Part Ten

Alleyway behind the seedy bar, Prague, Czech Republic. August 2000, a few moments previously

Cleburne looked on and suddenly commented, "You know, the funny part is I'm not too freaked out about having the werewolf turn into a man. But I'm weirded out by the fact that the kid is being hugged by a naked guy!"

Xander heard Cleburne's statement, and instantly felt himself getting red with embarrassment. { Hey, focus! It's Oz! This is bad. Real bad! } his brain then started yammering in panic mode.

Not feeling any immediate pain, Harris did some quick calculations in his head as to when Oz had been in Sunnydale. He quickly concluded that his former classmate had already been there, and broken up with Willow for good. { Whew, that's one worry lessened. Still - better do something to try and fix this, though. }

So Xander pushed Oz back. "Hey, man, knock it off. What are you doing? You just can't go around hugging strangers!" he said, trying to alter his voice so as not to be recognized.

"Oh for cryin' out loud, would someone please get a coat or something for this guy? I'm still getting weirded out here by naked guy hugging!" Cleburne snarled, trying to avert his gaze, while at the same time wanting to make sure everything was all right. So Graham headed back into the bar at Cleburne's comment.

Rachael grinned and quipped from the doorway, "So, Mr. Hall, anything you want to share with us...about your choice of lifestyle?"

Xander glared at the Israeli agent. "Hey, lady, I don't know what's going on. Some guy I've never seen before changes from a big wolf into a naked man, who hugs me. What do you expect me to say?!" Xander tried glaring at Oz, while at the same time trying to hide his face.

"Xander, what are you doing? What is all this? Because I know it's you! You haven't changed your scent, on account of nothing can ever change that. We have to call Willow and the others-"

The red-haired guy was interrupted by Graham Miller coming back, and handing him a large overcoat. The werewolf took the overcoat and put it on, "Hey, thanks..."

Cleburne looked around at the small crowd that was gathering, attracted by the noise and commotion from the fight a few moments before. He was inwardly cursing and barely restraining himself from cursing out loud, "Listen up, people. Let's clear this up later. For now, I think we need to clear out of here before animal control shows up!"

Stedman Medical Building, Sunnydale, California. Thirty minutes later

"Hello, I'm Joyce Summers. I'm here to see Dr. Adams?"

The nurse nodded at the woman in response. "Yes, ma'am. Please fill out these forms..." She handed over a clipboard. "We need for you to update your records. Just make any changes we need to be aware of."

"Thank you."

Joyce took the clipboard, and went to sit down next to the person who had driven her here. She started to look over the papers in dismay, "All this, just because I went a year or two without seeing a doctor. I swear, my wrist is going to be completely sore from all the writing on forms I've done the past few weeks!"

"Well, it's, um, it's better than the alternative," Giles quipped, as he stared to polish his glasses.

Joyce sent him a quick smile. "True enough. I need to start realizing what's at stake here. It still feels a little unreal, though."

"Indeed. I-I-I can only imagine what it must feel like, knowing the date of-" Giles' voice cut off, as he was afraid to say the next word.

"It's all right, Rupert, you can say it. The date of my death. And it's *very* weird, knowing the exact date it's supposed to happen. Like something out of the Twilight Zone..." She flipped to the second page on the clipboard. "Sometimes when I wake up, I fool myself into thinking it was all just a bad nightmare, at least for a few seconds. Then, on my nightstand, I see it. And that quickly brings me back to reality."

Giles didn't have to ask to know what *it* was. It was the time-delayed letter the deceased Xander Harris had sent him. He knew that the mother of the two Summers girls had been using it as some kind of anchor, for what was going on in her life. And the British man inwardly shivered, when he recalled that more letters had been promised. { Lord only knows what bombshells they'll contain. }

"Joyce, I know I have no right to ask...but how are you holding up?" Giles asked in a soothing tone.

Joyce sighed, beating down the frustration she felt at the question. As the middle-aged blonde knew she would have to get used to people asking things like that, once her condition became public knowledge. "How do you think? I'm...doing the best I can. I'm just glad that I got all the money and business things taken care of. Now I can concentrate on the medical part of my life."

"What about Buffy and Dawn? How much do they know?"

"Oh, they don't really suspect anything. I think my behavior recently - well, they just attributed it to the fact that I'm *old*. Teenagers..." She used her fingers as quotation marks when she said old. "The problem is, Buffy really seems to not want to work at the gallery. And I can't just come out and say I want her to learn the ropes, because I want her to take over if something happens to me."

"You'll have to tell them at some point. And as a neutral third party, perhaps I should-"

Joyce shook her head. "No, I don't want them to panic, at least not for a while longer. I'll tell them when the doctors tell me something. That way, I can avoid telling them how I knew all about it in advance and they'll just assume that the doctors caught it early. Because God knows I don't want Dawn picking a fight with Buffy over Xander *again*! I thought for a while there, I was going to have to send one of them to boarding school, they were at each other's throats so often..."

Giles nodded. "I remember how Dawn w-was quite vocal about the situation involving young Mr. Harris, 12 years old or otherwise."

Joyce nodded. "She still is. Whenever the subject comes up, which happens pretty rarely nowadays thank God, she refuses to admit he's dead and nothing anyone says can convince her otherwise. I just don't want to throw anymore gasoline onto that fire..." She paused for a second. "Rupert, I just wanted to let you know...that I really appreciate you driving me here. Also, all the other stuff you've been doing. It's good to have someone who knows what's going on, to help out."

