Chapter Twenty-five
Thursday, November 14, 2002 – outside 140 East 71st Street, New York City; not long after midnight:
Wesley finally arrived at Kennedy's home, looking like he'd been in a war.
Well, in effect, he had; earlier tonight, that battle he'd fought against those three Bringers of the First Evil had been one he'd only barely survived. He'd also had to run for it after shooting two of them, thanks to the unwelcome arrival of the NYPD, which had led to quite a detour around Park Avenue and Fifth Avenue, and the zoo near Central Park.
Near, not in.
In fact, it wasn't a zoo at all in the strictest sense. Still, the people who frequented that part of the city were such odd animals (to his eyes, anyway) that Wes had felt perfectly justified in thinking of the area as a 'zoo.' Those runaways and/or addicts, dazed adolescents who seemed either retarded or drugged or both... it was enough to make Wesley long for the familiarity of smog-filled Los Angeles. And the irony of that after losing his memory and thinking he was seventeen oh-so-recently, was not lost upon him.
Still, all that was irrelevant right now. Wes took in the tall, narrow structure of brown jagged stone and thick blue glass – good grief, did the Potential Slayer's family possess utterly no taste at all? – near the corner of the tree-lined block, and he quickly marched up the reddish-brown steps to the black front door.
A quick press of the doorbell, and eventually a woman dressed in a maid's uniform opened the door. "Yes?"
"The name's Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, madam. I'm here to see Mr. and Mrs. Greene, and their daughter Kennedy."
The maid looked at him in amazement. "Mister, do you have any idea what time it is? It's nearly half past midnight! Go away, and come back tomorrow. Better yet, don't come back at all!"
"Madam, I do realize that given the late hour, you are rightly skeptical concerning the urgency of the situation. However, this truly is a matter of life or death – and since I saved Miss Greene's life earlier tonight from three people out to kill her, it would seem to me that the societal niceties can be ignored, for now," Wesley replied tightly, using old school lessons concerning deportment and intimidation to get his message across. "You need to go wake up the family, immediately. Or else I'll go home to Los Angeles, and let those men I just mentioned murder you all at their convenience. You decide. Right now."
The maid studied him carefully. Something about his manner and diction must have made an impact, for she nodded and silently gestured for Wesley to enter the house. After she shut the front door behind him, she said "Wait here," and quickly departed the main foyer of the residence.
Wes looked around, perceiving the house to be rather more to his taste on the inside compared to the outside. Hrmm. There was a winding marble staircase on the right, and a long narrow corridor in front of him that led to another door, about thirty feet away. Portraits lined the walls of the corridor; expensive works of art, too, by the look of them. There was a Titian, a Van Eyck, even a Raphael –
"What's going on here? Who the devil are you?" a gruff male voice said from the top of the stairs, as a middle-aged balding man with a mustache appeared, clad in an expensive-looking robe. "Good God, man, do you have any idea what time it is?"
"Indeed I do, sir," Wesley replied in his thickest Oxford accent, which made the man – Kennedy's father, presumably – pause briefly on his way down the stairs. "And the name is Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, actually."
"You're British. Like Kennedy's tutor, that Edna Clayworth woman – God rest her soul," Mr. Greene added parenthetically, as he arrived at the bottom of the stairs. "But you still haven't answered my other question. What are you doing here? And at this time of night?"
"Oh my God, what happened to you?!" Kennedy's voice intruded into the conversation, as Wes looked up to see the female teen hurrying down the stairs. He remained silent until the Potential Slayer arrived on the scene, and then Kennedy added, "I mean, you look like hell. And I, I just ran off and left you – "
"It was the right thing to do. As I told you, you yourself are in deadly danger. I assume your father is not aware of the true gravity of the situation?" Wes sent Mr. Greene a brief look.
"Kennedy, you know this man? No, hang on a moment – what do you mean, my daughter's life is in danger? Damn it all, who in heaven's name are you?!" Mr. Greene demanded angrily.
