Darkness faded from the corners of his conscience as Dewey awakened. His body bore the evidence of a battle, but he wasn't sure if he'd won or loss. He winced in pain as he tried to move. His face, his nose especially, throbbed. Fuck, now he remembered.

Dawn Summers. Splintered wood. Xander Harris.

"Fuck." He moaned, rolling his head back.

"Look who's finally awake." A male voice sneered. It wasn't just any male's voice. That was Xander's. Fuck, indeed.

There was no point in denying the obvious, so Dewey opened his eyes cautiously. Angry glares greeted him, and he wished for the millionth time, he'd ignored Shackleford's summons.

Dewey assessed his surroundings. They were still at the hotel, which was part good, but Shackleford was alive, which was part bad.

"You haven't killed me or turned me over to the police. What can I do for you?" Dewey would rather shoot straight from the hip than engage in the intrigue and backdoor dealing that characterized his dealings with Shackleford and Travers.

"What do you know of Travers' plans for the baby?" Giles could appreciate Dewey's decision to be forthright. Time was short and cutting through the bullshit would get them that much closer to London and the Council.

"Nothing. They didn't feel the need to share that information with me." Truth was, Dewey hadn't wanted to know. Killing adults was one thing. Harming children was another thing entirely. He'd washed his hands of the situation as soon as his feet touched the ground in Paris.

"How can you be sure he's not lying, Giles?" Xander queried, his voice coming from the other side of the room. He stepped forward, his arms crossed loosely over his chest. He may have appeared relaxed, but his eyes showed the truth. He was barely holding on to his anger.

"I'm telling you the truth. I have no reason to lie." Dewey exclaimed. He held up his ironclad wrists as proof of his statement.

"You're kidding, right?" Xander commented. "Lying is the same as breathing to you."

"Okay, Xander, I get it. You're upset with me, but give it a rest. You aren't the first person to be duped, and I doubt you'll be the last. Grow a pair and move on." Dewey sighed and turned to Giles. "Do you want the info I've got or not?"

Giles tilted his head in Shackleford's direction. "No. I think your partner probably has more information to offer. What do you have to say, Mr. Shackleford?" Giles asked, quietly.

Shackleford winced. He'd hoped to continue his ruse and then make his attempt to escape. He was losing his touch. He should have been able to fool these civilians.

Giles studied Shackleford, watching as the man's eyes slowly opened. There was an aura about him, which Giles recognized. It was one of a complete and total lack of fear. Threats wouldn't work against him. Neither would bribery. No, this was the type of man who only responded to brute strength. As much as Giles wanted to show him exactly what it meant to deal with the Ripper, there wasn't time to indulge the darker recesses of his soul.

Giles leaned against the wall, waiting for his answer.

"What are you looking at?" Shackleford spat.

"A mindless thug, for all intensive purposes." Giles moved closer, his stance relaxed and unhurried. "Besides the blood ritual, what else is Travers' planning?"

Giles knelt, putting himself at the same level as Shackleford. "You owe him nothing. He would betray you in a heartbeat. Is that the type of man you want to give your allegiance to?"

Shackleford laughed mirthlessly. He laughed until tears fell from his eyes.

Giles sighed as he stood up. "Willow."

Willow stepped forward and blew a pinkish substance in Shackleford's face. His eyes widened, and he jerked his head to the side to avoid the cloud.

Willow waved her hand over Shackleford, activating the "Speak no lies" spell.

"Bitch!"

Willow flicked her wrist again and sealed Shackleford's mouth ala The Matrix.

Xander chuckled. "Uh… defeating the purpose of the spell, Will."

Willow shrugged. "We need to give it a few minutes, anyway. Until then, I see no reason to listen to his potty mouth." She opened her laptop, drumming her fingers as it powered up.

"That was impressive." Dewey admitted, amused in spite of everything. He'd wished for a muzzle for Shackleford on so many occasions, and now his dream was coming true.

Several sets of eyes glared back at him.

"It was a compliment." He grumbled under his breath, thumping his head against the bureau.

Dawn shook her head in disgust. "And you're telling Xander to grow up?" She huffed. "Is he ready to talk?" Dawn asked impatiently.

Willow looked over her shoulder casually. "Yeah, the spell doesn't take more than a few minutes to activate."

Giles stepped forward, leering over the restrained man. "What were your plans once you obtained Dawn's blood?"

Although, the spell was very powerful, Shackleford still attempted to resist. Blood seeped from the side of his mouth as he bit down on his tongue.

"What were your plans?" Giles demanded, entirely unconcerned by the rivulet of crimson trailing across the stubble of Shackleford's cheek.

"Kill Dewey. Deliver the blood to Travers in London."

"Bastard!" Dewey lunged for his former partner, his bound hands determined to add to the blood trickling down Shackleford's throat. Clem and Xander restrained him, and dragged him back to the other side of the room. "Should have slit your throat when I had my chance."

Shackleford grinned broadly, blood staining his teeth. Anya stepped forward and backslapped him across the face. "Pay attention. We're on a schedule. Don't make us turn you into a cause for Amnesty International."

Shackleford growled at Anya, who pivoted on her heel and returned to Giles' side.

"I'm not concerned about your associate. Only about the child. What does Travers have planned for her?" Giles suspected there was more. From what he'd observed, Shackleford was Travers' right hand man. Birds of a feather, it would seem. There was no doubt in Giles' mind that Travers would want to gloat, and Shackleford was as ruthless and uncaring as Travers. He would have shared his victory with this man.