Giles smiled at the mother of the Slayer. "No need to thank me, Joyce. It's, uh, the least I can do."

Joyce returned Giles' smile in a sad way. "You may not want to say that, considering what else I may ask from you."

"Anything you need. Ask away," Giles took her hands in his.

"Oh, you'll regret that!" Joyce took a deep breath. "Given how Hank is only God knows where and can't be contacted, I want to ask your permission to set up some legal stuff, so that if we can't stop this...you'll be the one watching over Buffy and Dawns' affairs."

"But, but Buffy's a legal adult now, a-a-and Dawn's 14 years old. Your eldest can do anything I could to take care of your little girl, surely..."

Joyce shook her head. "I know, I'm not talking about you being a parental guardian to them. I want you to, ah, take care of their financial and business matters. Either one of them would be overwhelmed, if they had to deal with it all."

The former Ripper got a firm look on his face. "Joyce Summers, you listen to me. We're going to beat this - this nightmare, that Xander warned us about. I'm going to be by your side for as long as it takes, to make sure you live to horribly spoil your grandchildren. You're going to get better. And you have my word on that," Giles replied forcefully.

Joyce was about to reply, when the nurse opened the sliding glass window to the waiting room. "Mrs. Summers? The doctor will see you now."

Unmarked military airfield near Prague, Czech Republic

Xander and Oz sat across from each other in the VIP lounge, at the military airbase that the Siberians had been based out ever since arriving in the country. The vehicle had been a quiet one, during the trip back.

Oz had tried to start a conversation a few times, but each time Cleburne had not-so-subtly suggested that any and all questions could wait, until they got to a secure area. Xander had used that time for recovering from the slight drunkenness - without which that damn vamp probably would've been staked without muss or fuss, in his humble opinion.

Once back at the base - Xander, Oz, Cleburne and Gunny had headed towards the lounge. The others had made themselves scarce, just from a Look sent by the senior Siberian. Xander and Oz had sat down around the conference table in the lounge, while Cleburne had fixed a pot of coffee. All the while, Gunny stood silently outside the entrance to the lounge, faithful watchdog that he was.

Cleburne placed a cup of coffee in front of both of the former residents of Sunnydale. He then got a cup for himself, and sat down on the couch close to the table. He took a drink, and waited to see what would happen.

Xander looked at Oz, and thought for a second about not saying anything. { No, that's not going to work. Oz'll just outwait me, and we both know he can do it. }

Even though Xander had gained in the ability to maintain his composure since his days in Sunnydale High School - Oz, excepting his performance earlier that night, was still the unquestioned king when it came to maintaining an appearance of calm despite everything going on around him.

"Oz-" Harris said abruptly.

"Xander," Oz interrupted. "Long time no see. Not wanting to sound too much like my grandmother, but you never call, you never write..."

Xander inwardly winced, recalling that in the past that had never happened, he had said something very similar to his werewolf companion. "I imagine you have questions," the former slave said, resigning himself to what was about to happen.

"Several," Oz said in an even voice.

"Ask away, then," Xander shrugged.

"Within reason, of course," Cleburne interjected.

Oz just glanced at the male secret agent, then turned back to Xander. "How?"

"How what? Can you narrow it down a bit here for me, ol' buddy?"

"Graduation. You, big snake, bigger fireball. Why aren't you charbroiled ashes?" Oz asked point-blank. "Not that I'm complaining or anything," the 20-year-old guy quickly added, in response to the look on Xander's face.

"Tunnels under the school, you remember - the ones Angel used to use? Got to them before the big fireworks. The Mayor couldn't fit, so we wound up with crispy-fried snake meat and a big victory parade."

"So you didn't stick around, because you decided to help us that day?" Oz observed.

"Actually, I - it was...complicated," Xander said, with an ashamed look on his face.

"Don't worry. I score well on tests. Helped a lot when I didn't study, during senior year."

Harris looked away, guessing what would come even at this early stage. "Well, you know how I had trouble being around you guys."

"I know you avoided us, like a you-know-what avoids sunlight," Oz glanced nervously out of the corner of his eye at Cleburne and the doorway containing Gunny outside.

"Don't worry Wolfie, we know all about the things that go bump in the night. Known about them even longer than you and Mr. Hall here."

Oz raised an eyebrow at Cleburne's comment. "Wolfie? And, Hall?"

Xander shrugged. "That's the name I'm using now. Xander Harris is dead, after all. And hey, a few hours ago you had a whole lot more fur and pretty long fangs. I think the name fits-"

Oz turned his attention to his former classmate. "Wanting to focus. Any way you want to paint it, you definitely did not want to be around us, Xander. We didn't share a word from the time you got back, till the graduation ceremony."

A shrug. "Yeah, well, there was a reason for that."

Daniel Osbourne almost made an expression. "And that was?"

Another shrug. "It hurt too much."

For once, Oz looked confused; he raised an eyebrow. "Hurt? What do you mean?"

Xander sighed to himself. Other than with Angel he hadn't really been *Mr. Talkative*, as to what was wrong with him. The Scoobies had known bits and pieces, but not the whole story. The so-called Rangers lieutenant glanced over at Cleburne, to make sure he wasn't getting any subtle hints to not tell Oz about his condition; but seeing none, the guy started talking.