"I'll thank you not to take that tone in my presence, sir," Wes replied bitingly, looking down his nose at the American. "Unlike the late Mrs. Clayworth, I am under no obligation to risk my life for you and your daughter. I am merely here as a favor to some former colleagues – and quite frankly, after everything that's happened since I arrived in this godforsaken city? I'm tempted to depart right now, and let the individuals who attempted to murder your offspring earlier tonight have at it in peace. They probably already know where you live; so it's only a matter of time before they slaughter everyone in this house at their leisure."
Mr. Greene's face turned red with fury at being spoken to that way, but then Kennedy forced him to look at her. "Daddy? I think he's right. Those three men who came after me earlier tonight, they were carrying knives. And, and they were wearing these weird-looking robes and hoods, so that no one on the street could see their faces. I, I think Mr. Pryce might have saved my life, giving me the opportunity to run for it... "
"You're welcome," Wes interjected sardonically, causing Kennedy to blush and mutter a belated 'thank you.'
The husband and father calmed down a little, and stared at Wesley again. "All right. Assuming for the sake of argument that you're not some crackpot who just barged in off the street, what do you want? Ten, fifteen thousand? Twenty?"
Wes sent him a look of complete disgust. "Mr. Greene, I don't want your money. And to be perfectly honest, you insult me more than you realize. Obviously, I was mistaken to assume that you understood I wasn't simply some mercenary for hire. As I said, I should just leave – "
"No, wait! Don't, don't do that," Kennedy said rapidly. "Come with me... " She grabbed him by the wrist and began pulling him down the corridor, towards the door at the other end.
A few moments later, she opened the door with her free hand and dragged him into the library. Wesley was somewhat captivated by what he saw; such as the long drinks table, genuine leather armchairs, rows of bookshelves that reach almost as high as the ceiling – plus a pair of French doors at the far end of the room. It reminded him very much of the family home in England. { Impressive, I must say. }
"Daddy, please, fetch our guest a drink," the Potential Slayer firmly ordered her father. The man grumbled under his breath, but reluctantly obeyed Kennedy anyway. Mr. Greene poured himself a Scotch as well, and then came closer to hand over the glass of Scottish pride to him.
"Here's to your daughter's health," Wes smirked and raised his glass, enjoying the older man's visible annoyance a bit too much.
"I'll drink to that," Mr. Greene nodded sourly, and swallowed all the alcohol in one gulp. Then he said, "All right, now let's take it from the top. Who exactly are these people who want my little girl dead? And why do they want to kill her?"
"How much do you know?" Wes asked Kennedy, not answering the question. "How much did your Watcher tell you?"
"Not all that much," the dark-haired girl shrugged. "I mean, Mrs. Clayworth told me the basics, but I've never even seen a – " She paused, glancing at her father, but then decided to finish the sentence anyway. "A vampire."
"A WHAT?!" Mr. Greene roared, not unexpectedly.
"Your daughter is neither lying nor mistaken, sir. Such things truly exist; I myself have seen and battled against such loathsome creatures. But that is neither here nor there at the moment. Because even though your daughter is a potential Vampire Slayer, it is the forces of the First Evil – its Bringers – who are out to kill her. Just as they've killed dozens of other Potential Slayers throughout the world, by this point in time."
"That's it. I've heard enough of this nonsense!" Mr. Greene roared –
– just as a Bringer crashed through the glass pane of the window overlooking the garden, its hood up and its red, mutilated eyes immediately homing in on its target. Kennedy.
"What the-?" Mr. Greene muttered in pure disbelief, frozen to the spot as the Scotch whiskey glass fell from his hand and shattered on the floor.
Not that Wes was in any position to notice; he had already engaged the Bringer in combat. The harbinger of the First Evil quickly decided to eliminate the more immediate threat, as Wesley leapt upon him and they rolled around on the carpet for a few moments, the First Evil's minion trying to stab him with that silver dagger –
SNIKT!
The collapsible sword extended out and through the Bringer's neck, splattering Wesley's face and shirt with red, lukewarm arterial blood. Grunting, he tried to pull it out of the dead man's neck; only for the weapon to shatter into little pieces.