Shackleford spat blood from his mouth. "He's going to bleed her. Turn her blood into a weapon against whoever he doesn't like."

If one took the prophecy at face value, and obviously Travers had, then Bitty and her blood could be used in that manner. Conjure a spell or douse an individual with it, and in an instant you'd turn an enemy into a friend. Interesting theory, but not a given.

"Is that all, Mr. Shackleford? I find that strange. A man of your expertise, and all Quentin had you doing was kidnapping Dawn." Giles pulled a kerchief out of his pocket, cleaning his glasses as he paced. "The baby was his number one priority for months, and he leaves her protection to others while you stay here."

The calm, but probing inquiry mesmerized the room. No one had questioned Shackleford's continued presence in Sunnydale, assuming Travers placed him here because Buffy and Spike were the greater threat, that Dawn was the final piece in Travers' plan. Obviously, they'd underestimated Travers again.

"Why is Travers so confident? What has he done?" With each word, the speed of Giles' fingers as they wiped the lenses became faster, harder to the point that Anya was worried he'd snap the glasses in two.

"Giles…" Anya's hand on his elbow stilled his movements. She glanced pointedly at his hands, and Giles grimaced. He mouthed a thank you, and slid the abused optics on his nose.

"What has he done?" Giles demanded.

Everyone waited on pins and needles to hear what Shackleford had to say.

"Created a spell to transport the child away from danger." Shackleford told him matter of fact.

That bit of news got everyone's attention, including Dewey's. In the blink of an eye, Giles had hauled Shackleford off the floor and slammed him into the mirror.

"What spell?" In a move similar to the one Shackleford used on Dewey the night before, Giles pressed his arm into Shackleford's windpipe. "What spell?"

"Do… Don't," Shackleford gasped. "Don't know. Only had to say the words and it… it would work."

Giles released his grip on Shackleford, allowing the man to flop over, coughing.

"What were the words?" Giles demanded.

Shackleford repeated the words Travers had instructed him to memorize.

"That's a teleportation spell." Anya informed them. "It's an old transportation spell used back in the early 1700s. But it was used to move cattle, not people."

"Cattle?" Clem ventured.

"Yes, during famines people used the spell to bring cattle to the spell caster. It was very popular." She enlightened them. "All the caster needs to do is have something that connects the caster to the thing they want. So we'll need to make sure Travers has nothing of Bitty's."

"So what you're saying", Xander spoke slowly, trying to determine things for himself, "is that in order for the spell to work, Travers needs to have something of Bitty's. What? Like her blanket or pacifier?

Anya was already shaking her head. "No, it has to be very specific, very personal. Like hair."

"Or blood." Giles finished ominously.

"Oh." Xander said, his statement pretty much summing up what everyone was feeling.

"If that's the case, then Travers must be planning on giving him some of Bitty's blood. That's the only thing that makes any sense." Dawn's calm response surprised Giles. Her fear was clearly apparent in her eyes, yet the teen showed no other signs.

"Okay, just be clear." Xander interrupted again. "Travers can do the spell. Shackleford can't. Is there anything we can do to help Buffy and Spike?"

A light bulb went off in Tara's head, something she should have remembered. "The bracelet…the bracelet we gave Buffy had a protection ward. It should work, at least for a little while. Willow?"

Willow's mood brightened. Leave it to Tara to calm her frazzled nerves. "It should. I can't be certain. I'll need to do some research on the spell to be sure. But we might have caught a break."

"Let's hope Buffy remembers they have it." Anya blurted out.

Willow rolled her eyes. Why couldn't Anya for once keep her opinions to herself?

"I'm sure she did." Tara smiled as she stroked Dawn's hair.

Tara was right. Willow knew it, and besides, they were at an advantage here. They knew about the spell. They could work to block it. Willow cleared her throat. "When were you scheduled to leave?" She directed her query to Dewey.

Dewey was tired, and the gig was up. They'd been outsmarted, outwitted, and overpowered by a family of Cajuns, an alligator, a pair of witches, a vampire, and… Fuck it. Personally, his ego was battered and bruised. He'd rather take his chances with an American court, especially if it meant getting the fuck away from Shackleford and Travers. They were going to kill him, and he'd helped to complete the mission. Fuckers. They deserved to rot in hell together.

"Check the closet. Shackleford put our plane tickets in his duffle."

"You mean his… his ticket." Xander offered, tipping his head in Shackleford's direction.

"Touché." Dewey countered. Bastard.

Tara rifled through the bag, finally finding the ticket in an inside pocket. "This says…he's scheduled to leave tomorrow afternoon for LA. Then, he has a connecting flight directly to London."

Tara handed the ticket over to Giles, who casually perused it. His mind was on the spell and Buffy and the Council. "Travers isn't expecting him until after", he emphasized, "the meeting."

He waited while the rest of the Scoobies realized exactly what he was saying.

"After?" Willow squeaked. "But that doesn't make any sense. I thought the whole purpose of taking the blood was to perform the ritual."

Giles nodded. He was as confused as the others, but there was something niggling at the back of his mind, something trying to break through his confusion to alert him to the truth.

"Please tell me you have a clue, Giles?" Dawn asked.

"I wish I could."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tick tock. Tick tock. The second hand undertook its circuitous journey, marking off the seconds, the minutes, the hours in his life. Each track taking him closer and closer to his appointed hour, to Catherine's appointed hour. It was unfortunate he'd have to deceive his loyal followers, but he had underestimated the power of the Key's blood. While Catherine's blood was powerful, its full potential could not be accessed without the Key. So, he'd have to resort to trickery, to parlor tricks to sway them to his way of thinking. It wasn't his first deception nor would it be his last. As long as they gave him totally autonomy, he'd conjure up the devil himself.

