Okay, this was a hard one to write. I know that a lot of people have suggesting a certain duel, but getting it all in place meant I had to do a lot of thinking about this one. I hope that the end result is as good as I hope it is. There have also been a few comments about keeping certain charecters as they were written by JW, Faith in particular. I'm going to admit at this point that I always thought that JW never really explained properly why she fell to the dark side. I'll also admit that she's been one of my favourite characters. The point is that the moment that Xander put on that costume in Chapter One, the world has been diverging steadily from canon. Things are still occuring as they did - people can't be diverted easily if they come from outside Sunnydale - but Xander's changes are having an influence on the Scoobies and the changes are rippling out from there. Anyway, thank you all for waiting and not threatening to come after me with pitchforks and torches. Thank you also to Wendy, my invaluable Beta!


The late evening shift was better known to the communications detail as the Graveyard Shift. The capital letters seemed to be mandatory. Every communications team anywhere in the world had one, as it seemed to be traditional.

Although they had been told that things were going to liven up once the rest of the base personnel were mustered in and proper operations started, things were still very dull. There was exactly one reconnaissance team out, a supply shipment was due in at 0100 hours and a maintenance team was dealing with the power fluctuations in Generator Room Two. However, orders were orders.

When, therefore, a signal came in on the high priority channel eyebrows went up in the room. The ranking Sergeant took the call and then paused when he saw the ID line that was coming in. "Caller, we do not recognise your ID line. Identify yourself please."

There was a startled pause and then a very irritated voice growled: "This is Harris. I have never needed any identification, I just require obedience. Now. Where are the standing patrols in Quadrant Seventeen? And why is my private line inoperative?"

The Sergeant frowned. "You are not authorised to use this channel. Further attempts to use could mean that you are committing a federal offence and..." Something brushed against his throat, ghostly fingers scrabbling to close around his windpipe. He swallowed convulsively, flipped the radio off and jerked backwards in his seat, rubbing his throat.

"Damn," he breathed, "Felt like I couldn't breath there for a second." He shook his head. "I hate the Hellmouth. Be glad when my posting to Fort Dix comes through."


Darth Mortalis stared at the comlink in fury and swore in Huttese. Something was terribly wrong here. The town was alive with vermin, his private line wasn't working and there was no sign of the regular patrols. Plus, he still couldn't remember how the hell he'd got there. His last memory was of working on a more powerful repulsorlift. Then there had been a flash, the sensation that his feet had snapped up to just under his chin and suddenly he had been standing in a rather smelly alleyway.

Keeping his lightsabre clutch firmly in his hand he walked to the street corner ahead and looked around. Sunnydale's nightlife was at full blast. He stalked out into the night thinking furiously. Magic. It had to be stinking magic. But why had he been transported like that? What was going on – where were his patrols and what was wrong with his communications system? It was a shame that he had not been able to get a clear grip on that idiots' throat. Using a force grip when you had a visual target was far easier.

He strode on. He needed answers and he needed them fast.


When Willow rather woozily put her head around the main doors to the room, a lot seemed to be going on. At least her head no longer felt as if it was being squooshed by a magical elephant. Then she blinked. Amy had really gone to town on the magical circle, at least half of which was unnecessary if it was a retrieval spell. It looked cool though, even if it had been wrecked.

Amy herself was sprawled almost on her back on one side of the circle, her hair in her face and looking astonished. The reason for this was standing opposite her, where Buffy was holding up a wildly struggling girl literally by the scruff of her neck. It looked kinda painful. The girl was also shrieking something about smiting and blasting and something about the fourth circle of hell and something unpronounceable that had very big teeth.

Buffy turned to the door and grinned. "Hey Wills, you feeling okay now?"

Tentatively the witch nodded. "Does she come with an off-switch? She's giving me a headache."

The Slayer nodded thoughtfully. "Hey!" she said to the struggling figure. "Enough with the noise!" She emphasised the order with a shake of the arm that jerked the girl up and down.

There was a long moment and then Anya slumped down sulkily. "You can put me down now," she grumbled.

Buffy lowered her down so that her feet touched the floor again and then moved her grip to take a handful of the girls' sweater. "Wouldn't want you to get away now, would we?" She said cheerfully.

Sighing with relief Willow opened the door fully and walked over to the other witch to help her up. "Are you okay?"