Feeling annoyed, Wesley quickly pushed the corpse off of him, took the gauntlet off his wrist and then let it drop to the floor. He subsequently picked his whiskey glass up off the carpet, inspecting it carefully. Getting up, he casually said to Mr. Greene, "I think I'd like a refill, please. Would you care for one?"
"Uh, yeah... " the balding man nodded slowly, looking freaked. "Better make it a double."
"As you wish." Wesley figured that his blood-splattered appearance must be a trifle upsetting to the millionaire, because Kennedy's father immediately backed away from him after accepting the Scotch.
"Could I have one as well?" Kennedy asked, eying the corpse on the floor.
"No," both Wesley and Mr. Greene said in unison. Upon receiving the older man's questioning look, he added, "Not only is the girl underage, I disapprove of Potentials imbibing alcohol. It slows their reaction time significantly during their training."
"Right... " Mr. Greene trailed off, now refusing to look at the robed body on the floor. "So, uh, what do we do about him?"
"I'd suggest calling pest control tomorrow morning, and have them clean up the mess. After all, it's hardly a fitting job for the maid," Wes replied cuttingly, causing Mr. Greene to stare at him like he was completely mad.
"Holy... this is for real, isn't it?" the millionaire said abruptly, now looking completely shell-shocked. "What you said before, that stuff about vampires and, and evil, and... you really weren't kidding, were you?"
"No, I wasn't. Welcome to the real world," Wes said sardonically, before gulping down the Scotch.
"Daddy, are you all right?" Kennedy asked, looking concerned after seeing her father's facial expression. "I mean, are, are you OK about all this?"
"Huh? Oh, hell no, sweetheart. No one in their right mind could possibly be OK with all this," Mr. Greene replied forcefully, before focusing back on Wesley. "But never mind that for now. All right, let's start again. Mister, you mentioned something before about my daughter being a potential, uh, what did you call it – vampire killer?"
"Vampire Slayer," Wesley nodded, and got right down to the standard speech. "You see, contrary to popular mythology, this world did not begin as a Paradise – "
Wednesday, November 13, 2002 –1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale; late evening:
"Ow," Xander said, as the pert blond paramedic – her nameplate read 'Hawthorne' – applied a bandage to his head.
"Are you feeling dizzy? Nauseous? Pretty sure the headache part is a given," Ms. Hawthorne said, as she finished up the job.
"No, no, and yeah," Xander replied, before glancing around at the group of concerned women surrounding them. "Guys, relax! I'm fine, pretty much."
"Well, you sure didn't look fine when Buffy – " Cordelia started to say, before Willow slapped a hand over her mouth.
"She's just upset about an argument from earlier on. Please, pay no attention," the redhead said to the paramedic quickly, before giving his girlfriend a warning look.
Ms. Hawthorne looked at him and then at the Buffinator, before shaking her head and visibly dismissing the seemingly-absurd notion that his blond friend could have caused him an injury like this. Xander knew he had to weigh almost twice as much as Buffy did, and the paramedic would have no idea about the whole Slayer thing. { Kinda lucky there, I hafta admit. 'Cause last thing we need is the Sunnydale cops to get involved in this! }
"All right, well, you're more or less OK," Ms. Hawthorne said to him, "though I'd advise you to go see your health care professional, if the headaches are still there in forty-eight hours. Now, sit still for a few minutes and give the Elmer's glue a chance to set, understood?"
"Fine," Xander grimaced a little, leaning back on the couch.
"Thank you for everything," Dawn said gratefully to the paramedic, who just nodded and started packing up her stuff. A few moments later, she walked out the front door to the ambulance waiting outside, and then she and her partner drove off into the night.
Back inside the house, an uncomfortable silence fell. Xander could see how Willow and Dawn were deliberately avoiding gazing in Buffy's direction, while Cordelia was staring at the Chosen One with a look of pure, venomous hatred. So he said, "Uh, listen, before anyone says anything – "
"I say we call the police, and tell them what this bitch did!" Cordy shouted, glaring at the Slayer.