Along those lines, there was the impending problem of Buffy Summers and William the Bloody. Unlike Shackleford, Quentin was not naïve. He knew he only had a small window of reprieve before two brassed blondes knocked down the doors of the Council. Unfortunately, they would arrive in the middle of his meeting. He didn't need the distraction or the revelations.

Quentin thumbed through the ever-growing file on Buffy Summers. The woman lived to make his life miserable. He was certain of that. There was no other explanation for her repeated interference with his plans.

Oh, well, one must do what one must do.

"Mr. Coulter, I need you to dispatch a team to Heathrow. No need to rush. Check the planes scheduled to arrive from Los Angeles or New Orleans. There will be a couple, blonde, early to mid-twenties. They may or may not be traveling under the names Summers or Develin. Contact me immediately if you find them."

"Yes, sir."

Travers was contemplative as he laid the receiver back on the base. He hated to leave anything to chance, but that was all he could do about Buffy and Spike. Catherine, on the other hand, was well protected, not only by his men, but also by the coven. Amazing what money could pry loose. The witches had been more than willing to deliver the necessary incantation for delivering Catherine from… and he had to snicker… from evil.

Reaching into his desk, Travers pulled out an envelope. Inside of it were several strands of ash blonde hair. He twirled the bound strands around his finger, surprisingly delighted by the softness.

"Catherine." He murmured. He wasn't the sentimental type, but he thought he might actually develop those feelings towards Catherine. After all, she was now his granddaughter and his greatest asset.

The phone buzzed.

"Yes, Ms. Henly."

"There's a Mr. Timmons on the line."

Quentin's brows arched till they nearly touched his hairline. Good lord, he thought, as he snatched up the phone. The panic that seized his heart set him to thinking he'd suffered a heart attack. Had he misjudged Giles? Was his former protégé more cunning than he gave him credit for?

"Umm… Thank you, Ms. Henly."

Somehow, the phone was pressed tightly against his ear, his fingers curling and unfurling as Quentin struggled with his unwanted fear. "Timmons?" Was his voice shaking? Quentin coughed, clearing his throat of the imaginary something that had caught in it. "Mr. Timmons, what is it?"

"Joanna says the child is sick. She wants to call a doctor."

Sick, but not gone. A negative response came swiftly to his lips, but never passed them. For the first time, Catherine became real to him, instead of a tiny hybrid with unlimited power.

"Allow her to make the call, but monitor it and the doctor's visit. Whatever he suggests, short of taking Catherine out of the house, do it."

"Yes, sir. Is that all?"

Was that all? Travers couldn't help but wonder if Buffy and Spike's disappearance had something to do with Catherine's illness. It was too coincidental for his tastes. "Have there been any disturbances or weird occurrences at the house? In town?"

Timmons rolled his eyes, thankful his boss couldn't see him. All this concern for a baby, a child who wasn't even his. It was ridiculous, but there were harder ways to make a couple of thousand dosh per day.

"I would have called Mr. Travers. There's been nothing amiss, just the kid crying and yelping." He offered, somewhat offended.

Travers ground his teeth. Idiot. Kid? Catherine was more than just a mere child. Explaining that fact to Timmons would be pointless. He was not hired to be the male Mary Poppins. He was hired to provide protection and nothing else.

"Very well, Mr. Timmons. I'll leave you to your duties. I do expect a full report from the doctor on Catherine's condition. If you would please arrange a teleconference with him, I'd appreciate it. Unfortunately, my journey to Scotland will be delayed until sometime Wednesday morning."

Quentin was reflective as he laid the lock of Catherine's hair on top of the box containing her blood. Buffy and Spike were running amok, and only god knew where they were. They left him no choice. He had to shield Catherine from them.

"I will be taking Catherine home to London when I return. Please make sure Joanna is prepared to leave."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

What was that old American saying? Tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. Well, that was an understatement. The air felt stale and oppressive to Edgar. Although, he was only recently aware of this organization, this meeting had been years in the making. Every Watcher within a day's travel was here. Duties were neglected so decisions could be made. If the higher echelon of their group were killed, the next level would have to take over, until there were none left to fight Travers and the corruption of the Council.

"Gentlemen, ladies, if you could take your seats, please. We shan't be long. As you are all aware, the Executive meeting is tomorrow. Through our operatives, we have discovered part of Mr. Travers' plans." Yvonne glanced briefly in Edgar's direction before continuing her speech.

"He plans to mix the blood of the Key and the Prophecy child. It is our belief he plans to use the blood to control the demon population, control those forces in a battle against the ultimate evil, the First Evil. We cannot allow that to occur."

The low murmur that followed Yvonne's announcement grew until the entire room was abuzz with conversation. She allowed it, knowing it was a lot digest. It became necessary, though, to continue and she rapped lightly against the pitcher of water with her pen. The room calmed, but all eyes were riveted on Yvonne. She didn't shift or sway under their gazes.

"You are all aware of the consequences of Travers' actions. The balance would be disturbed. The last time the First struck It nearly succeeded in destroying the Powers' champion. We have a tenuous truce at best. If the blood is as powerful as Travers suspects, we would have a powerful weapon, and a perfect excuse for the First to wage war against the human race."

"Would that be so bad?" Asked Edmund's assistant. "Our job is to defeat evil. This would be a powerful weapon. Wouldn't it be in our best interest to work with Travers, instead of against him."

