Thanks for the reviews! Here's yet another chapter. I know, the story is beginning to slow down a bit. There's just too many things that oughta be addressed in this confrontation, and I can't cover 'em all in justa couple short chapters. The song is "Hurt", originally by Nine Inch Nails, but this is the Cash version. As far as I'm concerned, when Johnny Cash puts his name on it, it don't get any better than his version. Enjoy.

Jake was fast. In life, it had been his birthright. He was supposedly the first child born from a Slayer. He had the genes. His father had taught him about guns early on. Roger, because he always called him Roger, had taught him that much more. Being fast meant staying alive in his world. The Powers had given him a little extra speed to boot. No sense in wasting your last hope if the man can't even outdraw the competition, was there? Besides, Jake had seen Illyria before. Not up close, but from a distance. He saw its blue hair waving through the crimson stroked sky. He had had once shot at it. Leveled his pistol and thought he could end it. Instead, he had been run through with a spear. Crumpling to the ground, he had taken one shot. He knew it had missed. He knew he had failed. But come hell or high water, he had gone down fighting.

Now he had the chance of a lifetime. He could end the oncoming slaughter and would've brought the Champions together. And all he had to do was pull trigger. So he did. And as he did, he cursed himself. He had been too slow. Though the hatred curled off of him like smoke, he had hesitated that extra half second. And all a vampire needs is one half second. As he squeezed the trigger, he could fee the force bury into him. It knocked him from his feet and, watching the bullet as it left, went wide of its mark, burying itself in the wall behind Illyria. Jake hit the ground with a resounding thud. He felt like his shoulder was busted, but that was the least of his problems now. He managed to roll to his back, only to find himself staring eye to eye with the most bloodthirsty face the world had ever seen.

"You're good with a gun. Think it'll work on me?"

Jake smirked. The Powers were right about this one. He was as bad as they came, and as good as they came... all in the same moment. With a quick arch of his back, Jake gained enough momentum to shove Angel off with both arms. The vampire now away, he began to reach for the spare pistol behind his back. Again, he was too slow.

"Pull it again, and I'll have to give you a third eye."

Jake looked up and saw his own father staring at him, his spare pistol pointed at him, merely inches from his temple. Jake knew all he had to do was snatch the pistol from Wesley's hand, spin, and fire the final shot. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. In the lobby, it was nothing short of showing off. But now, with Winifred's shell on the line, his father would no doubt stop at nothing to kill him. That one shot would be worth it. Hell, he wouldn't live after the kill anyway. But, in the back of his mind, he knew Wesley would kill him before he pulled the trigger. He might be human, but the man had a way of getting what he wanted. And right now, whether he knew who Jake was or not, he wanted to kill the man whose hand was beneath his duster.

Buffy stared wild-eyed, both in horror and hatred. She knew who Illyria was when she strode into the room. The fact that Angel had tackled Jake during his shot infuriated her even more. She thought back to the conversation at the bar. Jake was sent back to kill her. If he couldn't, then she would take on the task. She wasn't going to let this thing kill off her sister. Reaching for the stake she always kept tucked in her inside jacket pocket, she spun and intended to plant it right inside this beast's heart.

"Slayer!"

Damn that voice! Dammit, dammit, dammit! She turned to find Spike, leaping her direction, with all intents on stopping the melee before it could occur. Turning from Illyria, she was suddenly in a prone position. She braced herself as the leather duster covered shoulder buried into her own, spilling them both backwards across the floor. She gasped out for breath, and in the process, her eyes met his. The look was one of heartache. The vampire, who had been so brave in the Hellmouth, looked as if he had beaten with a crucifix repeatedly. She couldn't shove him away if she had wanted to. His body on top of her own felt too right.

"That's enough!" came the shouted British reply. Giles had been quiet this entire time. This was not his story to tell, nor was his place to step into the murky waters that had already surrounded this quasi-alliance. But he refused to sit back and watch Jake die. He stepped into the middle of the office, staring intently towards the vampire who was now beginning to stand.

"Giles, I'll put the next one between your eyes if you don't leave this office... immediately."

Not surprisingly, the voice hadn't come from Angel. It had come from Wesley. Giles turned his attention towards the ex-Watcher. Wesley did not return the favor. His cold blue eyes were targeted on the man on the ground, as was his pistol. There was no doubt that Wesley would pull that trigger. And he knew that once he did, everything that should happen would fade away.

"You don't wanna do that Pop," Jake whispered between his teeth. He had managed to get himself into more of bind than he intended.

"That's funny. That would be the second time you have referred to me as 'Pop', and I haven't the slightest clue to whom you're referring. I suggest you elaborate on that. And while you're at it, tell us who you are as well. I'd hate to soak my employer's rug with fresh blood."

Jake let out a deep breath. There were probably a hundred different ways this conversation could have gone. God knows Jake had thought through every one of them in minute detail. It was his father's brain after all. However, this was not one of the scenarios he had planned on. But now, there was no other way. He wouldn't risk the chance at killing Illyria. Even if it meant having to spill the story to his own father. With a heavy heart and through gritted teeth, Jake made his response.

"I call you 'Pop', because that's what you are. You're my Pop. I'm that gleam in your eye even as you hold that barrel to my head! I was sent here by the Powers That Be... by Cordelia... to stop the Apocalypse before it happens. You're not fighting the Senior Partners tonight... you're fighting Illyria!"

"LIAR!" Wesley roared, pushing the barrel further into Jake's temple.

"L-let him s-sing Wes," came a quiet request from across the room. "I can see his aura bleeding from here. L-let him p-prove what he says..."