"Like that," Xander continued, with a hopeless look on his face. "Um – "
"You want a piece of me, Cordelia? All right, fine – I'll even let you throw the first punch. But after that, the kiddie gloves come off," Buffy growled back at her, obviously very upset over the events of the evening so far.
"OK, OK, before this whole thing becomes worthy of pay-per-view or whatever, I have something I'd like to say," Xander interjected.
"What is it?" Willow asked nervously, staring back and forth between the Slayer and the Seer.
"Will, I'd like you, Dawn and Cordy to go upstairs and check on Jonathan and Andrew. Tell them it's safe to come downstairs again," he said, looking around at all three of his girls.
"What? Oh, hell, no! Xander, you think I'm leaving you alone for Little Miss Psycho Menace to hit you again, you're even more brain-damaged than I thought!" Cordelia replied vehemently. "I swear – the way your head hit that wall, at the very least you should have had a concussion!"
"Yeah, well, I'm thinking the legacy of almost becoming Fish Guy includes a harder head than your average Sunnydale construction worker; and guessing the black eye will have to do," Xander gestured to the left side of his face, which was already starting to swell up. "And seriously, I'm totally not looking forward to explaining all this to the guys at work tomorrow. Thinkin' my man cred is gonna take a serious hit, even leaving out the whole 'you got beaten up by a girl' angle."
Dawn rolled her eyes. "OK, guess the lame jokes mean that you're not hurt all that bad. Fine, we're upstairs bound." She grabbed Willow and Cordelia by the wrist and started dragging them off. "C'mon, we need to give them some privacy. And don't argue with me, damn it!"
"All right, fine. Hey, let go of me!" Cordy said crossly, yanking her arm loose. She then looked over her shoulder and said, "We'll be back soon, Dweeb. I promise."
"Looking forward to it, sweetheart," Xander smiled at her. "Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere."
"You better not!" And without another word, the Vision Girl followed the witch and the Key up the stairs.
"Xander, I'm sorry I – " Buffy began to apologize at once.
"Hit me? Yeah, I know. But hey, no big deal as far as I'm concerned; it wasn't the first time, and I'm pretty sure it won't be the last, either," Xander shrugged from his spot on the couch, causing Buffy to stare at him in astonishment. He explained, "Occupational hazard of hanging with a Slayer, way I see it. I mean, Faith tried to strangle me way back when, and you punched my lights out just now. Who knows; maybe the next Chosen One will be more into spanking... "
"Will you cut it out with the stupid jokes?!" Buffy snapped at him, looking very upset. "My God, you – what the hell were you thinking, getting in my way like that? I could have seriously hurt you just now!"
"You mean, as opposed to seriously hurting my girlfriend? Thinkin' we both know you wouldn't have pulled your punch for Cordy the way you did with me, Buff," Xander shook his head slowly and painfully, as the Slayer winced and looked away. It almost felt like someone had driven a nail into his skull, just above the left eye. "Fact is, you mighta killed her. And I couldn't risk that – no way, no how."
"I, I couldn't have... I mean, I wouldn't have gone that far. Killing a human being, even Cordelia – that's a line I don't ever want to cross," Buffy said fervently, shaking her head. "Totally not wanting to follow in Faith's footsteps, and trust me; I learned my lesson with that Robo-Ted guy, way back when."
"Yeah, well, like I said; didn't wanna risk it. This sort of thing is starting to become a habit with you, ya know."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Buffy demanded.
"Well, you stabbed Faith over Angel. You tried to kill Anya over those frat boys. You wanted to plunge your fist through Cordy's head over Spike," Xander shrugged again, very slightly and painfully. "I mean, is it just me – or is there a pattern emerging here, with regard to the women I've been intimate with?"
"You've had sex with Cordelia already?!" Buffy said loudly, staring at him in sudden disgust.