Yvonne's eyes narrowed, but she didn't offer an argument against what was said. The younger man had only voiced the opinion shared by many within their group. It was a silent minority, though.

"The First has acted before to restore the balance." Yvonne began. "You were not with us at the time, but many of you were. It nearly drove the Powers' champion to take his own life, thereby leaving our side without a much-needed and valuable warrior. If there were a way to defeat the First without starting a war destined to destroy all of us in the process, I would jump at it. Our job, still, is to prevent this from happening. There is the possibility we will not be able to defeat Travers. If that does occur, it will be up to you to carry on. I place the gauntlet before you. We are sworn to protect the world. I ask you now in the face of our most trying hour to pledge your allegiance once again. Will you continue the fight?"

Courageous talk, Edgar mused. He had tremendous respect for his peers. They were all willing to give up their lives to see the Council brought back to rights. And sadly, some of them would die in removing Travers from office. But Quentin hadn't survived for over twenty years as Council head to roll over with a few well-spoken words. This is why Edgar had made secondary arrangements. Arrangements, which unfortunately, would mean his death.

When told of Reginald's death, all he wanted was to join him in the ether. When told the price of his request, he'd readily agreed. His death to ensure that Quentin Travers never breathed another lungful of air was a cheap trade-off. However, there was the rub. Reginald was alive, and he needed Edgar to be there for him, to stand beside him as he struggled to recover from his injuries. Once again, Edgar would have to disappoint him.

"Are there any questions?" Yvonne asked, eyes roaming the many faces staring back at her. The opening of the door could have been interpreted as an omen. Yvonne's face hardened. Her assistant's countenance mirrored hers.

"What is it, Mr. Browne?" Concern edged its way into her voice. Was Travers and his cronies waiting outside in the lobby to arrest them, throw them into the bowels of the Council headquarter to live out their days bound by magic?

"Mr. Travers called. He's cancelled the meeting for tomorrow. He begs your forgiveness and will contact you personally about rescheduling." Browne fidgeted, waiting anxiously for Yvonne's response.

As if the air had been released from a balloon, Yvonne plopped down onto the lush brocade of her seat, unconcerned about her lack of grace. She noticeably deflated. All her energies had been directed towards this one moment, towards this one day, and now, it was postponed indefinitely. It was enough to cause wrinkles to crop up on her forehead.

"Thank you, Mr. Browne. You can let Mr. Travers know I appreciate his call and look forward to speaking to him soon."

No sooner had she spoke those words than a dozen or more beepers, cell phones, and text messengers sounded off, shrieking and dinging their presences. Bloody hell and bugger seemed to be the responses of the hour as the same message was repeated.

The expected showdown between one Quentin Travers and the incorruptible forces of the other side has been postponed until further notice. Thanks for your cooperation.

Edgar grinned in admiration for the devious bastard's cunning. He was the puppeteer and they were his puppets. He controlled them, their actions, and could cut the strings at any time. They were not in control of the situation, but there was something he, Edgar Smythe-Bailey could do to put the control back where it belonged. It would mean touching a part of himself that he staunchly avoided acknowledging, but it was necessary. Travers' destruction, to be accomplished, needed more than a simple blade slipped quietly between the third and fourth rib.

"Do you think Travers has discovered Buffy and Spike's plans?" Olivia whispered conspiratorially.

Edgar scooted closer to her, his head bent near her ear. "Olivia, we don't know their plans. Reginald wasn't able to obtain any information from Mr. Giles. Has he been more forthcoming with you?"

Olivia shook her head. "No. Rupert was very tight-lipped about what they were going to do. He still hasn't forgiven me for lying about Reginald."

Edgar glanced quickly at Olivia's face. She regretted her role in what had happened, but she was only doing what she felt was right. And sometimes, those actions hurt others. He knew what he had planned would hurt his son, but there was no other way.

"I believe this meeting is over." Edgar told Olivia, pushing his chair back. The screech of his chair legs across the hardwood floor drew the attention of everyone in the room, and Edgar suddenly found himself the center of attention.

"Edgar, are you leaving?" Yvonne said, perplexed and concerned. He was still grieving for Reginald, and she was very afraid he would do something rash and foolish.

There was no point in confirming the obvious. "I need to do something. I can't sit here and discuss this issue to death." Edgar paused on that word, his mind flashing to a week ago and Reginald.

Yvonne strode quickly around the table, stopping in front of Edgar. Her voice was low, but the depth of her concern was obvious. "I understand you're hurting, but don't do anything that will jeopardize our work." Part plea, part threat. Edgar got the message.

"You have my word, I won't."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A chill raced down Anya's spine that had nothing to do with being in a subterranean cave, and everything to do with her boyfriend boarding a plane and flying into the lion's den. Anya recognized this as fear, and though, she and he had been in this situation many times in the past, this was the first time Giles meant more to her than a paycheck. He was her heart, her soul, if she possessed one. The rational part of her brain told her this was the right move. Heading to London, now, rather than waiting till the day of Travers' meeting would give them the upper hand, the element of surprise. It would also give Buffy and Spike the additional support they'd need, in light of Shackleford's new information. Well, her rationale could take a flying leap off a tall building. Her heart was worried, scared of the infinite possibilities for failure this move conjured up. But she voiced none of her concerns. How could she? Articulating her fears would force her to admit to Giles and Willow that she had doubts, and she didn't want them to know she lacked faith.

"We are set. I've spoken to Elsmeth and given her the basic wording of the spell. She isn't familiar with it, but she will research it while we are in route. In the meantime, our guests," he said, sneering in the direction of the two shackled men, "should be quite comfortable until the danger to Buffy and Spike has passed."

