

"Of course it has," Angel said in a weary voice. "Those are really the featured words here, aren't they? Instrument. Always. You've always viewed the current girl whose life you've turned into a living hell as nothing but a tool. That little statement alone pretty much explains everything, doesn't it. Well, I guess it's about time to – shake things up a bit around here."

Smythe frowned. "Excuse me?"

"Let's just say that times change, and time has a tendency to change the way of things. Believe me, I know." He flashed a tired smile – not a smirk, and not even Smythe could find anything evil or gleeful in it.

"I can tell you that your freelancing Watchers are doing a whole lot better than you and your buddies here in the heart of London are. Yeah, you know, as soon as they shrugged off the suit and started getting into the action themselves, they developed from useless bookworms to actual fighters."

"So… what are you going to do about it?" Smythe asked, trying to figure out if there was any possible way to escape. There were no guards left in the house, and the other Watchers and secretaries might very well have gone home. Still. He couldn't just stand here and wait for Angelus to tire of the talking-act.

"I'm tired," Angel said, and even though his voice held slight mockery, Smythe realized that he was probably honest. "And paying back what you put her through brings me little joy." He took a few steps.

"Not much," he said silently, and Smythe finally grasped that if he wanted to try and escape, he better do it soon. As in now.

Not realizing that Angel knew what he was going to do even before he had decided it himself, Smythe lunged at the door, ripping it open. Angel was only a second behind him, and Smythe took off running down the hall – away from the stairs leading down to the main entrance. He was highly distressed and unable to act sensibly; he didn't have any previous experience of facing a vampire by himself. Of course he had met a few under controlled circumstances, and once he had followed the Special ops team on a hunt as a mandatory part of his education… but this was completely new territory.

Panting heavily from running in his suit and slippery shoes, fear and sweat was oozing from the Watcher, telling Angel exactly where he was and where he was headed, even for the few moments he was out of his line of vision. Smythe disappeared around a corner and the panting stopped for a second, his heartbeat quickly growing stronger. Angel knew what expected him when he rounded the corner.

With a high-pitched shriek that probably would have made even the old, stuffy Wesley laugh out loud, Smythe attacked Angel, beating him with his briefcase when he approached him. He got in a hit, which did no damage, but the rest of his moves were easily deflected. Well, at least the boy had stopped to fight instead of running like a sissy-girl. Angel had to give him props for that.

With a growl Angel grabbed the briefcase and ripped it from Smythe's hands, throwing it to the side. He grabbed Smythe by the arms, pinning them to his chest forcing him backwards against the large window of the opposite side of the hallway. A few of them had bars on the outside – but not this one. Smythe didn't even struggle, didn't scream or make any sounds. Maybe he had realized that the battle was lost.

"Of course, sometimes a little joy is enough," Angel hissed, staring deeply into Smythe's eyes for a second. The next moment he pushed him backwards hard, hearing glass shatter, Smythe scream for his life – all ended by a thud.

"This is ridiculous. We can't stand around here, waiting for him all day," Weatherby muttered. It was early morning, still before dawn. The air was raw and cold – it was raining and chilly wind was biting at the group of men waiting for the last member of the group – Wallace Green.

The ten men were ready to start their working day – much sooner than they wanted to, not to mention sooner than they had been told that they would have to. The original order from Travers had told them to begin the search for Angelus after dawn when he could no longer move around freely in the city.

Of course, all that changed when Roger Wyndham Pryce and the other overly ambitious types who came to work hours ago now, had found Travers and his little nancy-boy helper dead. Quentin had been found in the parking lot, sitting slumped against his car with his neck broken. Smythe had been scraped up from the courtyard, and a shattered window on the fourth floor soon told them what had happened to him.

There was no doubt about who had done these things, of course. Even if the killings didn't match his old records at all - there didn't seem to be much joy, art, or creativity behind these kills, he was the only suspect. And now, because of this, the search for Angelus would have to be stepped up, which meant longer, harder working days for the Special ops team.

At least for those who bothered showing up.

"Poofter's not coming anyway, haven't seen him for days," another man shrugged. "Might as well take off instead of wasting our time here."

"Yeah. And I'm afraid we'll have to report to Wyndham-Pryce at the meeting, that Green didn't show his face today," Weatherby smirked. Well, he couldn't help being a little satisfied with the situation. Green had always been the traitorous, unreliable one. More than once he had talked about leaving the Council, not to mention all the times he had wanted to do things completely differently than the orders they had been given told them to. Good to be rid of the ponce, at least for today.

The men loaded themselves in the back of the truck while Collins and Weatherby placed themselves in the front seat.

"You know, I've waited for this," Weatherby said. "Finally getting to hunt down and kill that bastard any way we want."

