Tommy Shelby sat in his office in his gambling den in his street of Watery Lane and stared across his desk at a group of people who were not supposed to be there. His cigarette was close to burning his fingers, he realized; ash had fallen on his desk, unheeded. He took one last pull and snuffed it.

"It's fortunate you arrived when you did," he found himself saying. "I lost my Slayer just last week."

The blonde— Buffy, he reminded himself, and he questioned the wisdom of her parents for firstly giving her such a name and secondly setting her loose on the world dressed like a man, and barely at that— narrowed her eyes at him. "Your Slayer?" she repeated, challenge clear in her tone.

Tommy was not drunk enough for this. He set about remedying the situation. "My Slayer," he repeated before tossing back a glass of whiskey.

"Are you a Watcher, then?" That came from Rupert Giles, the ageing man in an almost-proper suit with an almost-proper accent. Tommy eyed him briefly, then again more closely. He made a living off identifying dangerous men; this was one of them.

"No," Tommy said. "Not a Watcher. She told hers to fuck off a few years back. Haven't heard from them since."

"When you say lost," said Willow, nearly stammering, "do you mean…"

Tommy poured himself another glass of whiskey. He could feel a headache starting to form somewhere behind his eyes. "She's somewhere in London."

"Oh." Willow looked far too relieved at the news that someone she didn't know wasn't dead. "Good."

"Why are you here?" Tommy asked.

Willow looked sheepish. "It's my fault, really," she said. "I was trying a new spell and—" she stopped herself and glanced anxiously at Giles. "You do— know about magic, don't you? You mentioned a Slayer, so I assumed, but if you don't—"

"I know about magic," Tommy interrupted. He waved his whiskey glass at her to get her to continue. He was starting to feel the effects of too much whiskey imbibed over too short a time. Perfect.

"Well, anyway, that's about the gist of it. Spell gone wrong. The usual." Willow nodded as if that lay the matter to rest.

"Willow, I have told you—" Giles began, but Buffy cut him off.

"Not the time, Giles." She looked back to Tommy. "We're here because your sister is the Slayer. We need access to the Watchers' library to reverse the spell that brought us here."

Tommy thought, came to a decision, nodded. "Why do you need her to get access?"

"The spell that Willow used unwisely and impetuously and which she has firmly resolved to never cast again—" Buffy elbowed Giles rather hard "—is, er, not exactly sanctioned by the Watchers' Council."

"They'd probably burn her for it," said Xander from the back of the group, rather more cheerfully than the situation called for. (Tommy had sneered to himself when he had been introduced. What was wrong with plain old Alexander?)

"It's England, Xander," Giles said primly. "We don't burn people here."

"Not unless we need to hide a body," agreed Tommy. He took a moment to enjoy the looks of discomfiture that flickered across the faces of the three younger members of the strange group. Giles was more reserved, which earned him a tick of respect in Tommy's book.

Buffy crossed her arms. "Your sister is somewhere in London?" she asked.

Tommy nodded.

"Do you know where?"

Another nod.

"Will you tell us?"

Tommy smiled. Now they were getting somewhere. "I find myself in need of a Slayer."

"Your sister's a Slayer," Buffy said. "And you know where she is."

"Yeah, she told me to fuck off too." Tommy lit another cigarette and took a long pull. "It's an easy job. We visit a few acquaintances of mine— vampires— say a few words, maybe knock some heads around a bit. No slaying. You'll be on your way to my sister in a day."

Buffy glanced at Giles, who shook his head. "Too dangerous," he said.

"Not at all," said Tommy. "They're businessmen, like myself. They have no interest in my demise just yet. Wouldn't be profitable."

"It's not your demise I'm concerned about," Giles said.

Tommy smoked to prevent himself from smiling. "The Slayer won't be harmed. She's only there as a show of force, as it were. Normally, I'd bring my sister..."

"But she's not an option just now," Buffy finished for him. She frowned. "How do we know this isn't some sort of trick?"

"You came to me," Tommy pointed out. "You want me to do you a favor. I want you to do me one in turn."

"We couldn't just… owe you one?" Willow asked hopefully.

Tommy didn't dignify that with a response.

Buffy turned away from him and pulled the rest of her group into a huddle. They were far enough away that Tommy couldn't overhear much outside of the occasional hissed "It's far too dangerous!" and "I can't believe I even have to say this, but—". Xander gestured very emphatically several times, and Giles took off his glasses and polished them more than once.

They seemed to reach a consensus after several minutes. "I'll do it," said Buffy to her group, loud enough for Tommy to overhear. "It's nothing I haven't done before. And besides, it's not like I don't know what'll happen, if I—" she broke off with a hysterical giggle. Willow, for some reason, looked as though she were about to cry.

But when Buffy turned around to face Tommy once more, there was no hysteria or sadness in her expression, only the sort of hard determination one got when one had to face a difficult path without turning aside. She nodded. "We'll go."

Tommy shook his head. "Just you. Unless you want to bring your friends into a nest of vampires."

"Wouldn't be the first time," Xander said. "We're not amateurs."

Tommy doubted that. "All the same, you will stay. They'll be able to smell the magic coming off the witch. It'll make them jumpy. Jumpy's bad for business."

"Vampires can't smell magic," Buffy said, but she looked uncertain and didn't press the point.

"So, you do business with vampires," said Xander. It wasn't a question. "You're not a vampire yourself, though, right?"

Tommy watched him with an expression that he hoped conveyed how stupid he thought the question was. "I'm a man. A very bad one, some might say, but a man nevertheless."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Yeah, okay, you're super bad. Are we done with the posturing? Can we go now?"