"Then what?" Xander piped in. "We're not letting them go. Not after everything they've done." Before anyone could accuse him of being narcissistic, he added. "Not talking about me. I'm talking about Anya and the Magic Box and Warren and all the other crap they had their hands in."

"Nice imagery, Xander." Dawn grumbled. "We're not letting them go. Right?" She asked. There was no way she'd allow that. Her cold blue gaze fixated on the men, and she shook her head in disbelief.

"They are scum. They don't deserve to get away with this." She knew her voice was reaching that whiny, high-pitched level, but she didn't care. She'd do something to make them pay. She didn't know what, but she wouldn't let them walk away scot free."

For all their experiences, they were still young and impetuous. Giles reflected. His glimpse traveled from the tick in Xander's cheek to Dawn's tightly clenched fists.

"Do you think I'd allow them to go free after they hurt Buffy?" His look told them they were very mistaken. "They aren't a priority. Bitty is. Travers is. Until Bitty's home and Travers is defeated, those two can wait. And besides," Giles smirked, "something tells me Warren will be more than happy to implicate them in his crimes."

"Good ol' Warren. His existence finally makes sense." Xander remarked, eyeballing Dewey and Shackleford. "So how long should we wait before dropping these two off with the SunnyD police?"

Giles regarded the trussed up twosome, weighing the options. "Wait until we contact you. It shouldn't be more than a day or two. By then, we should have the situation in London under control."

"What are you going to do when you get there? Travers isn't going to open the front doors of the Council and welcome you in for tea. And I doubt any of his people will too. You know they weren't the only ones working for him." Xander pointed out.

There were times when Xander could be quite perceptive. Willow thought proudly. Except those times were usually outweighed by him being the densest of the bunch.

Giles hadn't really given it much thought. He should have. Travers had guards, goons, and lackeys in and around the Watchers' Council at his command. They were probably staking out the airport as well.

"We could do a glamour?" Tara suggested. "Make you look like one of them?" She volunteered shyly.

"Sweet idea, Tara." Dawn said, grinning cheekily at their captives.

Shackleford grunted, screaming profanities through his gag. Xander had felt and Willow had agreed, that a rag was much more effective and humiliating than a magical restraint.

"I was considering that option." Giles admitted, miffed that he hadn't given that a thought. The young magic crowd always went for things like that, never the more traditional routes.

Anya's hand felt warm on Giles' back as she rubbed circles into his skin. "Rupert, don't worry." Her eyes were loving and reassuring as she spoke. "You just worry about getting money to rebuild the Magic Box."

"That's my little capitalist." Giles murmured as he leaned down to kiss her goodbye.

Anya pressed her fingers to his lips. She wasn't worried, not any more. Giles would return to her, safe and sound and with all his important parts in place. Especially his heart, which she knew without a doubt, belonged to her.

"Rupert, do what you have to do, and I'll be waiting. Not patiently, mind you because no sex and the bed will be cold without you. But I'll be waiting." She reached up on her toes to plant a kiss on his lips.

Giles grabbed her hand, tightly pressing it to his chest. "I love you, Anya Jenkins."

"I know. Now get going before we get all mushy, and I don't want to let you go."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This is fucking ridiculous. Timmons thought as he watched Joanna flitter around the crib as the doctor examined the baby. She reminded him of a gnat, always getting too close, then just as quickly darting away before it got squashed.

"She's a wee lassie, isn't she?" Dr. O'Malley remarked as he rolled Catherine's tiny frame over and listened to her lungs.

"She was premature." Joanna answered guiltily. Timmons coughed a warning, but Joanna refused to cower.

"I doubt she would have been much bigger. It's probably in her genes to be tiny." The doctor commented, rolling Catherine onto her back. He smiled at her, pulling the blanket up to her chin. "The fever is abating. I don't see it becoming a problem. I would give her the drops I prescribed before starting her on the soy milk." Dr. O'Malley pulled the stethoscope from around his neck, taking a final glance at the sleeping child.

"Don't worry. This happens. Sometimes, the mother's milk isn't compatible. If she's allergic to the soy, then will proceed from there, but I doubt she will be." He rushed to reassure Joanna, seeing her face cloud over with fear. "It's unfortunate her mother was killed. Mother's milk is most definitely the best for a child."

Joanna felt her stomach lurched and she clutched protectively at her stomach as it pitched and rolled. "Yes, that's what I've been told." She said lamely.

"We appreciate you coming on short notice, Doctor. As you can see, we're a tad overwhelmed." Timmons spoke up. His eyes were hard as they swept contemptuously over Joanna's trembling form back up to the concerned gaze of the doctor. "My sister-in-law's death was a devastating tragedy. It's been a difficult time for all of us."

"Of course, it has." That explained a lot as far as Dr. O'Malley was concerned. This was a family in turmoil.

"My father-in-law would like to speak to you. Catherine is his first and only grandchild, and he's overprotective."

Dr. O'Malley smiled. "Most grandparents are. I'd be happy to speak to him."

Timmons' smile was genuine. "Thank you. If you'll follow me, we can make the call from the library, and leave wee Catherine to her sleep."

Joanna followed them to the door, closing it behind their retreating forms.

"She's going to be alright."

Joanna clamped her hand over her mouth to still the scream that wanted to escape. Would it kill her to ring a bell or something to announce her presence?

"Yes." Joanna replied in a rush of air. "The doctor said she will be fine."