Pausing to rearrange her disordered hair, Amy drew herself up and glared. "What the hell was that all about? I was just trying to get her necklace back, it wasn't as if we were trying to raise a demon or something!"

Willow and the Slayer exchanged a look. "Actually, Amy," she said after a moment, "If you want to be accurate, if you had retrieved that necklace you would have raised a demon. Re-raised it I mean."

"I don't know what you're talking about," said the girl in a tone that was definitely too loud. She looked almost pretty, if she hadn't had such a look of sulkiness about her. With a dash of startlement. "I've lost my necklace and this kind witch was helping me to find it again. I don't know what you mean about a demon. I'm not a demon. Why would you think that I was a demon?"

"Because," said Buffy, her eyes narrowing, "You used to be one. Anyanaka, right?"

The sulky look deepened and the ex-demon glared back. "No," she said eventually, winning the Willow award for the world's worst attempt at lying.

A shuddering gasp made Willow turn to a very shocked Amy. "My bad," she said faintly. Then she looked down to her scattered things. "I'd better pack up," she muttered absently.

"I'll help you," soothed Willow.

"And I'll stand here and hold you in a firm Slayery grip," said Buffy, still glaring at the former demon. "And then we need to talk."

The girl froze and looked at Buffy out of the corner of her eye. "You're the Slayer?" she asked in a weak little voice. "Damn."

Giles was on the phone when they returned to the library, Buffy still holding a very obedient Anya and Willow effectively leading a rather stunned Amy. He did not seem to be in a twinkly Giles mood. Instead he appeared to be in what Willow knew Buffy described "full-on watcherness with added Ripper."

"No, John," he was saying as they entered, "I don't know how you got this number, but as you know, I no longer participate in such practices. And so no I will not help you out." There was a pause as he listened and then his glasses came off with a clatter and he was drawing himself up to his full height. "How dare you?" he hissed with genuine anger, "After all this time, how dare you say that? With all the blood on your hands? All debts have been paid. No, emphatically not. You can't contact the others, they're all either dead or scattered and I will not help you find them." Another pause. "I know. Try him, if he doesn't try to kill you first. Yes. Goodbye. Oh and Constantine? Never ring this number again, unless you want me to come after you. Yes and sod off to you too." The receiver went down with a bang and Giles picked his glasses up again muttering something under his breath.

"Someone you know, Giles?" asked Buffy with what Willow thought was a touch of nervousness. "'Cause you were starting to wig me out just then."

The Watcher started slightly and turned to look at them. He seemed to be a little sheepish. "Ah. Yes. Um. That was an old..." He seemed to be picking the word carefully. "Acquaintance... of mine. I don't know how he got this number, but hopefully he won't be in touch again." He glared at the phone. "He'd better not anyway." Then he noticed the others. "Ah, I see you found them. And given the fact that you haven't been turned into something unpleasant, not that that was ever very likely, you were able to stop anything."

"Not quite," said Willow. "They started something, something powerful, but Buffy was able to make it all go kablooie in time."

Giles looked up at this. "Ah. Perhaps we should fetch the others and then sit down to discuss what happened."


"This room's clear," said Angel, after looking into the science lab. He turned away and stopped to look at Harris. The boy – man rather, he seemed to have bulked up a bit in the years, no, months that he had been away – was standing in the middle of the corridor, looking up it.

"This corridor and the rooms off it are all empty," he said in a quiet voice. "Same with the level above it."

Angel frowned. This was odd. "How do you know?"

He received a sigh and a half-smile in response. Then Harris turned to look at him. "Long story. You look much better by the way. I know that it's been a while since we last talked. If we ever did before you... turned. And then returned."

Increasingly baffled Angel shrugged as the two walked down the corridor. "Buffy's been taking care of me. Bringing me blood, talking to me. Talking about things. Willow too." He paused. A memory was tickling the back of his mind. "I... don't remember much about coming back here. To Sunnydale I mean." He remembered far too much of that hell dimension though, that was the problem. The very slightest memory of it made him wince. To have gone from kissing Buffy in that room, confused, frightened for her, knowing that she had been in a battle and that he had been... away, somewhere where he couldn't help her at all, and then suddenly to feel that cold steel slide into his chest, opening his eyes to see her tear-stained face as he slid down that terrible vortex into that place... It was hard. The past was like a frozen ocean. There were things under the surface that he did not want to remember, ever again, but sometimes they forced their way up, hard and terrible and razor-edged with anguish and self-contempt.

