A/N: I appreciate all the reviews I've received so far. Here's the latest installment. I didn't intend to make this story so long, but I think the telling of a story is in the details. Continue to read and review, we've got along way til we're home.

Ten days after the alley

El Paso, Texas

Wesley struggled as his eyes slowly opened. He let out a defeated sigh as they began to adjust to the shadows around him. He heard the familiar 'ping' of his heart monitor, and knew that he was still alive and still stuck in a hospital in bloody El Paso. His eyes began to wearily travel about the room. His blinds were almost completely closed, allowing only small slivers of sunlight to dance along the awful industrial white walls. He silently cursed the light. He wanted darkness. He deserved darkness. There was nothing left for the light to shine upon in his world. And soon, there would be nothing in the world for the sun to illuminate. He glanced down and began to inspect the multiple tubes running out of his right arm.

The nightmares had yet to cease. On more than one occasion, he had ripped the tubes from his body while fighting in that alley as he slept. Sometimes, he won. He had unloaded his last round on Illyria just as she turned to flash that haunting smile. But, more often than not, he failed. Wesley Wyndam-Pryce was now failing in his own dreams. He was always a second too slow. His impeccable aim off by mere inches. One time, it hadn't been Illyria at all. It had been Fred, grinning ear to ear like a deranged school girl as she buried a stake through Angel's back. That had been the worse. He had snapped awake to find blood oozing from puncture holes where his IV's had been. His mind had quickly seized, and he began thrashing around wildly. It had taken almost five orderlies to hold him down to simply strap him back into his bed. The last thing he had remembered was the large syringe of sedatives being jabbed into his arm before he faded off. He now made it a routine to check the tubes regularly. He was running out of veins for new ones.

The doctors had told him he was suffering from both hysteria and post-traumatic stress. He had yet to ask Faith what exactly she had told them when he was admitted. He doubted that they would believe that he had been stabbed by a mind controlling sorcerer and that he had inadvertently jump started Armageddon. No matter. Wesley had spent more time in hospitals than anyone he knew. He had come to the conclusion that most doctors were fools. They had brought him back from death so many times, only for him to repay them by unleashing Hell on earth. They had told him that his gaping wound had been severely infected, that the infection was causing his hallucinations. He was told he was lucky. Twenty-four more hours and he would have been dead. They told him he would never be the same again. There had been too much damage and too much time wasted. They told him he would recover somewhat, but that the pain would never completely cease. Walking would be a task in and of itself he was told. Wesley had to smile. These men, with their fancy degrees and years of expertise, knew nothing of pain. But Wesley did. It kept him anchored in this reality.

Wesley's vision continued to wander until his eyes became fixed on the figure curled into a ball against the far wall. The poor girl. Wesley lashed himself silently. Here he was waking up hoping to die. He had rarely thanked Faith for saving his life. For getting him out of Los Angeles before everything fell apart. She had kept him alive, not luck. But things had spiraled downward since she had carried him from Vail's mansion and then halfway across the continent. He had told her the entire story a few hours after he had been hospitalized. He blamed the morphine that fogged his mind. She had simply stared at him, showing no signs of emotion. Finally, she had simply held his hand and gave it a small squeeze. She told him that things would be different. Giles and Buffy would come to help and that they would stop Illyria together. For one brief instance, he actually believed her. He marveled at how far she had truly come. She had fought her way back to the light, and now she was basking in its redemption. Ironic that he was fading from it. She seemed so sure of herself, so sure of how this was just another battle. Then she called.

He had heard her sobs as she entered into his room. The bright eyes were replaced with swollen eyelids and bloodshot. His heart sank when he took in her sight. He knew that she had called Giles and he knew the answer. The elder Watcher was furious, and rightly so. Martial law had been declared in Los Angeles, and the few survivors that escaped were making raving claims of alien invasions. The media quickly blacked out anything pertaining to the once bustling city. Giles angrily refused to help in any way. Angel had started this when he took over for Wolfram and Hart. Giles cared little for his motives, claiming that he had been corrupted in his short stint as CEO. He cursed Wesley for following blindly into such a pitfall. He made it clear that this was their mess to clean up. The Slayer army would not be drawn into this war. Besides, the military had been called in, and he would not risk the secret of the Slayer to men who were obsessed with warfare. All that Wesley had expected. What he hadn't expected was that Giles would force Faith to choose a side. He had made it perfectly clear. Return to Cleveland and her duties or remain with Wesley and be forever cut off from her new family. She had chosen Wesley. He didn't think he would ever be able to thank her in full for that decision. She would shrug off in typical Faith-fashion anyway. He could almost hear her claim that she was tired of being bossed about, tired of playing second fiddle, tired of being ordered around from across the ocean.

His eyes began to shut again slowly as he felt the sedatives crawling up his spine slowly. He took the sight of Faith in completely. It was just the two of them now. He had to get out of this bed soon. They weren't doing anybody any favors by setting idly. He knew that Illyria go after the Senior Partners. She craved their power. He also knew that she would be hard pressed to expand past the perimeter the military had set up around the city. He knew first hand how devastating live ammunition was to demons. But he knew that eventually, she would push forward. It was her nature. Faith and Wesley would have to head her off before she advanced. Before she spread throughout the world, destroying it much the way she had destroyed Fred.