"Good." Hallie said, relieved. "Buffy and Spike will be thrilled." She brushed the curtain aside, peering down at the drive. The doctor was shaking hands with the guard. Words were exchanged, but Hallie couldn't make them out. They weren't important anyway. She'd learned all she needed to know from the conversation she'd overheard earlier.

"Mr. Travers is coming? Do you have any idea when he'll arrive?"

Joanna shook her head. "No. I don't. I would guess mid-day. I don't think he's leaving until tomorrow morning."

"Good. Good." Hallie admitted absently. "That'll give them plenty of time. I'm not sure what time they'll be here tonight, but be ready to leave when they do arrive. And oh, if they seem a bit edgy, that's their nature. They're what my dear mother would have called high-strung. If they snap at you, it's nothing personal. I've already told them whose side you're on."

Joanna tensed at that. "I… Do they hate me? I kidnapped their child."

Hallie paused, caressing Bitty's cheek. "Yes, you did. But you've also kept her safe."

Joanna nodded, her guilt silencing her. Tonight would be her judgment day. She could only hope Catherine's parents forgave her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The plane was packed, but there was something to be said for traveling with a computer hack that happened to be a powerful Wicca too.

"Giles, bumping those people was for a good cause. I got them on another plane and in first class. They didn't lose anything, but time." Willow whispered tersely as she gladly accepted her complimentary glass of white wine.

"Willow, we are the good guys. Ergo, traveling coach is perfectly alright." Giles replied to her, balancing his glass of scotch on his knee.

Willow rolled her eyes. "We're still the good guys, but we've upgraded. Think Giles. If we were in the back with all the other people, we wouldn't be able to talk freely about stuff that might get us committed to an asylum." Willow sipped at her wine, leaning her head back. "Besides, admit it. You've always wanted to fly first class."

Giles didn't answer, but Willow saw the upward curl of his lips as he drew the scotch into his mouth.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The rain in Spain stays mainly in the plains.

When he was a child, he had what they now call Attention Deficient Syndrome. His mother had scolded him repeatedly, urging him to concentrate on his work, to do better in school. He'd taken her advice to heart, and when he felt his mind wander, he would repeat the familiar phrase from Pygmalion until he was centered, at ease. That ability to order his thoughts was what kept him from becoming agitated by the myriad of responsibilities he had as Council head. It was what made him a competent leader. It was also, what would mark his enemies to failure.

"Mr. Travers? Sir?" Carol Henly was loath to disturb her boss, but he had ordered her to notify him when she had made the last call.

"Sir?"

The sound of a soft sigh emanating from Travers' lips was the only indication he'd heard her. "Yes, Ms. Henly?"

"I'm done. As per your instructions, I called Yvonne Hewitt last. Her assistant told me she was in a meeting, and would call you later." She said, reciting the message she'd been given.

"Has Mr. Timmons called yet?"

"No, sir."

Travers rocked back on his heels, quiet in his observation. "They are scared, Ms. Henly."

"Sir?" Carol asked, for what seemed the umpteenth time. "Who's scared?"

"The other members of the Council. They tremble in fear, wondering why I've cancelled the meeting. It's really quite amusing and a stress-reliever." Travers chuckled. "All this concern because something has come up that will not allow me the time to meet. And they are worried it's the end of their world."

She was flabbergasted. Never had Travers dropped his guard around any underlings. If she wasn't in his face almost twenty-four hours a day, she would have wondered if he had teeth. His jovial nature actually frightened her. No wonder the members of the Executive board were unnerved by his decision to wait until a time to be announced later for the meeting.

"Oh." She said, noncommittally.

Travers chuckled again. He'd obviously shocked his young assistant. Too bad Mr. Shackleford wasn't here. He would have seen the humor in the situation. Oh, well, Mr. Shackleford was busy obtaining Miss Summers' blood.

"Never fear Ms. Henly, I promise you this jovial mood shall soon pass. If you could hold all my calls for the rest of the day, I must complete some necessary work before I leave tomorrow. I will be out of the country until Thursday morning. Is that understood?" By now, Travers had moved back around his desk, flipping through his day planner.

"Yes, sir. I will hold all calls." Carol paused on the threshold of the door. "I hope everything is alright, sir."

Travers smiled, genuinely. "After tomorrow, my dear, everything will be perfect."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dewey was nearly asleep. Since the redheaded witch and the Slayer's Watcher had left, things had gone from busy to boring in fifteen minutes flat. He figured he might as well get in a couple of safe winks, since he doubted he'd sleep easily in jail. It was amusing to think he wasn't concerned about his future imprisonment. There was only one explanation for this feeling of apathy: He was burned out.

"Wake up." Shackleford whispered tersely. "We've got to find a way out of here."

Dewey opened one eye, turning his head to glare at his former boss. "You're super commando. Get out of here yourself. Me? I'm staying put. I'll do my time, and then head home to France. Hopefully, you'll become some inmate's bitch and die in prison." With that, Dewey closed his eye and turned his head away.

"Do you think they'll win? Travers won't allow that. He's thought of everything. In the end, the Slayer will be dead and he'll have her child. You can end up on the winning team if you play your cards right."

Dewey's expression didn't change nor did he open his eyes again. He wasn't a betting man, never liking the odds of gambling. There was too much to lose, too many variables he couldn't control. This situation had been doomed from the beginning. They may have had the backing of Quentin Travers, but this ragtag group had something going for them as well. They were family, and family fought for family no matter the odds.

"No, thanks. I'll take my chances, but if you want to go, by all means, go."