The memory tickled again. "Where you there? In those first few weeks? I seem to recall seeing you, next to a bright light. It's hazy."

Harris nodded. "Yes I was there. I was there when you fell back into this world. And there's something else." He paused and seemed to be debating something.

When it came it was a shock. Inevitable but still a shock: "How much do you remember of what Angelus did?"

Memories bubbled up from beneath the ice, cold stabs in his mind like daggers. Things he had done... things that his cruel and vicious alter ego, the thing that raged impotently in the prison that his soul had created for him, had inflicted on the people of Sunnydale when it had been free for those terrible months. "Too much and not enough," he whispered, remembering the night that Jenny Calender had died.

"Do you remember our fight in front of Acathla?"

Startled he looked at Harris and then frowned. It was all so jumbled, even now. He remembered bits and pieces of it all, flashes sometimes, long snippets here and there. "Acathla... I remember approaching him and activating the sword and... wait..." More memories forced their way to the surface. Something about two swords clashing, about blows struck from the empty air and... He stopped dead and looked at Harris, who had also stopped. "You said that the force was with you. I... he... thought it was a joke. Was it?"

Harris reached out with his hand and gestured at one of the darkened doorways to one side. With a slight creak the door moved around by itself and closed itself with a firm click. Then he looked back at him. "The force is with me. Do you remember the Halloween that Buffy became a noblewoman?"

Utterly shocked Angel stared at the human. "Yes and you were a... a Jedi." He swallowed. "That's impossible. The spell ended," he said, jabbing at the floor with a finger.

This earned him a tight grin. "This is the Hellmouth, my dead friend. Something was left behind and I became someone very different." He looked around. "This section's empty as well." Then he paused. "Whoa."

Still trying to come to turns with what he had been told, Angel looked around slightly wildly. "What?"

"I feel a disturbance in the force. Something's wrong." He turned. "Buffy's back in the library. Let's go, they might have found Amy and our demon by now."

As Angel followed the human down the corridor he shook his head. Life was getting odd on the Hellmouth. A Jedi in Sunnydale?


As they went through the doors Xander saw that everyone else was there. Including a rather pale Amy and a very cowed Anya. On the table he could see a bag with various powders and a few dribbly candles. "We get her in time?" he asked.

"Yes and no," replied the Watcher. "Buffy and Willow found them but not before they started the spell. However, no harm seems to have been done. Amy and I are going to double-check that everything is alright before we start to relax." He smiled at them all. "Go home, or is the right term go Bronzing?"

Oz raised an eyebrow. "Amateur night at the Bronze, guys. Even Jedi need to party."

"What about Faith?" asked Xander, raising his eyebrows at Giles.

"She's bound to head that way eventually and if she comes this way I'll tell her where you all are," replied the Watcher. "And I think that anything else will have to wait until tomorrow." He smiled. "Go and enjoy yourself."

As they walked out of the main doors he heard Giles raise his voice: "Except you, Anya!" which was followed by a subdued muttering noise as the former demon stalked back.


Lindsey flipped open his cell phone and hit the speed dial button. He certainly didn't trust the phone in his hotel room. Wolfram & Hart Rule Number 1 for trips was: never trust the local phones. You never knew who was listening.

A series of staccato blips was followed by a complex electronic noise as the scrambling software kicked in. Legend had it that a Wolfram & Hart contact at the NSA had once tried to listen in on a conversation between two of the firm's lawyers in a phone security test. He'd heard nothing beyond static that had fried his brain.

Then there was the soft sound of a gentle ring. Then another. On the third the phone was picked up and Holland Manners said: "Lindsey. How go the negotiations with Wilkins?"

"Very well so far, sir. I've been able to make a few points about our clients travel arrangements and he's conceded that a more reliable method of communications is needed. I'm uploading a full report to you via my laptop now. Final negotiations start tomorrow morning, but I don't see any major areas of disagreement at the moment."

He paused for a moment and then Holland broke in: "But something's worrying you, I can tell."

Damn, he thought as he pulled a face, how did he know? "Yes sir, but it's more of a hunch than a definite problem."

