Quentin Travers trailed behind Giles as he ran down the generic hotel hallway. There was no need to rush. He wrinkled his nose at the décor. Americans had no taste, no quality. He took a deep breath. In a few short hours he would be free of this armpit of a city. Things might have taken a bit of a turn, but perhaps fate had stepped in to give him a greater gift, Rupert Giles cradling the dead body of his slayer. He shivered in anticipation.

He watched his guard run ahead with that embarrassment to the Council and had to fight the urge to rub his hands together with glee. There would be a spot of bother with the Governing Committee, but he was prepared, had been for over a year. The test was sanctioned. They had turned from it when the warriors had become more important than the battle, but he had reclaimed it. He smiled and focused on his plans.

There would be a united Council. They would have to fall in line with him now. There would be no more dissent, no more pointing to Merrick and Giles as successes. Their choices would be seen for the roguish, disruptive, rebellious mistakes they were. Order would be restored. The cultish veneration of little girls would be washed from his Council. He would take full command as a general, a commander, a single driving force. The war would be their focus, the losses counted and studied, but not mourned. The focus would be turned back to the war, the battles just a part of the whole.

He heard the gasps as his guard turned and glanced into the room, saw the grief and horror on their faces as they took in the outcome of coddling these girls. He carefully moderated his own features. It wouldn't do to seem satisfied at this time. He needed to be calm and authoritative in the face of tragedy, a competent, controlled figure to cleave to for his battered followers.

He walked the last few paces, preparing to project the appropriate tone. He straightened his jacket and checked his cufflinks. He took the final step and pivoted on his toes.

The slayer stood in the center of the room, helping affix a sling to Ayers while Crewe stood behind her waiting. Giles and the young bitch with all the questions were on either side of Halcombe, working quickly to sew up injuries. There was a redheaded boy wearing his silk robe helping Ludlow and Byrne while directing his guard to check on the others.

It was a nightmare. The girl had survived, had wrestled victory from the jaws of his carefully set trap. He stared at her as she smiled at his most loyal followers, securing their allegiance with her gracious behavior. Brandt looked up at him with loathing, his freckled face more pallid than usual.

"We've lost Blair, Germaine, Hobson, Kober, Swift, Brimble, and Pye, Sir." Brandt reported. "Luckenbill and Fox, are in the bedroom. They'll make it, but they took the brunt of the initial attack. If the slayer hadn't come, they'd have drained us all."

"Yes, she is a remarkable girl." Travers fumbled for the correct response. "I'm sorry about your cousin. He was a good man."

"He was a stupid man. He invited Germaine in. Called out to him to get his arse in here and help us pack." Brandt turned away and hobbled toward the ginger haired boy.

Travers eyes locked on the young man as he competently dressed wounds while keeping an eye on the room. "You, boy, why are you wearing my robe?"

Bright green eyes focused on him and he felt a moment of dread. Those eyes weren't human. They glowed. She was dragging more supernatural riff raff along. Anger burned through him. She was mucking about with monsters again. She had no sense of propriety, of the proper order.

"Oz," The slayer said with a gentle tone. "Take care of those two. We don't need any more on our plates at the moment. I am Thanksgiving full."

Travers watched as the glowing eyes turned to her and faded to normal. "I guess I have a higher metabolism than you. I'd really like some chicken."

She giggled, and several gloomy faces in the room lightened for a moment. He watched his loyal cadre react to her and felt his gorge begin to rise. His plans were dust. His mouth dried out as he surveyed the room once more."

"I am quite impressed with your abilities, young lady." He choked out the expected words.

"Well, I could give a rat's ass." Buffy grinned at him, too widely. "You haven't sure haven't impressed me with yours. You didn't train these people not to invite the monsters in. They had no real weapons. You took the only trained fighters with you. You do understand this is Sunnydale? The dale of sunny? Hell mouthy land? Ringing any bells?"

"I will not be spoken to in such a manner." He puffed out his chest and stared down his nose at her. Some of his retinue looked away. "I am in charge of this operation. You will address me with respect."

"You just tried to kill me." Buffy finished seeing to the wounds of the man in front of her and stepped around the chair he was sitting in. "I passed your little test. I killed Kralik, managed to save at least some of those you put in harm's way, and have the clean up well in hand. Exactly what have you done to earn my respect?"

"I am the Watcher in charge here. You are the weapon." He spoke slowly, trying to help her grasp the situation.

"Buffy," Giles didn't stop stitching the wound on his patient's leg. "If you kill him we have another body on our hands."

"I wouldn't kill him. He's a little monster. I like to fight the big evil." She walked over and smiled up at him. Her delicacy highlighted by her shadowed eyes and the white of the bandage on her neck. "I just want him out of my city and out of our lives."

"You must realize that there is a proper order." Travers began.

"She passed the test Quentin. She is the order now." Luckenbill leaned against the doorframe. He was ashen, and appeared to have more bandages than skin. "She is an adult and our duty is to help her in her battle."

"You shouldn't be out of bed, Ian." Buffy flitted to his side and checked his forehead. "You're sweating. Sit down before you fall down."

"You overstepped your bounds," he continued as Buffy helped him to a chair. "Buffy faced several vampires with her diminished strength, showed us compassion, aided us. She is remarkable, and you are finished. Your resignation is expected."

Travers stared at the older man in consternation. "My resignation?"

"Better to retire, Quentin, than to be drummed out. They might let her young man have at you." Luckenbill said wryly.