Nostrils flared, Shackleford's eyes narrowed into slits, and the air felt as if it had frozen. "You won't get a chance to enjoy your time in prison." He threatened.

Dewey chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Then I suppose, I'll be seeing you soon."

Tara approached the twosome, her senses acutely aware of something sinister and nasty in the air. "Here's some food." She said tentatively, sliding some fruit and granola bars towards them. "It's not much."

"It's more than you deserve." Anya spat. She pushed the fair-headed Wicca aside and stood with her hands on her hips, glaring at the shackled duo. "You destroyed my shop. I want to know why."

Dewey's eyes opened slowly. Well, didn't this make things interesting.

Foot tapping, Anya wasn't going to be put off, and this was also part of the plan. "Hey, I'm talking to you, buster." Anya's dainty foot connected with Shackleford's shin. He grunted, glaring at her.

"Call me a bitch and I'll have your tongue removed through your nose. And I'm not selling wolf tickets either." Anya huffed.

"No, she's not." Dawn waggled her finger in Shackleford's face. "She was a vengeance demon. She's got centuries of experience in these things. If anyone can make you suffer and keep you conscious at the same time, it's Anya." She harrumphed.

Anya beamed, her tiny chest puffed up with pride.

"Ooh, stop. I'm scared." Shackleford sneered.

Although, their plan had been to get as much information as they could from Shackleford, Anya felt something snap within her. The Magic Box had been her dream. She'd worked hard to make it a success and in one afternoon, they'd taken it from her, nearly ending her life in the process. She understood vengeance, and right now, she was consumed with getting it for herself.

"You SOB! You took away my store and I want to know why!" Anya began striking Shackleford about the fact and shoulders, her tiny fist raining down all the frustration and fear she'd felt in the last two weeks.

Dawn and Tara exchanged worried glances. Was this part of the show? Only Xander seemed to recognize the truth in Anya's actions. He grabbed the petite woman around the waist, pulling her away from Shackleford.

"Anya! Stop it! Anya, it's me, Xander. He can't hurt you anymore. Stop it!"

But Anya was in a zone, and she swung out blinding, defensively, striking Xander across the cheek. The reverberating sound echoed off the chilled rock formation.

"Xander! Anya!" Tara screamed.

Anya backed away from Xander, her hands clenched tightly. "Why did you stop me? Are you still on their side?" She said loudly, but mouthed silently that she was sorry.

Xander flinched at her accusation. "No, but I also don't see the point in beating them either. What makes you think they'll give you the info you want anyway? Besides, Warren's a coward. He'll give them up as soon as he finds out they are in custody."

Shackleford snorted. "Are you kidding me? What is this? Good cop. Bad cop." He seemed to find the shocked and guilty looks on Xander and Anya's faces highly amusing.

"You twits couldn't break your way out of a cardboard box. I'm bored now. Is this all we get for dinner?" He said dismissively, ignoring them as he picked up an apple and bit into it.

Dawn looked at Tara, who in turn, looked at Anya and Xander. None of them seemed to know what to do next. They definitely needed to regroup.

"We should get Dawn home. She…she…she has an exam in the morning." Tara suggested, gathering up her things and Dawn's as she did.

"But…but, what about questioning them?" Anya protested. "I want to know who destroyed my store." Anya turned to Xander. "They used you. Are you going to let them get away with that?"

Xander lowered his head, refusing to look Anya in the eye.

Shackleford snickered. "He's quite the catch, isn't he? Whatever did you see in him?"

Only Tara's hand on Xander's arm kept him from continuing what Anya started. A slight shake of her head was enough to remind him that they did indeed have a plan.

"Clem, I'll be back tomorrow to relieve you. If they give you any problems, put the word out at Willy's there's fresh bait to be had for the taking." Xander spun around, clambering up the metal steps.

Dewey watched warily as Tara, Anya, and Dawn hurried after him. This whole set-up seemed weird to him. Who cared what Warren's reasons were for blowing up the Magic Box? They had to know Shackleford wouldn't tell. It wasn't in his best interest. So why the interrogation, if you could call it that?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Do you think they bought it?" Dawn gushed, as soon as they stepped outside the crypt. "I think they bought it."

Xander shrugged. "I don't know. Somebody might have put it on a bit thick."

Anya huffed, turning her back on Xander as she addressed Dawn's question. "I think they bought it. Why wouldn't they? We did a great job. All we need now is for the two of them to sit and stew and spew."

"Eww." Dawn groaned. "Okay, moving past that mental picture, if they don't say anything, what then?"

Tara and Anya shared a knowing look. "If they don't admit to their guilt on tape, then all we can hope for is for Warren to turn on them."

"Which could or couldn't happen." Xander grudgingly admitted. "But we're going to think positively. Clem's going to monitor the video cameras. When they confess, we'll turn them over to the police."

Anya sighed. "It wasn't a bad plan as far as plans go."

"No, it wasn't." Dawn told her, draping her arm over Anya's shoulders.

Tara bent her head, peering into Xander's face. "You okay? What that man said about you? He doesn't know you."

Xander looked to the sky. "He knew enough to use me to hurt my friends."

Tara bumped him with her shoulder. "True. They used your pain and hurt to their advantage, but that didn't know you would be man enough to admit your fault and help Buffy and Spike get Bitty back. They underestimated you. And us. Come on, let's get home before Anya decides to go back and do bad cop, bad cop again."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I said I was sorry, Xander. It wasn't intentional." It was an automatic response to Xander's continued griping. She could swear on a stack of twenty dollars bills and it wouldn't make a bit of difference to Xander.