"Always trust your hunches, Lindsey, sometimes that can be the difference between an acquittal and a shallow grave as my father used to say. Go on."

How the hell did you put a feeling into words? He paused again for a second. "Sir, it feels like Wilkins is trying too hard to make the negotiations play out. He's conceded on a few things that I thought he might fight for a bit harder and he's pressed on a few things that we don't normally deal with. It all feels a bit false, like he's pretending very hard to make me think that this is a normal negotiating session. I can't put it any more clearly, sir. Something just feels off somehow."

There was a long pause on the other end of the phone. "Interesting," said Holland eventually, "Very interesting. Let me know how the second session goes tomorrow and then get back here ASAP after that."

"Yes sir," he replied and snapped his phone shut. Scratching the back of his head he took a deep breath. Something was bothering him and he didn't know what. What had he missed from that day's session? What else was there? He shook his head, but the buzz wouldn't go away. Perhaps he needed to relax a bit.

Grabbing his coat he put his cell phone away into a side pocket, opened the door to the corridor and snapped the light off. He needed a quiet drink and a spot to think. Or perhaps something more lively, he always thought better in a noisy environment and he'd discovered a bar in LA that had a great ambiance. Not your normal run-of-the-mill customers – he'd once seen Lilah there – but fun. He strode off down the corridor.


He stared at the building in a great deal of shock. The Bronze had been closed for almost two and a half years, ever since that incident with the Master that had left Jesse and almost a hundred others as bloodless corpses. Rumour had it that the place was cursed, although he'd known better. The dark side had been very strong there, steeped in the fear and terror and hatred of the dozens of people who had died in one night of slaughter. As Mayor he'd been considering having the place opened up again as a grim joke.

But now it was open and, the Sith could tell, the dark side was gone from the place. Instead the lights were full on and people were drifting in and out of the main entrance, which had a sign above proclaiming the fact that tonight was amateur night.

He was increasingly confused. The Wilkins Memorial, which he had put up in a finely judged display of irony, was missing from Fourth Avenue, he had encountered three vampires in good health – all of which he had killed – and all of his patrols were missing, along with all the signs about the forthcoming curfew, which was going to be introduced once he had his first major batch of clone troopers up and running. It was as if he had never ruled here.

And something felt wrong – there was a feeling in the force that he could not identify, like a resonance or something similar, as if something was echoing through the force. It all felt very odd.

He strode into the Bronze and looked around with burning eyes. People were dancing here and there, talking, laughing, enjoying themselves despite the fact that someone was committing grievous bodily harm on a Spice Girls song on stage. It was all too nauseating for words.

Then he stopped dead. Osbourne was here. He was on stage, off to one side, talking to a dark-haired man who was holding a guitar. The Sith smiled grimly. Well things were looking up. It looked like Osbourne had slipped the leash and wandered too far away from the stinking Watcher. Well too bad, he would join him in the dark side or die. Either way he would win. He flexed his hand and walked forward a step, bumping into the back of a red-haired girl who turned and grinned happily at him. Willow. Willow. His eyes widened and he froze.

She was babbling about Oz – was that Osbourne? – and how he had volunteered to help out at the Bronze for Amateurs Night, especially with people who hadn't brought their own instruments and when had he changed his clothes since they got there, since they'd only been for a few minutes and why did he look so tired?

"This is impossible," he said in an astonished voice. Then he scowled darkly. "This is some sort of trick. You're dead."

She looked at him worriedly. "Xander are you feeling alright? Because hello, not-deadness here. What's got into you?"

He backed away slightly, his thoughts skittering madly for a moment before settling again. "You're dead," he repeated, "You saw me use the force in secret. I killed you." What was this place, what was this mad world where nothing was right, where everything was different as if... As if it wasn't his world. Something had been done to him, none of this was right. She was looking at him more closely now and then she frowned. "Xander, how did you get that scar on your cheek? What's wrong, what did you mean about you killing me, because you're starting to scare me."

Something had been done to him – the magic users. Rayne, Giles and Calender. What if they had performed some kind of spell on him, taking him to this strange place? He backed away another pace and then turned roughly and pushed his way through the crowd, away from her face, away from the memories of holding her with the force to stop her from running, from struggling, from screaming his name... and then from breathing. He had to get out of this place and reverse what had been done to him. He pushed faster, the fuzziness in his head increasing for a moment and that odd feeling in the force growing. He had to get out of here.