"Well, like Wesley probably told you guys, my brain couldn't process what I was experiencing. Every time I was near any of you except him and Angel, my brain couldn't cope - and I had these violent seizures. I had two sets of past memories, y'see, and the future memories as well to deal with."

"Two set of memories? I, uh, thought you just had that whole 'knowledge of the future' deal."

Xander shook his head, ignoring a glare from Cleburne. "No, dude, two sets of memories plus the future ones. The other memories of senior year I have, they diverged from the history you know...uh, from the time Angelus tried to send the world to Hell using Acathla."

"Huh," was Oz's only reply. And despite the brevity, the musician clearly grasped what he was being told. "Intense."

{ Well, he always was pretty smart, } Xander quickly thought to himself with a hidden smile. { Not Wizard smart, granted, but clearly Willow smart. Damn shame Wills was secretly gay all along; their kids definitely woulda raised the average IQ on the planet, by at least a couple of points! }

"Yeah. Well, with all that stuff in my head, every time I was near anybody who caused conflicting memories of the future, I couldn't function," Xander summed it up.

Oz nodded. "That would had to have hurt. Knowing the future, but not able to do anything about it because of the brain seizures-"

Xander shook his head. "No, no, there were ways around that. I learned I could write warnings for the important stuff. Big Bads and the like," the young man said without thinking.

Oz sat there for a second, thinking. "You mean, you could have given us warnings about anything and everything that was to come?"

Xander nodded simply, "Yeah."

Oz's voice rose somewhat, even though his face was still expressionless. "And you didn't think me killing Veruca was something that I might have wanted to avoid?"

Xander mentally cursed. "Oz, I understand-"

The werewolf kept right on going, though. "And call me crazy, but maybe I might have wanted to know about Willow deciding to play for the other team, and hooking up with Tara. Don't you think?"

Now Cleburne was getting nervous, and considered calling for Gunny outside. Xander held up his hands in a calming manner, "Oz. I know you're upset, but you just have to-"

Joshua Cleburne looked at Oz, and frowned. "Hey, his hair's getting longer!"

Oz shut his eyes for a second. "You could have prevented all that, but you didn't. You *chose* not to-" Oz opened his eyes again; and they were bright yellow, as he succumbed to the transformation into the wolf.

Xander and Cleburne started backing up. "Oh, crap!" Xander yelled, as he was suddenly faced with a very angry werewolf.

Gunny burst in, and saw the wolf easily slam the table that was separating him from Xander across the room. The werewolf then stopped and yelped; it then looked down at the dart protruding out of its chest. Then it gracelessly fell to the ground.

Charles Rose approached it, still holding the tranquilizer gun he had picked up when they had gotten to the base. { For God's sake, Hall, can't I leave you alone for even one minute? I swear, one day I'm gonna let the bad guys have your ass, to save me the headache of safeguarding it! }

Cleburne looked down at the now-sleeping wolf. "I don't get paid enough for this horse hockey. Gunny, tell the others we're flying out in the next thirty minutes. I want to get to an American base, before Wolfie here wakes up!"

Cleveland, Ohio. The next day

"Nice place you got us here," she said with a trace of sarcasm.

Sam Zabuto mentally sighed. Kendra, the previous Slayer he had been assigned to, had been so much easier to deal with. This 'Kennedy' that was now his new charge, she was definitely cut from a different cloth.

"No doubt once we have the servants clean it up, it will look much better," the tall black Jamaican responded, also with a trace of sarcasm.

Kennedy the vampire Slayer just raised an eyebrow at the comment. As this new Watcher of hers, he was full of surprises.

The old one had been so straight-laced that Kennedy had honestly thought his head was going to explode, when she had casually mentioned that she was a lesbian. But Sam had just taken it in stride, and even wondered out loud if she wanted him to look through the personal ads for her. { At least this one seems to have some sense of humor! }

"Well, better get their asses in gear then. Sooner this place is up and running, the sooner I can entertain the Vanderbilts," she joked.

"Ah. If I recall correctly, you might encounter one or two of the Vanderbilts in your duties here."

"Really? Bummer! Dad would hate it, if I dusted anyone who might have connections to help his business..." She walked around the large room. "So, what, we make this the training room?"

The Watchers Council had obtained a large warehouse with an apartment suite on the top floor for Sam and his Slayer to use. Some modifications had been made, but the top floor had been left unfinished so it could be completed according to the tastes of the new occupants.

And this Slayer had pretty extravagant tastes, from what Sam had seen so far.

"Indeed, this will be the training room. With quite a bit of work, it should do very nicely. We have much for you to catch up on." For some reason, the Watcher before him had seemed more concerned with trying to drill into Kennedy a loyalty to the Council, rather than honing her combat skills. { The fool. Did the man have no desire to help his Slayer live as long as possible? }

Luckily, the ex-Watcher had not been successful at either getting Kennedy dead or turning her into the Council's robot. Then Sam had been pulled from his assignment in the Caribbean and recalled back to London, to take over as Kennedy's Watcher. He had been told several strange things as to the local authorities, too.

Zabuto had heard rumors of grave troubles between the American government, and the Council. He had also seen the news report which had Quentin Travers involved in the kidnapping of a Federal witness in the U.S.