"No – I meant, back in high school. We, uh, it was around the time of Graduation – and all three times were absolutely incredible," Xander smirked at her for a moment, before becoming serious again. "Look, Buffy. Cordy and I are back together now. And I need you to deal, OK? I'm not asking you to be happy for us, because you never asked me to be happy about you and Spike – and even before then, you and Angel – and there's no point trying to accomplish the impossible, with regard to that sort of thing. I'm just asking you to be civil to my girlfriend, that's all."
"Civil? You want me to be civil to her? After that woman murdered Spike?" Buffy growled at him. "Wait up – what happened there, exactly? She just came right up to him and plunged the stake in?"
"Actually, she never even went near the guy."
"WHAT?"
"Yeah, what happened earlier tonight? See, Spike went into his vamp face and was about to pounce on us – when Cordy killed him with that Force bolt, or whatever the hell it was."
"WHAT?" Buffy demanded again. He explained, briefly; thus the Slayer looked amazed as she said, "Cordelia has – superpowers now?"
"Yeah. That's the other reason why you don't wanna throw down with her. Don't wanna risk her vaporizing you, like she did your undead honey."
Buffy immediately shook her head in denial, refusing to believe that was even possible. "No. No way! And what you said before, Spike making out with another woman? He wouldn't do that! Not with his feelings for me!"
"Well, hey, we never actually saw him kiss her; Spike just had his face pressed against his neck, like he was about to nibble affectionately or something. And I'll admit that for a moment there, it was kinda weird – like he was talking to someone we couldn't see or hear – just before he went from normal, pain in the ass Spike to bloodthirsty-looking lethal killer Spike. Maybe something – "
He paused, looking shocked. "Holy crap. The First? You think it mighta been controlling him, somehow, making him do stuff without his even knowing about it? Yeah, I mean, that would explain why Spike was able to deny everything so convincingly... "
"Oh, God, then that makes it even worse!" Buffy started pacing angrily. "I mean, if you're right – then what's happened lately wasn't even Spike's fault! And I, I could have fixed this, somehow, if Cordelia hadn't – "
"Killed him before he could kill us?" Xander interrupted softly. The upset-looking Slayer glared at him as he added, "Hrmm. Interesting to know where my life – and Cordelia's – sits on your list of priorities, Buff."
"Damn it, that's not what I meant – "
"I know. I mean, I get it," Xander interrupted again. "You're just totally focused on the vampire you had hate sex with, for most of last year. It's understandable. He went and got a soul for you, after all. He kept you sane after me and the others ripped your soul out of Heaven. He looked after Dawn for you while you were dead. Odds are Spike was pretty damn good in the sack, too – over a century's worth of experience and all. I mean, what's not to like about the guy?"
From the look on her face, Buffy obviously knew damning praise when she heard it. "And Cordelia is oh-so-completely likeable?"
"I don't think you wanna go there," Xander shook his head again, despite the pain that it caused him.
"Meaning?"
"You called Cordy a 'vapid whore.' That was strike one. You then tried to do her grievous bodily harm. That was strike two. You don't want to learn what'll happen after strike three," Xander told her, staring her right in the eye. "Trust me on that, Buff. You. Really. Don't."
"That a threat, Xander?" Buffy asked mildly.
"No. I'm simply saying, you won't like the consequences if you make me choose between you and my girlfriend. Because Cordelia would win. Wouldn't even remotely be a contest, as my black eye will attest." He tried to get up, but was immediately slammed down by the pain.
"Damn it, Xander, are you trying to hurt yourself?!" Buffy's concerned voice registered only vaguely in his brain. "Don't move. I think we have some Tylenol and Advil in the kitchen, I'll be right back."
Xander leaned back on the couch with an audible sigh. He honestly hadn't intended for the conversation to go there, but it had happened anyway. Damn. His friendship with the blond Slayer was being tested like never before –
And for the first time in nearly seven years, Xander didn't know if it would survive this time around.
Thursday, November 14, 2002 – police headquarters, Stockton, Northern California; early morning:
"So is this gonna take much longer?" Faith asked the plain-clothes police detective, as she sat in the 'interview' room. Well, interrogation room, really – but, apparently, you couldn't call it that anymore. Because of political correctness and all that bullshit.