Willow watched him go with her mouth open. Then she jumped what felt like three feet in the air when Xander's voice said: "Here you go Wills, milkshake with added goo, as requested. Buffy's bringing the rest and..."

She spun around. There he was, but no black clothes, no scar, no bags under his eyes and no mad babblings. He was frowning though and looking into the crowd.

"Whoa," he muttered, "I just got a really odd feeling in the you-know-what."

"Xander!" she said in a strangled voice. "But, but you just left over there! In different clothes! And all 'grry' comments. That's not possible!"

"Relax Wills," said Buffy, who had come up in time to hear this. "Xander was with me and Angel at the bar. What's wrong?"

"Xander was here, only he was all in black and he looked really unwell and he had a scar and he was mumbling that I was dead, which I'm not thank you, and that he killed me and then he went off over there really abruptly and I don't know what's going on."

"I never wear black," said Xander, frowning and looking at the crowd. Then he stiffened. "But I am seeing things. Someone who looked just like me just went out the main doors." His voice changed to something low hard and clipped. "And the force is with him. The dark side that is. Buffy, guys, go tell Giles that something weird is going on. I need to find out what's going on."


Lindsey looked out at the crowd and scratched the back of his neck again. That had been a bit odd... he'd had such a strange feeling that something wasn't right. It had only lasted a moment or two, but it had been quite strong for a second. Probably just a moment of stage fright. You never really got rid of it, it was always lurking at the back of your mind. He hefted the acoustic guitar that the helpful kid with the spiky hair had arranged for him and sat down on stage. This was a bit weird, he'd seen a sign on a wall for this and had found his feet taking him in the right direction, why he wasn't sure. Perhaps the chance to sing again. He strummed the guitar gently, plugged it in and leant forwards towards the microphone. "Hi, my name's Lindsey McDonald and this is a song about my city. It's called LA." He started into it.


Xander shook his head in an attempt to get the cobwebs out of his mind. Everything seemed a bit odd, cloudy. And he had a case of the faint creeping horrors. He'd seen someone who looked just like him. Hell, so had Willow. And this person, whoever he was, had talked about killing her and had stank of the dark side. And had vanished. He'd been looking for ages, combing the streets of Sunnydale. He paused. The chances of this guy turning up on the same night that Amy and that ex-demon turned high school student performing half a spell were just too freaky for words.

Could half a spell have cloned him somehow? But he hadn't been there, so that wasn't possible. Was it? Could it have been a doppelganger? What was going on? He frowned. He wasn't accomplishing much here. Perhaps it might be a good idea to head back to the library and have a word with the Watcher. Perhaps he had worked out what was going on by now.

He turned and walked off in the direction of the school.


Darth Mortalis looked around the deserted shop and swore angrily. He was exceptionally angry himself now, furious with his lack of progress. The Calender woman's place was for let, standing empty. The Watcher's place was lived in but also empty at the moment, he hadn't felt anyone in it at all. And the costume shop was derelict, windows shattered, doors hanging on their hinges and scraps of dirtied cloth on the floor. No one had been living there for at least a year. Right then, he thought grimly. That just leaves the library in the high school. I should have tried there first. Magic was no match for the dark side. He spun on his heel and strode off.


Almost everyone was sitting around the table when he reached the library, with a baffled Giles listening to Willow's rambling description of what had happened. From Buffy's bored expression this was not the first time that she'd listened to it. Giles, with Anya and Amy to one side, looked sceptical.

Looking up at the sound of the doors closing, the Watcher brightened slightly. "Ah, Xander. Perhaps you can add to what Willow's been telling me. Apparently you both saw a dark version of yourself at the Bronze, is, ah, is that right?"

"Pretty much. Willow was closer to him than me, but I could detect the dark side in him. By the time I got outside he was gone."

The brought a frown to the Watcher's face. "You couldn't use the force to detect him?"

He shook his head in response. "Giles, a Sith would be able to disguise himself in the force. The dark side can cloud everything sometimes. What about that spell that they were trying?"