And tellingly enough, Travers hadn't been the one to brief him on his new assignment. It had been his assistant Phillip who had carried out that task, who if the rumors were to be believed...had then been fired from his job almost immediately afterwards.

Even more fascinating was the fact Phillip had also told him he could trust Rupert Giles and call him in an emergency, even though the orders from the Council were that his former colleague was *not* to be contacted at any time. There were further orders from the Council on the necessity of having emergency plans of getting out of the United States in a hurry, if circumstances called for it.

{ Curiouser and curiouser, as the Englishman once said. My assignment in this country should prove to be most...interesting. }

Heathrow Airport, London, England. The same time

Quentin Travers leaned back in his seat, as the private jet took off. He looked around the cabin; the members of his retrieval team were likewise strapped into their seats.

{ Soon, child, soon you'll pay for what you've done. And I will see to it, that the payment is delivered in full! }

Ramstein Air Force Base, Wiesbaden, Germany. The next day

Oz slowly made his way back to the land of consciousness. He absently grasped the blanket close to him, trying to stay warm. { You know, I definitely do not miss this part of the werewolf experience, } the young man thought to himself as he suppressed a groan.

"Morning, Mr. Osbourne. I hope you'll pardon the accommodations, but in light of the shape you were in when you arrived - we thought it best for all concerned."

Oz opened his eyes and looked around. He was laying on a cot with a blanket wrapped around him. Sitting across the room from him was Xander, and the older man that was named Cleburne. In between Oz and them, were the bars of a jail cell.

Oz was sitting in what appeared to be a row of cells, occupying the middle one. "Cozy arrangement you have here," he commented.

Xander looked apologetically at Oz. "Sorry, Oz. It was just-"

Cleburne interrupted the man born in Sunnydale, "My idea. The kid argued against it, said earlier was just the shock of the situation." He shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. I'm not going to take the risk. I would prefer not seeing my insides on the outside again. And the kid here?" The Siberian motioned over towards Xander. "I'm not risking his life. He's too damn important."

Xander looked over at Cleburne. "Seeing your insides on the outside...again?"

"Hey kid, I *did* have a life before you showed up. I had plenty of opportunities to get myself skewered."

"Anyone I know?"

"No, these people are actually scary. Nothing like what you dealt with. Serious stuff, out of your league," Cleburne ribbed Xander.

The former Zeppo looked annoyed. "Hey, you yourself said I was too important to risk my life. I think that qualifies as serious stuff!"

"You're important 'cause the Wizard and Esther would never let me hear the end of it, if you got yourself killed. You would be gone, and *I* would be the one having to clean up the mess."

Xander made a face at Cleburne, as Oz looked at the secret agents. "Any chance you guys will let me out, while you continue with this chat?"

The two on the outside turned their attention to the one in the cell, still underneath the blanket. Cleburne pointed into the cell, "Get dressed, we had some clothes brought in for you."

Oz looked where his captor was pointing. There was a set of clothes sitting there, and he quickly got dressed. "Okay, what next?" the guy asked.

Cleburne spoke up first, beating Xander by just a few seconds. "I'm told you can control the wolf inside of you. So what happened back in Prague?"

"Sometimes, not often, I lose control when I learn something..." Oz paused for a few seconds. "Shocking or disturbing."

"And this was shocking, how?"

"Willow," Oz said softly.

"I'm sorry about that, Oz. And believe me, I know how much it hurts," Xander said sympathetically.

"Then why didn't you warn me, or do something about it?"

Xander was silent for a few seconds, looking down at the floor. He then looked up, "You've met Tara?"

"Yeah," was the curt, tense reply.

"Bottom line, she makes Willow happier than anyone I've ever met till 2003. Everyone has a soul mate in this world, and like it or not - she's Willow's one true love, whatever universe I find myself in. And I say this as someone who loved Wills, before...it happened."

Oz was silent for a few seconds. "I heard you that night, you know."

"What?" Xander asked in confusion.

"In the hospital, when she was in a coma. I heard you tell her that you loved her."

Xander again looked apologetically at Oz. "Ancient history, man. And that wasn't me; that was an idiot naïve teenager, blinded by concern and jealousy. I was wrong, and I'm sorry."

Oz waved off Xander's apology. "No. I should apologize to you, with everything what happened that week. When Buffy and the others got mad at you over the ensouling spell, I didn't stand up for you. Didn't do a damn thing to help you, just because Willow was my girlfriend. I should have."

"People?" Cleburne intoned. "You can talk about those issues later, on account of we have more important matters to deal with at the moment."

"Right. So, who else knows you're alive?" Oz asked calmly.

"Like that," Cleburne commented.

Xander shrugged. "In Sunnydale? Nobody you know. There's one guy who moved there last year that's part of the organization, but none of the Scooby gang know about him; or me."

Oz stared at Harris. "Uh-huh. Wouldn't that be something they might like to know?"

"It would be *very* inadvisable for them to know that fact," Cleburne commented. "Now let's cut to the bottom line. What do you intend to do?"

Oz looked at the man questioning him. "I don't see how that's any of your business."

"Oh no, it is *definitely* my business, Wolfie. Because after taking a wrong turn two nights ago, you now know one of the ultimate holy of holies when it comes to the maximum guarded secrets of Uncle Sam. The fact that Xander Harris is still alive, has led to plenty of sleepless nights for a lot of high mucky-mucks around the globe. That secret is one that lots of people are willing to kill and die for!"