Goddamn Lorne! The Empath demon always seemed to come down on Wes's better judgment. Better judgment. The thought cut Wesley to quick. After all, Lorne had had the chance to stop Wesley from stealing Connor. Wesley had knocked him unconscious for trying to interfere. Not that Lorne remembered those events. But Wesley did. It was impossible that this man was his own son, but his finger was a hair slip away from pulling the trigger. If Lorne could prove that this man was liar, then Wesley would let his pistol do the rest of the talking.

"You want me to WHAT!" Jake replied, sweat beginning to bead down his forehead, but sight never leaving the pale eyes of his father.

"Listen cowpoke, if you want to live to ride off in that sunset, you better make with the Gene Autry and bust out the campfire song!"

Jake swallowed hard. This situation just got worse by the second!

"Fuck it. I'll sing. But if Pop blows my own head off 'cause I hit the wrong note, it's gonna be on both of yer conscious!"

"Indulge me," was the Brit's clipped reply.

Jake let out a sigh.

"Beneath the stains of time, the feelings disappear.

You are somewhere else, I am still right here.

What have I become? My sweetest friend.

Everyone I know, goes away in the end.

And you could have it all. My empire of dirt.

I will let you down. I will make you hurt.

If I could start again, a million miles away.

I would keep myself... I would find... a way..."

"Oh... my..." was all Lorne managed to choke out before stumbling backwards. He found himself caught in the arms of the elder man dressed in tweed and wearing glasses. Lorne looked up into the man's eyes. Was everybody's soul crying out for forgiveness! Regaining his bearings, Lorne bolted back to his own two feet.

"Don't shoot Wesley! H-he... he's your son!"

Wesley had to admit, the song this man chose to sing was a bit heart wrenching. In many ways, it mirrored Wesley's own life. For a split second, he felt for the man. But that moment passed. Then Lorne made his request. Wesley wasn't willing to oblige. He wasn't going to let this man, demon, or whatever loose with two super quick pistols on Illyria. He was still ready to pull the trigger when he felt a cold yet steadying hand on his shoulder. He turned to his right, a bit of shock and surprise mixing in his eyes, to face... Angel.

"Wes," Angel rasped out. "If Lorne vouches for him, let him tell the story. If Cordelia sent him, it wouldn't be to kill Illyria..."

Angel's voice faded away as Wesley continued to stare at him. The vampire was right. Empath demons couldn't lie, and Lorne definitely wouldn't lie when he knew his life was on the line. And, like Angel, Wesley was moved by the mere mention of Cordelia's name. He would give this stranger a few minutes, if it was only out of deference. He slowly pulled the pistol barrel away. Before he could turn his attention back to Jake, the man had already raised himself to his own feet. Instinctively, Wesley pushed him aside. As Jake stumbled Wesley leapt forward. Pistol still pointed at Jake, he took up his position, directly blocking Illyria's figure from any attack.

Angel grabbed Jake by the collar of his duster and yanked him upright. There were too many questions to be answered. Watching the exchange between Jake, Wesley, and Lorne was enough. But he had also noticed the fact that Buffy had yet to throw Spike off. Who was he kidding? He could smell her scent wafting through the air... he knew they were kissing. Leave it to Spike and Buffy to make out in the midst of a life-threatening situation. What was left of his heart broke that much more. He always had loved Buffy. Even when everyone, including himself, had told him otherwise. And he really hated to see Spike kissing her. But he couldn't bring himself to say anything. Besides, he was fairly certain another love was watching him. And she was the one he yearned to see. Looking Jake directly in the eye, Angel made an ill attempt at "popping his collar" for the tough guy look.

"I want to know everything... and I mean everything. And, if you try to kill a friend of mine again... I might make you eat that pretty little gun off yours."

Jake's hand had long been removed from his lone pistol left behind his back. Hell there wasn't much use for it now anyway. He had come back to bring the Champions together, not further drive them apart. Staring Angel straight in the eye, he proceeded to tell the story he had recounted less than a week before in Rome.

Jake finished his story with a stony glare in his father's direction. Somewhere, deep down, he had hoped he would get some sort of emotional response. Wesley's granite faced stare had scarcely budged. Angel and Gunn, on the other hand, look visibly shaken. Probably because Angel had allowed Wes to allow Illyria to live and Gunn had ultimately been the reason for the Old One's resurrection.

"LIAR!" Wesley roared once again, raising his pistol. Jake's emotions had reached their breaking point.

"Liar! Why would I lie! How could I lie! Your Empath read the truth, and I've told the truth. That shell is gonna kill everyone in this room. And it's gonna do it one... by... one. Are you willing to sit here and take responsibility for that! You know the truth as well as I do. You were a Watcher... you once told me to "always take into account the details"."

With that Jake boldly strode up to his father. Pistol staring him straight in the face, Jake leaned closer, forcing the barrel between his eyes.

"LOOK in my eyes Pop! You can see yerself just like you were starin' in a mirror! I'm your son for Christsakes! And that bitch behind that your protectin' is gonna bring all of us down!"

"NO! It's not true... Angel, listen to me. This is some sort of ruse, some sort of trick. It could be a bloody cyborg again for all we know. Illyria is not capable of such a deed. Not in her weakened state..."

Wesley's heated response was cut short when the door to the office was again opened, only this time it made a loud thud as the knob bounced off the adjacent wall.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know you were in a... conference. I see we've got our intruders in hand. The Senior Partners are awaiting their swift death."

Hamilton.