"Ah. Well, I've been looking at the book that they used and it does seem to be a standard version of the primary Coven handbook, although it is rather dark and it does seem to be a bit too powerful to use to find something that 'might have fallen down the back of the sofa', to quote what Anya told Amy."

Stirring in her seat the witch blushed. "Hey, I didn't know that she was an ex-demon. You guys should tell people about this kind of stuff." She paused, considering her words. "Only those who know about this kind of stuff, naturally. I didn't have a chance to finish the incantation, but something happened, I think, I had a feeling that some sort of power ran through me when Buffy stopped the show. I just don't know what. I was kinda busy falling over."

The fuzzy feeling was getting stronger as Amy spoke and Xander frowned suddenly. He was really getting an odd feeling in the force now. An echo, as if... He froze. Close. Too close. Damn it, why hadn't he been paying more attention?

"Giles, Buffy, get everyone out of here. Right now."

Blinking, Buffy looked at him. "What's wrong?" she asked sharply.

"Everything's wrong here."

It was his voice. A bit rougher and extremely angry, but it was his voice. And he hadn't opened his mouth. He turned to look at the stairs leading to the shelves. A dark figure was standing there in the shadows, a figure dressed in black. It moved forwards into the light. He heard the scrape of Giles's chair and a stunned "Good Lord!" he heard Willow squeak with surprise and he heard Buffy say a word that her mother would probably be very shocked to hear. He was looking at himself. He was dressed in black and looked as if he had smelt something bad and was frowning massively, but it was him. And he was a Sith.

"Everything's wrong here. No order. People in the wrong place. Some people alive when they should be dead like Willow. No power structure in place, God knows how much time I've wasted here. No Calender. No Rayne. But the Watcher's here. And so am I, that explains Willow's comments earlier on," mused the Sith speaking partly to himself and partly to them. Then he stepped forward, down the steps.

"Buffy, Giles, everyone get out of here now. He's too powerful for you. He's a Sith." said Xander in a level voice, watching the advancing figure. Buffy opened her mouth, no doubt to protest, but then Giles nodded sharply, and put his hand on her shoulder.

"Buffy, this isn't our fight."

"Like hell it isn't!" she burst out. "I'm not going to just stand here and..."

"He has a lightsabre," said Giles heavily. "Buffy, do as Xander says. We have to go."

The Sith reached the bottom of the stairs and stopped. He smiled a twisted smile as he saw the others hurry away to the doors and then dismissed them with a sneer, before starting to walk around Xander. He wasn't going to stay still either, and moved off himself, so that the two force users were walking on opposite sides of a circle, inspecting each other.

Getting his first close view of the Sith version of himself was a shock. It was like looking into a mirror. This is, if he had been awake for a week and a half and then dressed for a funeral. The other him had dark rings under his eyes and a look of towering contempt.

"I can't believe that I became a weak-willed coward of a Jedi," the other him spat as they continued to circle each other.

He smiled bitterly in response. "I can't believe that I became a Sith. Anger management was never that much of an issue in the past. Unless you're just an undisciplined thinker."

The Sith bared his teeth at him. "This world needs order. Discipline." He seemed to think about something that amused him. "You have no idea what's out there, do you, Jedi?"

He tilted his head to one side. "I know enough." Then he gambled: "I know about the Mayor."

This definitely amused the Sith, who barked out a harsh laugh. "The Mayor? Please! Don't tell me you've only just started to work that out! Richard Wilkins and his plans for his Ascension? I destroyed him. I destroyed almost all of them, the vermin that plagued this town for decades under his rule. I beat off Wolfram & Hart and I took over the Initiative. That's going to be easy to do again in this world, once I've killed you and your little friends. Take it over and start my rise back to the stars." He grinned harshly again. "Do you know about the Initiative? The secret base here? Does anything escape those eagle Jedi eyes?"

Base, thought Xander, not letting anything show on his face, base... the army place what that superconductor was headed to? "Yes, I've seen things bound for that," he said, going as far as the Jedi code would allow him to. "Built my lightsabre with parts for that."

An eyebrow went up on the brow of the Sith. "Ooh. Clever. But you will be no match for what's out there. I have the plans for Imperial ships in my head. TIEs, fighter variants, shuttles, Star Destroyers. Ships to defend Earth from the Goa'uld and build a new Empire. What do you have? Plans for lightsabres? Remotes? Jedi Starfighters maybe? Pitiful." The Sith paused. "Time to die, Jedi."