Oz's expression never changed. "How many? And what are you going to do? Kill me to keep the secret?"

Xander shook his head. "Oz, no one is going to do anything like-"

"Nine," Cleburne spoke up.

"What?" Xander demanded.

"Nine," Cleburne said again. "That's the number of people that have been directly killed over the secret of Xander Harris."

Xander paled a little bit at that. "Nine? What the - I knew about the photographer in LA, but not the other eight! What gives?"

Oz felt concern building up within him, both for himself and his friend. "Nine, you've killed nine people to keep your secret?"

Cleburne shook his head at that. "No, we've killed *four* people to protect him. The other five got killed by third parties..."

The secret agent continued on, trying to clarify things, "The photographer in LA was killed by Wolfram & Hart. An information broker in Beirut was killed by French intelligence, two mercenaries were killed in Honolulu by the Chinese and a demon cult killed a man in San Francisco - thinking he was holding back information from them, as to the kid's location."

"And the four our side's killed?" Xander asked.

"Two of them were from the demon cult in San Francisco, along with a mercenary hired by the French at the same time - that was back when we first caught up with you, kid." Cleburne then looked at the werewolf. "The fourth one was another mercenary in New York, hired by a corporation to try and grab Harris away from us."

"Corporation?" Oz asked.

"Yeah! Ain't capitalism grand," Cleburne observed with a sneer. "So as you can see, Wolfie, this is something that can get people killed. That's why it's better for everyone concerned, if the old gang back in the land of the Hellmouth remains in the dark. Especially your former girlfriend, comprende?"

"So you've left them unguarded," Oz said with an accusatory tone in his voice, as he looked at Xander.

Cleburne shook his head. "No, as Harris here said, we've got a guy in Sunnydale to keep an eye on them."

The shape-shifter looked doubtful. "Just one guy?"

"Trust me, he's all we need. Anything he can't handle, we can have the First Marine Division there in less than an hour."

"Just one man?" Oz was still unconvinced.

"Oz, all the big stuff is already taken care of. Angel and I did it before we left town; they're going to have a couple of Big Bad-free years. The Little Bad and middle-range stuff, the Scoobs can handle on their own. Anything bigger, and the seventh cavalry gets called in," Xander responded in a soothing tone. Cleburne kept quiet, not observing that the seventh cavalry had been massacred.

That seemed to satisfy the wolf man. "Okay, but only because I trust Xander, not you," he said, pointing at Cleburne.

"Well, la-de-da," Cleburne replied nastily. "I don't need your trust, right now you need mine."

Oz stared at the secret agent, as Cleburne continued, "Look, buddy..." Xander noted that the senior agent hadn't called Oz kid. "You've stumbled onto something Top Secret. Something not meant for public ears."

"Like the aliens at Roswell?" Oz asked with a straight face.

"That was just a weather balloon at Roswell," Cleburne responded.

"Yeah, right!" Oz muttered.

Xander looked on silently. { Oh yeah, I forgot, these guys are probably the ones who can tell me if little green men and the like really do exist. Maybe I can get the inside scoop on that later on, from Hollins? After all, I am Future Boy and everything for them. }

Cleburne continued on, "Whatever, there are valid reasons for keeping Harris' survival a secret. Beyond just keeping his friends safe, although the kid did insist on that..." Oz raised an eyebrow and glanced over at Xander, at hearing this.

"He also knows the really bad stuff that's about to happen in this world, and not just the weird crap you guys had in Sunnyhell," Cleburne said, using Xander's nickname for his hometown. "Stuff that we normally handle. Stuff that history books will be full of one day. Stuff that people look back on and say, *if they only knew beforehand*."

Joshua stared right in Oz's eyes. "Well, now we know. We can stop this stuff and save a whole bunch of lives and really stick it to the bad guys in the process," Cleburne finished up.

"Come on," Oz said skeptically. "You've just found an excuse to try and warp the future to your own designs."

"Oz, he's right about something bad coming," Xander said with a sigh.

"Well, so we'll stop it like we always do," the wolfish former Scooby said with conviction.

"No, buddy, that's impossible," Xander said with sadness. "Because even if we always fight and beat the demon-type monsters, we don't have a clue how to look for terrorists and people like them. We don't know where they hide, where they go to take their pilot lessons and stuff like that. Thousands of people die during one single day, in New York City. These guys can stop it, not the Slayer. And I just couldn't keep silent and have the blood of all those people on my hands. Can you?"

Oz was silent for a few moments. "Have they stopped it yet?"

Xander shook his head. "No, 'cause it won't happen until late next year."

Oz thought for a few seconds on Xander's response. "Give us a few moments alone," the musician motioned at his former Sunnydale comrade.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," Cleburne declared at once.

"No, it's all right Cleburne. I can handle it," Xander said with complete certainty.

Joshua looked torn for a few seconds. "All right, kid, but keep that cell door locked!" Cleburne started to leave the room, "I'll be right outside, if something goes wrong." The door then clicked, as the STW operative closed it.

As soon as he was sure that the Siberian was gone Xander got up, and walked to the table against the wall. He opened the drawer and pulled out the key. Harris then walked over and unlocked the cell door for Oz. "Come on out, dude."

Xander sat back down, as Oz came out and took the chair Cleburne had been using. "Where are we, anyway?" he asked, to get the ball rolling.