She looked towards the wall on her left side, knowing that Groo was in the room next door. Faith figured his interrogation room would be more or less identical to hers; a rectangular table with the interviewee seated on one side, and chairs for the interviewing officers on the other. She also figured both rooms were wired for sound, not to mention had a one-way mirrored window so that the officers in the interview foyer could watch and listen to the interrogation. { Typical. They probably watch too many TV cop shows – }
"We're still trying to ascertain exactly what happened, Miss Lehane," the Stockton cop told her in a polite monotone.
"No, you're hoping that by asking me the same questions over and over again during this little interrogation session – "
"This isn't an interrogation," the detective interrupted. "You're not under arrest, and you haven't been charged with anything."
"Yet, you mean," Faith openly smirked at him. She couldn't help it; she just couldn't resist pissing off guys like him. Must have been due to spending the last few years behind bars. "But anyway, like I was saying, you're hoping that by asking the same questions again and again and again, I'll slip up and say something that'll allow you to pin the whole thing on me. Rip up that pardon I got, and send me straight back to jail. Too bad for you how that crap won't get you anywhere, 'cause I had nothin' to do with it – and I can sit here all day telling you that. I got no other place in particular I need to be right now, ya know."
The cop almost glared at her; almost. Faith counted that as a victory of sorts. But before she could say anything else, the door opened – and a not-so-welcome blast from the past showed up.
"Detective Abelman. I believe you're violating Miss Lehane's rights by interrogating her without an attorney present," Lilah said in her professional lawyer tone. "The name's Lilah Morgan, I'm with Wolfram & Hart. Los Angeles branch."
"Nice to meet you, counselor. And beg to differ," Abelman replied smoothly, looking unimpressed by the female attorney's words. Faith couldn't tell if it was because he was too dumb or too pro, but either way, he was obviously on Lilah's shit list now. "I'm conducting an investigation into a multiple homicide, in which Miss Lehane here is a vital witness – "
"In an interrogation room? Oh, please. We both know that if you thought she was innocent, right now she'd be sitting on the other side of your desk out in the bullpen, helping a police artist make a sketch of the killers in question," Lilah replied derisively. "Now get out and turn off all the microphones in here, or I'll have your badge and your balls for breakfast tomorrow. And if you think I'm kidding? Go ask your friends looking at us through that mirror right now, what happened to the last cop who pissed off my law firm." Lilah gestured towards the nearby mirror casually. "It'll be quite a story, too."
The detective glared at the evil bitch, but left anyway. Lilah waited a few moments, and immediately after the lights flickered for a second, the attorney smiled at her. "Hello, Faith. Long time no see."
"Two and a half years. You miss me, Lilah?" Faith asked with a straight face. "'Cause I missed you. Can't tell you how many nights I spent visualizing your face inside my cell, along with those other guys – Lindsey and Lee."
"Yes, well, it may interest you to know that Lee's dead now, and Lindsey suffered an unfortunate attack of conscience and left the firm over a year ago. Vanished without a trace," Lilah said with a smile. "So if it's revenge you've got in mind? I'm afraid you'll have to settle for me alone."
"What the hell do you want?" Faith abruptly grew tired of the verbal game. "'Cause I'm not in the mood for this crap, lawyer lady. Bottom line, you may have bought that so-called trial, but you couldn't keep me locked up forever like you planned. So, what? What's your angle here?"
"Getting straight down to business. All right, I can respect that." Lilah abruptly lost the smile. "You signed on with Wolfram & Hart to do a job, Faith. That job remains incomplete to this very day."
"You think I'm gonna kill Angel for you, you're even stupider than I thought," Faith snorted sarcastically.
"Who said anything about killing Angel? But if you want to be free of your obligations to the Senior Partners, you'll deliver on what you signed up for. One way or another."
Faith reached down into her prison issue bag and slapped a piece of paper down on the table. "Presidential pardon for all the evil shit I did. So if I say 'fuck you, bitch', you can't send me back to that prison."