Tara snickered. Knowing Anya's penchant for vengeance, Tara couldn't say with surety one way or the other. She couldn't blame Anya for harboring ill will toward Xander, but his stupidity had paved the way for Anya to fall in love with Giles. So in losing, she'd won the ultimate prize: a man who loved Anya unconditionally. Tara doubted Anya saw the bad in that trade-off.

"I think we should get back to the research." Tara suggested, trying to nudge the former lovers away from potentially bad rehashing of their prior relationship.

Anya huffed, snatching her book off the table and stalking into the kitchen. Tara thought she heard 'he deserved it", but she couldn't be sure. Xander had the expression of a whipped puppy, but he brought this on himself.

"Cheer up, Xander. You got off a lot easier than many of the other men she's dealt with." Tara reasoned.

Dawn grinned. This whole situation was ironic. She was the Key studying for a Geometry exam. A former vengeance demon and her ex-fiancé were alternating between poker and bickering, and a Wicca was bouncing back and forth both scenes.

Yes Dawn, this is your life.

She supposed this was better than what had occurred earlier. Xander's brooding had paid homage to another vampire, whose name shall not be uttered from her lips. Anya griped that she handled this waiting better when she was having sex, but since Xander and Tara were the only legal adults to do it with, she was going to go crazy with worry. At that point, Tara pulled out a deck of cards and told them to entertain themselves.

Dawn giggled at the look of glee on Anya's face. Tara had defused the situation about as well as Joyce would have done it. Dawn mused. She sighed as the numbers and figures on the page, blurred into unrecognizable shapes. Damnit.

"You cursed Auntie Dawn. I'm telling Mommy and Daddy."

Dawn yelped, knocking her book onto the floor. Her startled cry brought the three adults running, only to find the younger Summers laughing with tears running down her face.

"What is it, Dawn?"

Dawn hugged her chest tightly, the warmth that flowed through her almost overwhelming her. It took a minute before she heard the worried voices of her friends. She looked up at them with tears staining her cheeks and said.

"They've got her."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Giles peered over Willow's shoulder as the plane dropped beneath the clouds.

"Home, sweet home." Willow piped in enthusiastically. "Well, for you. I always assumed my first trip here would be with Tara. You know... coming to see the Old World and visit the covens. Almost doesn't seem right to be here without her."


Giles nodded his agreement. "Home, but under the circumstances, not so sweet."

"We're probably overreacting. Buffy and Spike are probably at your house, snuggled up with Bitty. Oblivious to everything else except each other and her." That was wishful thinking on her part, but Willow liked to keep optimistic. She was less likely to conjure up a bad spell that way.

"I like your thinking, Willow. Much better for my heart." Giles smiled and looked up as there was a ding throughout the cabin. The seat belt sign came on, the flight attendants moved through the aisles collecting the last of the trash. He brought his seat forward, jumping as Willow's hand crept over his and gave him a squeeze. He looked at her, saw the same hope he held in his heart, and nodded.

We brave few. We band of buggered.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tara checked the lock on the door before turning the living room lights off. Finally, peace and quiet. After Dawn's announcement, there were a lot of questions bandied about, but Dawn didn't have any answers, which brought about more questions. It was insane for a while until hunger and sleep beckoned.

Tara stretched, rolling her head to work out the kinks. Sleep would not come easily for the occupants of Revello tonight. Especially for Dawn. She had been conspicuously absent since receiving word from Bitty. Tara thought this news would make her happy, but seconds after announcing that Bitty was safe with Buffy and Spike, Dawn had become quiet, introverted. Tara had given her time and space to process everything, expecting it wouldn't long before Dawn rejoined the group. That hadn't occurred, though, and Tara had become distracted.

Tara made her way slowly up the stairs, pausing outside of Dawn's door. She knocked lightly to announce her presence and pushed the door open. Tara stood inside the door, quietly observing the lanky girl sprawled on the bed, her head hung over the side.

"Do you want to talk?" Tara sat on the bed, not wanting to push Dawn. She'd talk when she was ready, and Tara would be waiting.

"I didn't tell her." Dawn replied.

Tara was confused by the her and the what that needed telling.

"I didn't tell Bitty she was in danger. How could I do that? How could I forget something that important?"

Tara laid beside Dawn, opting not to mimic Dawn's position. Tara propped her head on her hand, and stroked Dawn's back with the other. "Did you tell her you loved her?"

Dawn looked up, tear tracks along her face. "What? I… I didn't tell Travers had a way to get her back. Why does it matter if I said I love you, Bitty? " Tara didn't understand. She couldn't. Bitty trusted Dawn to be honest with her, to have her best interest at heart, and Dawn had failed her.

"If you told Bitty you loved her, that's all that matters to her. She loves you. You love her. It's very simple." Tara leaned over, kissing Dawn lightly on the head. "You can tell Buffy when she calls. Right now, enjoy the fact your niece is safe and with her parents. And know, she'll be home before you know it."

Tara scooted off the bed, intent on letting her words stand on their own.

"Thanks, Tara." Dawn told her. Tara turned around to find Dawn up and on the side of the bed. "I just don't want anything to happen to her, you know? When I figured out what was wrong with Buffy, all I could think about was this is it, this is our chance to be a normal family. And then the attacks started, and it was scary to think the baby could be gone just like that." She said, snapping her fingers for emphasis.

"But we've made it, and all I want to do is be with Buffy and Spike and Bitty. I don't want to lose my family, Tara."

"You won't. We won't let that happen. You won't let it happen. You just have to keep the faith for little while longer."