"Air Force base at Wiesbaden, Germany."

"So, what now?" Oz asked his time-displaced friend.

"Mother Hen's question still stands, I'm thinkin'..." Oz raised an eyebrow at Xander's use of Cleburne's nickname. "What do you intend to do, now that you know I'm alive?"

"The others back home, they'd really be in danger if they knew?"

"Possibly. Probably. If I were to guess, Buffy at least would start asking questions that'll get the wrong people looking at them. Which would lead to the wrong people coming after them. And trust me, I know all about that!" He held up his right wrist, the scars and blisters from his escape still visible.

"What happened?" Oz asked neutrally.

"You remember that guy from the Council named Travers?"

Oz frowned. "Vaguely. He was the one that tested Buffy that January during her senior year, right?"

Xander smirked viciously. "Yeah, that's the one. He happened to me."

"Bummer."

Harris laughed, and it was no expression of amusement. "Yeah, well, he's even less gentle with normal humans than he is with Slayers. And there are others out there just like him, who want to get ahold of me. You heard the list of the dead," Xander commented.

"How've you been holding up, all alone?" the werewolf asked suddenly.

The former class clown looked away. "Best as I can, and hell - at least these people actually seem to be trying to do the right thing," he motioned at the door Cleburne had exited through.

"You trust them?" Oz asked carefully.

"Yeah, as much as I trust anyone these days. They've carried through on their agreement with me, anyway."

The former member of 'Dingoes Ate My Baby' frowned and asked, "What agreement was that?"

"Well, I told them about the terrorist attacks that are coming, and believe me - they're real doozies. I also help them learn about vampires and demons. That's what we were doing in Prague."

"What are you getting in return?"

Xander shrugged. "They're joining in on the fight against the things that go bump in the night. And there's a really nasty Big Bad coming in two years. We're talking the ultimate evil here; remember the thing that tried to get Angel to off himself once? We barely stopped it, the first time around. This time, it looks like the baddie is trying to rig the game in its favor. The good guys need all the help they can get."

"That all?" Oz asked, already knowing the answer.

"No, as I said, they're also keeping an eye on Sunnydale and the gang."

Daniel Osbourne started pacing for a while, then he stopped and stared at Harris. "Something occurring. Now, back in Prague, you mentioned the headaches; as I recall they come from the conflicting memories of someone or something, that's made worse by physical presence. Is that right?"

The man currently working with Siberian Trip Wire nodded, as Oz went on, "And yet, you're able to talk to me no problem...which means I never went back to or got in contact with anyone in Sunnydale, till after 2003. So, odds are you don't have a clue what my destiny would have been, if I hadn't found you in that alley the other night. Am I wrong here?"

Xander cursed silently, he hadn't thought about that. "No."

The Oz-meister nodded. "So, this group you're with. Think they can use another helper?"

The former slave shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine..."

Lemke's Book Treasury, Sunnydale, California. The next day

"Where do these go?" Willow asked the bookstore owner, as she wheeled the cart with the boxes of books on them.

Lemke looked over at the two boxes that the redheaded Wiccan was pushing. "Hmmmm, put them in my office, I'll sort through them later on..."

Willow pushed the cart though the store back to the bookstore's owner. The few months she had been working in the bookstore had very relaxing for her, as a matter of fact.

She loved being among the books, it reminded her of the old days in the Sunnydale High library. And even if her boss had a real love for the old tomes, he was also accepting of new ideas. Willow had been able to convince him to set up some computer terminals for Internet access by the patrons. Business had then picked up quite a bit, as word spread through the local community about the new charms of the quaint store.

The witch moved the boxes from the cart and put them on the table, as Lemke also entered the office. Willow finished moving the boxes, and then looked around the walls of the office.

"Josef?" She had gotten over feeling uncomfortable calling her boss by his first name by this time. "I've been meaning to ask you. Who are these pictures of?" Several photos of Lemke in uniform, along with other soldiers, were present on the wall.

Lemke looked up to see which pictures she was referring to. "Oh, those are from my time in the army."

Willow examined the photos. "You sure seem to have got around. These photos look to be from all over the world! Oh, what did you do in the army?"

"A little bit of this, and a little bit of that. Nothing very exciting to someone like you, I'm sure," Lemke replied, hoping to be vague enough to dissuade her from asking more questions.

Willow came to a photo that seemed to hold a place of honor on the wall. It was of Lemke in fatigues holding a sniper rifle. He was flanked on either side by two soldiers similarly dressed, and holding a similar weapon. "Who are these guys?"

Lemke saw the photo she was looking at, and his expression grew grim. "That's from when I was in Africa. Somalia, actually, back in '93."

Willow noticed Lemke's change in demeanor. "Something bad happen there?"

"You could say that..." Lemke looked around. His eyes went to the bookshelf he kept behind his desk, and the STW operative went over there and took out a book with a black cover. "Here, this can tell you all about it better than I can. The two soldiers in the picture with me are Gary Gordon and Randall Shughart. They're mentioned in the book. Read this, and maybe I'll tell you everything about what happened someday. Then again, maybe not."

Willow looked down at the book; the title read, Blackhawk Down.

Ramstein Air Force Base, Wiesbaden, Germany. The next day

It turned out that the Siberians were in fact very receptive to receiving another helper. "Hey, better for you to earn your keep around here, rather than just loaf around all day," Cleburne had commented when approached by Oz and Xander about it.