"Can't I?" Lilah asked calmly.
"No, actually, I believe you can't. Hello, Miss Lehane. I'm Howard McKenzie, attorney with Klein & Gabler," an older, distinguished-looking guy said, while standing at the door of the interrogation room. "May I have a word?"
"Have a sentence, even," Faith instinctively smirked after seeing the sour expression on Lilah's face.
"Very well. Ms. Morgan, you need to examine this," the male attorney gave Lilah a sheaf of papers.
The Wolfram & Hart lawyer examined the papers briefly, and after reading the signature at the end, raised her eyebrows. "I refuse to believe that the Chief Justice of the United States actually signed this."
"Believe what you wish, Ms. Morgan. But in my experience? If the Executive Office of the President wants something done, it gets done. Now, I suggest you leave before you give the police officers at this station just cause to arrest you."
Lilah glared at him, and then at her, but quickly departed the room. Faith smirked again and said, "So, what was all that about?"
"Ms. Morgan was just served with a restraining order. It's now a criminal offence for her to have any form of contact with you, whatsoever. And since it cuts out her ability to confer legal interference quite nicely, it should enable a rapid conclusion of this matter for all concerned," McKenzie said crisply.
"Right. So what are you doing here, anyway? Got the feeling you didn't show up just to piss off the evil lawyer," Faith replied.
"Actually, I'm here as a favor to a certain individual in the White House. He asked me to help expedite the removal of police interference in keeping you here as a criminal suspect, due to your jail record. Apparently, you have quite a number of people in high places interested in your situation," McKenzie told her. "I've just come from the hospital, by the way; it looks like that prison guard, Ms. Rhodes, will pull through despite her injuries. She said to say thank you for saving her life."
"No big deal. And besides, I couldn'ta done it without Groo," Faith said uncomfortably.
"Ah, yes. I'm not familiar with your companion, actually, that wasn't part of my briefing," McKenzie nodded. "Still, I've heard that he was on the scene and assisted you during the attack on that bus?"
"Yeah. Saved my life by distracting the bad guys long enough to fight my way outta there."
"I see. Then it shouldn't be a problem resolving any attempts to keep him here, either, assuming he's now part of your... job, or mission, or whatever word suits." McKenzie opened his briefcase, and brought out a piece of paper and a pen. "Please sign this at the bottom, on the dotted line. It's a simple writ authorizing me to act as your attorney; after which, I'll have both you and Mr. Groo out of here in about five minutes."
"Yeah, well, just one thing. Fact is, I don't know you. So how do I know you're not one of the bad guys, and setting me up for something?" Faith asked bluntly.
"I've been a lawyer for nearly fifty years, Miss Lehane. In all that time, I've followed a code of professional conduct which doesn't allow that sort of thing," McKenzie told her sternly. "And as I said, I'm here strictly as a favor to someone who – well, let's just say it's his job to maintain a good working relationship with a certain group of people in England. A group I'm told have a lot of political connections, and who've been around for a very long time."
{ The Council, } Faith thought to herself. { Well, crap. Was I wrong about them wanting to kill me and not recruit me? This guy might be part of a plan to – no, wait, that doesn't make any sense. Why help me like this, if he's part of the conspiracy to kill me? Odds are he's legit. Well, as far as any lawyer can be! }
Going with her instincts, she quickly scrawled her signature on the piece of paper and gave it back to McKenzie. Nodding, the lawyer got up off the chair and gestured for her to follow him out of the interrogation room.
Within fifteen minutes, both Faith and Groo were having breakfast at the local Waterloo diner, after informing the detectives investigating yesterday's murders that they were leaving town for Sunnydale, later today...
TBC…
A/N: So, what did you all think of the Buffy/Xander conversation? Too much? Not enough? And we're planning for all roads to lead to Sunnydale in the next chapter, all the characters will congregate in the Little Town on The Hellmouth; so please tell us what you think should happen (especially between Connor and Cordelia!). As always, thanks for reading and reviewing, and WesGeorge, thank you for your latest review as well!