Six days prior to the alley

Rome

Jake began to stir slowly. It had been so long since he had rested peacefully, and he desperately wanted to remain asleep. At peace. But that was not the lot he had been cast. He groggily opened his eyes and was immediately met by with a crossbow leveled directly at him. He didn't have to look past it to know that it was undoubtedly loaded, and just whose finger was on the trigger.

"In the future, you're not nearly this inhospitable," he remarked dryly.

"Well you know what they say, no time like the present."

The blonde at the other end of the crossbow slowly lowered her weapon and stepped back. She had no inhibitions about pulling the trigger. But Giles had convinced her that they had to at least hear this 'time traveler' out. Besides, he had kinda saved her life.

"I think you owe us some answers," she quipped.

Jake pulled himself to a sitting position. He grinned.

"Can't a fella get a hot shower and some grub before his execution."

Buffy didn't laugh at the comment. She didn't even crack a smile.

"I think you've pushed my goodwill to its limit. Everyone is here and we're waiting to hear our roles in this grand war you've been spouting about."

Jake didn't allow the shock to show.

"Here? Now? But I thought South Africa and..."

"Teleportation," Buffy cut in. "Comes in handy in cases of emergencies. And I do hope this is an emergency."

With that, she simply turned and walked through the large door into the dining room. This was it. The moment Jake had been dreading for what seemed like an eternity. They were all assembled and in room. He had never seen them all together at the same moment in his time. Bonds had no doubt been stretched or severed as the years had worn on. In his day, the Slayer army had been broken following the falling out between Buffy and Kennedy. The Sunnydale Brigade, as they were known in his time, was spread throughout the world. Divided, they had fallen one by one to Illyria. But the Powers knew that united they could stop Illyria before she became too powerful. That was his mission. Grudgingly, Jake stood and placed his tattered hat atop his head. He strode through the door and prepared to convince these people that there were some things even they could not comprehend.

An hour later and Jake had merely uncovered the tip of the iceberg. He had hoped to take it slow, but this was ridiculous. He was constantly interrupted by bickering amongst the group. He had no idea the strain dated back this far. He had revealed that and Old One, Illyria, had been resurrected in human form. That her powers had been curbed, but that when the moment came, she lead the assault on the world. He swallowed hard when he admitted that the resurrection had taken place in Los Angeles... at Wolfram and Hart. How it had infected Winifred Burkle... and how Wesley Wyndam-Pryce had tried everything to curb its power and provide it with a link to humanity. Giles, who been usually quiet, suddenly burst into an uproar.

"That bloody fool," he bellowed. "Who does he think he is? You cannot simply try and convert and Old One to humanity! They ruled over beings of power that no human can possibly comprehend. I should have known Angel and his band of bloody fools were responsible for this."

The group, who had spent the better part of the hour arguing amongst themselves on an attack plan, was shocked into silence by the normally calm Brit's explosion. Jake was not. The Giles he knew had become surly in his old age, and was not a man that was easy to commence in conversation.

"Mr. Giles, I wouldn't put the fault on Mr. Pryce's head. There was no way he could have..."

"Nonsense!" Giles cut in. Wesley Wyndam-Pryce has been nothing short of a common foot soldier since his graduation from the Academy. When he quit taking orders from the Council, he instead took orders from Angel. How any man of intellect can simply follow orders the way Wesley can is simply unnerving!"

"Again Mr. Giles, I wouldn't..."

"The arrogance! Trying to convert an Old One! He should have destroyed it while he had the chance the bloody twit! Of all the people who could bring about the Apocalypse, it has to be clumsy, bumbling, coward..."

What Buffy saw next was simply a blur. One moment, Giles had been fuming over the revelation of Illyria, the next he was backed against the wall, pinned by Jake's left arm and that large Bowie knife pressed to his throat. Buffy had never seen someone move that fast, not even the Slayer. Like the rest of group, she was too shocked by the display to cut Jake off. She quickly got her bearings and reached for the crossbow on the table.

Giles was stunned to find himself in this predicament. He could feel the blade resting on his neck. The arm that had him pinned to the wall was unbelievably strong. He couldn't move if he had wanted to. Besides, if he did, he was sure that the large blade at his neck would be his demise. He looked into the eyes at the man who had suddenly attacked him. Those soft blue eyes had faded, replaced with a piercing shade of metallic. Giles could see the anguish and sorrow in them. Those eyes caused a shiver to creep up his spine. It was a look of both fear and rage. This man, who had been so calm... nearly docile, in his short stay was now out of control. He only hoped someone had something sharp pointed at this man's back.

"What are..." Giles whispered hoarsely.

"I'd bite my tongue if I were you Englishman," Jake rasped. "I don't take kindly to you accusing people of cowardice. Especially when you accuse my father."