Communications back to the Siberians in the United States had a similar result, particularly once the child genius Hollins got a look at Oz's transcripts. It looked like there might finally be someone close to his age who could keep up, albeit with intense concentration, with Hollins' ideas.

There was also having a werewolf to actually help out in the studies of the paranormal. Apparently, no one had ever had the chance to examine a Garou in a controlled setting before. Of course, that may have been due to the fact that most of the people seeking to do so had been of the same vein as Maggie Walsh. They hadn't really gone out of their way to try to get the cooperation of the subject, as oddly enough mad scientists usually don't exactly measure up on people skills.

So Oz had been provisionally accepted into STW as a field advisor, the same as Xander. And when Harris had asked him why he wanted to sign up, Oz had just sighed and replied, "Hey, I've helped save the world a few times, both with the gang in Sunnydale and by myself. I can't exactly abandon the job now." Xander had smiled at that, understanding Oz perfectly.

Both men had spent the past few days catching up. They had avoided the subject of Willow, that night in the hospital and the events at the end of junior year. There was an unspoken understanding that that would be a conversation for another day.

Instead, Oz had been telling Xander of his adventures in the Orient, while he was learning to control his inner wolf and the people he had met. He'd spoken of the werewolf monk Shantou, who had taught him the self-control he valued so much now. Of the girl Jinan and her family of Kaohsiung demons in Hong Kong, that had helped him on his quest.

Not to mention the band he had hooked up with, after leaving Sunnydale for the second time. They had made their way across the United States, and then Europe. Along the way they had encountered vampires, demons and a warlock intent on destroying the world to gain supreme power.

Xander had silently wondered just how many end-of-the-world type situations had happened, that he'd never known about. { Better get the Siberians more into the game, to deal with them. On account of the good guys only have to fail once, for everything to end up ca-ca. }

Harris in turn had filled Oz in on what he knew about Siberian Trip Wire. Cleburne and his teams of agents, that had calmly slipped from the world of anti-terrorism into the world of demon fighting. Irving Hollins, the now 12-year-old super-genius who seemed to know everything and anticipate every possibility. The fight against the demons that was spreading around the world, and the new allies entering it.

Oz had hesitated when his old friend had mentioned that point. "Xander, that first time in the alley when I saw you. Rachael, the woman with you then? For a second, I thought she was..."

"I know, I know, she does look a little bit like Faith," Xander had replied, staring off into space. "And the worst part is, she wasn't supposed to die at Graduation."

Oz had looked a little shocked at that, which was saying something. "What? She survived...there?"

"Yeah, get me drunk sometime and I'll tell you the whole story. She lived until 2003, maybe longer. I remember how she had hooked up with Robin Wood, the new principal at Sunnydale High..." Xander had continued on, but seeing Oz raise an eyebrow at the reference to a Sunnydale High School principal. "Hey, no! Woody was and is and will be *nothing* like Snyder. His mother was a Slayer, actually, someone Spike killed back in the 1970s."

Oz had frowned at the mention of the soulless undead. "Please tell me that particular bloodsucker is dusted in the future."

Xander had somehow laughed and frowned at the same time. "Another story for when we get drunk, at the next post-op celebration."

But now a few days later, the Siberians were getting ready to head back to the States. The problems with Xander's parents and the courtroom drama in San Francisco were all over, so it was time to go home. The gang was waiting in a hangar to board the plane; and they were being accompanied by Rachael, who hadn't yet given up on trying to charm Xander with her considerable feminine wiles.

But Harris only half-paid attention to her efforts. { Sweet mamalushin, I really have changed, } he thought in amusement. { Six years ago I'd have been so fixated on her, I wouldn't even know what country I was in. But nowadays? Her act, it's almost just a distraction. }

"Damn it, what now?!"

Cleburne cursing brought Xander back to giving his full attention to what was going on in the hangar. They were being approached by a group of German policemen, and several strange men in civilian clothes.

But as they got closer, Xander recognized one of them. Quentin Travers.

"Just what we need, Masterpiece Theater without the charm!" Cleburne grumbled. Unnoticed by everyone except the senior Siberian, Gunny slipped off and headed into an office.

The Watcher had a look of smug satisfaction on his face. "Kommissar Seitz, I believe you know what to do," he said to the German police officer in charge, as they got within earshot of the Siberians. The official then stepped forward.

He looked down the line of the Americans, his gaze stopping when it got to Xander. "You are Herr Alexander Harris? I have an arrest warrant for your person. As well as a request from Her Majesty's government in the United Kingdom, for extradition to that country at once."

"On what grounds?" Xander demanded. He noticed that Cleburne didn't seem to be getting too worked up by what was going on, though. { Geez, a little concern here would be nice! }

"Charges of murder, assault and kidnapping," was the reply.

{ Well, when the Watchers trump up criminal charges, they sure don't mess around, } Xander mentally observed with a sneer. "I see."

"And if this is the wrong guy?" Red asked.

"The man will have ample opportunity to address that through the proper channels," Travers announced with a look of contempt. Gunny then quietly rejoined the group.

"Yeah, I'm really sure of that," Red announced with a generous helping of sarcasm.