"Not quite." Tommy crossed to the door of his office and flung it open. "Pol!"

"What is it?" came the irritated reply a moment later.

"Need you in here." Tommy left his office door open and settled himself once more behind the desk.

The clack of her heels heralded Polly's arrival. "What is it?" she asked again, before she caught sight of Tommy's strange guests.

"Polly, meet Buffy, Willow, Giles, and Xander." He gestured, indicating them as he said their names. "You lot, meet my aunt Pol."

Polly took a careful step closer, examining them in turn. "This one's a witch," she said, her eyes on Willow. Her gaze slid to Buffy. "And this one has spirits— echoes of spirits— all around her. I can see them swirl around. I can almost hear their voices." She reached out with one hand but seemed to think better of it. She said nothing of Xander or Giles, but she gave the latter a small, wicked smile.

Giles cleared his throat and removed his spectacles to polish them.

"I'm taking the Slayer with me to the meeting with Alfie," Tommy said with a gesture. "As you can see, her clothes are unacceptable."

Polly looked between Tommy and Buffy with some alarm. "Slayer? You don't mean…"

"We're from the future," Willow said. "Tommy said the current Slayer is in London. I'm sure she's fine." She gave what she evidently thought was a reassuring sort of smile.

Tommy took a pull from his cigarette. "Can you sort out some clothes for them?" he asked, exhaling smoke.

Polly looked at him sharply. "What for?"

"Because they'll attract too much attention going about dressed as they are. Some of your old things, maybe, or Ada's, if she's left any. And go to John's for clothes for the men, if you have to."

"Shall they wear my fine silk day dresses? And perhaps my best heels?"

"No, Pol." Tommy dropped his head into his hands and wished for one bloody day when he didn't have to fight everyone around him. "Just some hats and some coats— long ones for the girls, to cover them up— and trousers for the men."

"Fine," Polly said. She eyed the newcomers again. "Wait here." She strode out of the office, her heels clacking imperiously. Near-silence fell, broken only by the faint noises of Small Heath waking up for another dreary day of smoke and toil.

Naturally, it could not last.

"So what d'you do here in this…" Xander looked around. "Office which contains a surprising and, quite frankly, disturbing amount of alcohol?"

"I'm a bookmaker," Tommy said.

"Oh, a bookmaker." Xander nodded and looked around again. "Is this where you make books? I don't see very many."

Tommy glanced at Giles, who seemed more sensible than the others, with an expression that he hoped conveyed something along the lines of Is he serious?

Yes, Giles's weary sigh seemed to say. I'm afraid he is. "He takes the bets," Giles said aloud, "when people gamble."

Buffy sat at the chair in front of Tommy's desk, mercifully distracting him from the rest of that conversation. "You said we're meeting vampires. What's your business with them?"

"My men bake their bread," Tommy said with no small amount of amusement.

"And why do you need a Slayer for a business meeting?"

"Because if I don't have one, they'll probably try to kill me."

Buffy raised an eyebrow. "Over bread?"

"Among other things."

Thankfully, Polly returned a few seconds later, her arms piled high with long coats and a couple of hats teetering precariously on top of the bundle. She tossed the first to Willow, then reconsidered and swapped it for a longer, darker affair with fur at the collar. It had a hat that went with it. At first, Willow demurred. "Ladies don't go about without hats here," Polly said. At that, Willow shrugged into the coat and placed the hat on her head. Polly eyed Xander's shabby khaki trousers with disapproval but handed over a three-piece suit— Tommy recognized it as one of John's from before the war— that looked like it should almost fit. Buffy received a navy wool coat that would surely be too warm for the Birmingham summer, but she tied it about her waist without complaint. Polly approached Giles, flicked her eyes up and down his torso. "I think you'll do just fine," she said.

Tommy pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Um," said Xander, clutching the suit to his chest. "Is there somewhere I can change?"

"Yeah," Tommy said. "Here."

"Oh." Xander looked from Tommy to Polly to the girls and Giles, who muttered something Tommy couldn't quite catch but sounded like oh for heaven's sake. The newcomers turned their backs.

Tommy looked back down to his books— not out of regard for Xander's modesty but because he had actual business to attend to. When he glanced back up again, Polly and Xander were locked in some sort of staring match, Polly's quiet amusement seeming to pin Xander in place with self-consciousness. "Come on, Pol," Tommy said.

She shot him an annoyed look for ruining her fun but crossed to the desk opposite Tommy to read the accounts upside down. Faint rustlings sounded from across the room.

"It's a little big," Xander said a few minutes later.

Tommy looked up. "You up for a trip to London, Pol?"

Polly tutted. "What, to mind them?"

"Keep them out of trouble," said Tommy. "I don't want to involve Arthur in this, so don't go anywhere he might be. Go to a nice tea-room or something."

"And what shall I say when the girls can't take their coats off?" Polly asked.

Tommy sighed and lit another cigarette. He wanted another whiskey, but he also needed to be sharp to make a plan for the meeting with Alfie. Alfie won out, for now. "I don't care what you fucking do, Pol," he said around the cigarette. "Just keep them out of fucking trouble, eh?" He waved his cigarette at the newcomers. "And you lot. Keep your heads down and don't attract attention. The situation in London is delicate. I don't want any complications."

"You're bringing a Slayer into a delicate situation with your business partners, who are vampires," said Giles. "That rather seems like a complication."

"Not at all, Mr. Giles," Tommy said on a stream of smoke. "Just business as usual."