"Hmm," Collins muttered, putting the car key in the ignition.

"Yeah. I think this is going to be a pretty good day," Weatherby continued. "I can feel it."

"Sure you can."

When Collins turned the key the car exploded with a horrible crash. Burning bits and pieces were scattered across the whole parking lot, setting off alarms of the surrounding cars.

After a minute, all that was heard in the parking lot was the crackle from fire, slowly put out by the pouring ice-cold rain.

Roger Wyndham Pryce was highly distressed even if his cool exterior showed nothing of it. If was amusing really, how quickly things could change. A day ago the situation with Angelus hadn't concerned him at all – since then, so much had happened.

Everyone was there – everyone who was still alive, that was. It was Christmas Day – holiday for most of London, but not for the Council. All Watchers, secretaries and the entire Special ops team had been called in. The team had been sent out to search through the nearby sewers and other underground retreats.

Their van had been rigged – the explosion was powerful enough to kill all the men instantly, leaving their bodies practically unidentifiable. They hadn't known that Angelus was technical as well before that, even though it was expected on some level. The member of the Special ops team, Wallace Green who had spied on them in Salt Lake City had found sketches over explosives meant to be used to kill the Mohra demons living nearby.

Wallace Green. He could have been useful now – but he was nowhere to be seen. Supposedly he had died in the explosion with the rest.

"Sir, excuse me, sir," he heard a woman's voice behind him. He stopped and turned around.

"What is it, Lydia?" he asked the woman who was sitting in front of a computer.

"He has deleted records," she began in a small voice. "Everything we have on the ex Watchers in America, everything on the imprisoned Slayer, it's gone." Roger frowned.

"Don't worry, Lydia," he said, his voice reflecting nothing of the worry he felt. He knew he couldn't be completely honest anymore, when he told his colleagues that Angelus was no danger whatsoever to them. He turned around and headed back into the main hall where everyone was gathering.

"Our special team is wiped out and he's managed to kill two of our most important members without even being spotted. Sir, this is serious," Phillip said silently, trying to avoid everyone hearing the concern in his voice.

"It's alright, Phillip. Angelus has proven to be a more formidable opponent than we anticipated, yes, but we are still masters of our own fates," Roger said in a voice he hoped was convincing. It didn't seem to sooth Philippe, or anyone else listening though, but he nodded and walked off.

"Yes sir."

"Ladies and gentlemen," Roger began, motioning for everyone to take a seat and calm down. The loud murmur quieted down within a few moments, and Roger continued.

"The turned Slayer died last night. As we feared, this has left Angelus in something of a volatile state of mind. This is however not unexpected, and it gives us a great opening to take him out. He is upset, which means that he will act rashly. This is our chance to act and strike back." The murmur started up again, and Lydia spoke directly to Roger.

"Sir, our Special Operations team has been terminated. How are we supposed to do anything without them?" He smiled a little.

"The Council hasn't always had a Special Operations team. In the old days, we Watchers did things on our own. There is no reason as to why we can't do that now." Lydia nodded, obviously not happy about the reply.

Roger frowned. The younger members of the Council were weaklings. They had never been out there by themselves, never fought on their own. Most of them would faint if they were told stories of what young Watchers had to do to become respected members in the Council only 30, 40 years ago. Like that time in Vienna, 1963, when Roger himself and a few of his colleagues, two of which were young Watchers fresh from the academy, had fallen upon William the Bloody - the grandchilde of Angelus, while he was slaughtering an orphanage. The two youngsters had been killed - as would any of these if put in the same situation.

Few of them had ever handled a Slayer on their own. He could remember the rare pride he had felt for his son when he was chosen as the Watcher of Buffy Summers and the willful Faith, whose first Watcher had been killed by the vampire Kakistos.

But of course, Wesley had failed. As usual. There had been talking within the Council. When Wesley began working with Angelus is Los Angeles it had even been suggested that perhaps Roger shouldn't get to keep his high position. It wasn't appropriate for the father of such a failure to be one of the highest ranked in their operation. Luckily the board had voted and found that there wasn't much he could have done to stop Wesley from acting the way he did.

"But sir, how are we supposed to kill Angelus?" Roger shook his head.

"We are Watchers – born and raised for this. The entire Council of Watcher's against one vampire? Together we can beat him. Now, begin preparations for mobilization. Once we're accounted for, I want to be ready to move."

He got up from his seat, gazing out over all the people gathered in the large room. Everyone had been called in, and everyone seemed to have shown up. Angelus was outnumbered and outsmarted – this battle might be over even quicker than he had estimated.

"Friends, colleagues," he said. "There is no reason for worry." Roger smiled reassuringly. "Remember; proverbs 24:6; in a multitude of counselors, there is safety."