Travers folded his arms, and glared at the Americans. "I assure you that everything is quite legal and aboveboard. The law is on our side here, and any attempt to interfere with the actions of these officials will only lead to you joining Mr. Harris in custody."

"Just for the record, my name is Alexander Hall," Xander said. { Best try to bluff this out if I can. I don't think the Watcher goon squad will try a shootout in front of the German police. }

"You'll have to come with me to the Polizeiwache, the stationhouse for us to confirm that, mein herr," the cop announced. And both the Watchers and the Siberians knew what would happen once Xander was on his way to the stationhouse, where there would be a window of opportunity for the Council to pull its dirty tricks.

"This is bullshit, and we don't have time for this. The plane is ready, and we have places to be," Cleburne announced frankly.

"Oh, you're quite free to leave. We'll just take the child with us, so run along if you like," Travers taunted Cleburne.

"The kid's not a child, you asshole," the STW operative sighed. "Hall, just show the nice German police officer your papers. Remember, I made sure you got them back at the airbase in the Czech Republic?"

Xander was confused for a second. { What good will that do? } But he pulled the wallet out and handed it to the police commissioner.

The Kommissar opened it up, and looked at the documents. After a few seconds, he looked back up. "These identify you as Herr Lieutenant Alexander Hall of the United States Army, nicht wahr?"

"Yeah, that's my name." { For now anyway, } Xander thought with a shrug after he spoke.

"Really?" Rachael whispered in his ear, thoroughly amused at the unexpected show. Xander just glared at her, as Oz stared unblinking at Travers - ready to wolf out, the moment it was necessary.

Some of the Watchers recognized the redheaded man from the photographs, and grew visibly nervous - on account of none of them had any silver bullets or knives, which almost everyone knew were the only things which would permanently kill Oz, if the blood started splattering the walls here.

"Now, I already know what you're going to ask next," Cleburne spoke up, ignoring the antics of those around him. "And to answer your question, Herr Kommissar, no - the American armed forces do *not* waive jurisdiction in this matter. When the JAG officer arrives, I'm sure he will confirm that to you. Now, are we done here?"

Suddenly Travers looked confused. "What do you mean? Everything is in order for the extradition and us taking Mr. Harris into immediate custody. What is the problem?"

"Everything is proper for a civilian, that is true Herr Travers-" Otto started to say.

"So what's the problem, man? Arrest him!" Travers snapped.

"Visiting Forces Agreement, you thickheaded ass," Cleburne announced with a smirk, as Seitz bristled at being ordered around like that.

"What?" Travers demanded.

"Alexander Hall is a member of the United States Army Rangers. Under the Visiting Forces Agreement signed between the United States and the Federal Republic of Germany, he is not subject to the jurisdiction of the German government. Any legal matters must proceed through the U.S. military justice system. I believe that the United Kingdom has a similar agreement with the USA..."

As Cleburne finished up, several jeeps of U.S. Air Force Air Policemen pulled up in front of the hangar. A uniformed officer also exited from the jeep. "Colonel Cleburne?"

Joshua raised his hand in identification to the officer. "Well, I suspect this is the JAG officer here. So you can take up your legal matters with him, right?" the man then added.

"Very good, Herr Oberst," the German policeman clicked his heels together, straight out of an old war movie.

"But, but this is outrageous!" Travers sputtered. { The child is not going to escape me this easily! }

"Nein, Herr Travers, this is the law," the cop observed humorlessly. "If memory serves me correct, your request must be filed through U.S. military channels before any action can be taken."

Cleburne nodded. "And I'm sure these nice military policemen can help the Tweed Brigade here not come to any harm while the paperwork is prepared." He then looked at his watch. "Oh my, look at the time. Too bad we can't stay, we've got a plane to catch." He motioned to the Siberians to follow him.

Several members of the Watchers retrieval team tensed up, and looked ready to start something. Red noticed this and commented, "Hey, limey boys, you're in the middle of a U.S. Air Force base filled with heavily-armed soldiers, in a situation where the local cops are saying we're in the right. You try anything, and they'll need a firehose to wash your remains off of the floor - you understand me?"

The retrieval team members looked at each other; they had heard the underground rumors about what had happened in Georgia, during the first attempt at obtaining Mr. Harris. On the other hand, what would happen to them back in Britain upon doing nothing also definitely required consideration...

Otto Seitz, who was nobody's fool, quickly said to his men, "Immer ruhig," ordering them to remain calm as the U.S. soldiers cocked their weapons and took aim at the Council operatives, but not the cops.

It was very touch and go - but in the end, immediate personal survival came before a certain bloodbath. So the goon squad stood down despite the expression on Travers's face, as the Siberians walked to the plane.

"You knew about this?" Xander asked suspiciously.

"Not the timing. But we knew what they were going to try," Cleburne silently tipped a hat to Cummings, the MI-6 liaison in Washington who had warned them of what was coming. "It was simple enough to figure out how to stop them. And as long as you're in any country where Uncle Sam has a visiting forces agreement for its troops, kid, you're golden."

"Except for England," Oz observed.

"Well, yeah, we wouldn't want you going there. That might get a little...hairy."

A few minutes later, the plane taking the Siberians back across the Atlantic sped down the runway. Travers looked on seething, as the American JAG officer kept jabbering in his ear, killing time on a request that both of them knew would not go anywhere. { I'll get you one day, Harris. Your friends can't protect you forever. One day, your arse is mine! }

TBC...