Xander tilted his head. "Are you going to kill Willow again? She mentioned that you mumbled something about you killing her."

A muscle fluttered on the Sith's right eyelid. "She found out that I was using the force after being possessed by Vader. She didn't understand the power of the dark side. She didn't understand the knowledge that I'd gained. She was weak."

"Stronger than you think," said Xander. He nodded at his other self and their lightsabres sprang into their hands and ignited at the same instant. "So am I."

With a blur of motion the Sith brought his blade down and Xander's met it with a crack of energy followed by a buzz as the two power units fought to overcome each other. With an effort Xander heaved up, forcing the Sith back a step and then slashed low to his opponent's right side, only to be met with a parry. The Sith grinned tightly at him. "Not bad, Jedi."

They broke apart and started to circle again, looking for an opening. Moments passed and then Xander leapt, bringing his lightsabre up and around, trying to force an overextended parry, but the Sith met it and matched it with a low hard blow before attacking hard for the first time, unleashing a series of strikes that pressed Xander back a few steps, almost to the staircase leading to the book stacks.


When the rapid footsteps became audible everyone but Buffy turned to see who was running down the hallway. She was too busy staring through the windows at the fight inside the library, her mouth open in wonder. Then she heard Faith swear and glanced to see her fellow Slayer as wide-eyed as she was.

"Okay, what the hell happened, B?" she said in a strained voice. "I go off to shake my booty at the Bronze, find that message from you there, and now Xander's fighting himself? What gives?"

"It's kinda complicated," said Buffy. Then she blanched. "Get away from the doors!" she screamed and dove sideways, grabbing Willow as she was in the middle of asking why. A split second later a chair traveling at something like 60 miles an hour came crashing through the entrance, shattering one window and splintering into dozens of pieces when it hit the nearest wall.

They all traded glances. "I suggest," said Giles, peering at the shattered door, "That we withdraw to somewhere safer and assess our options."

"But what about Xander?" wailed Willow. "I mean what if Xander kills Xander? Or, or Xander wounds Xander before Xander then kills Xander?"

Giles winced. "I don't think that we have any say on this matter. We need to trust our Xander – the Jedi – to defeat his Sith counterpart. Because if he fails..."

"We'll have to kill him," finished Angel grimly. "I've never seen anything like this."


Dodging the blade, which went on to shear through the wooden banister behind him, Xander force leapt off to one side, delivering a quick kick to the Sith's chest as he did so that sent the black-clad figure staggering back.

The Sith recovered and came on again, more slowly this time. A vein was pulsing on the side of his forehead and he seemed to be even angrier than before. "I recognise that stance... you've added some refinements but I recognise it... Obi-Wan. You went as stinking Obi-Wan, didn't you? That meddling jealous old fool who wouldn't know talent if it hit him in his face..."

Xander flipped the lightsabre in an ironic salute. "Guilty as charged – Vader. Or should I say Anakin? That's a bad combination of minds in that head of yours. Mine. Whatever the language is for this kind of thing."

The Sith paused and gave another bitter laugh. "Oh no, there'll be no mind games here. I may have the memories of Vader, with a few added bits like a love of power and a desire to grind all Jedi into dust, but Anakin Skywalker doesn't live here. There's just me. And the dark side. You have no idea how powerful this stuff is."

Xander shook his head sadly, memories of a blond boy dressed in his brand new Padawans robes and laughing with joy at his first ever new clothes running through his mind. He was watching his opponent carefully, feeling out with the force for the start of the next attack. "I can't believe that I'd ever dress as Vader on the Hellmouth. Were you stupid or just blind?"

The Sith hissed menacingly. "I had my reasons. And blame your stinking Limey friend out there for not telling anyone about the Hellmouth. I certainly do. Once you're dead, I'll strangle him with his own intestines, followed by Rayne. Where is he by the way?"

This sparked a puzzled frown from Xander. "Ethan Rayne? He's running for his life if he has any sense. Buffy threatened to stick his wand, or whatever he uses, somewhere painful." The frown faded. "And to get to Giles you'll have to get through me, and then Buffy."

"Stupid name. She the blond bitch?"

"She's the Slayer."

"Slayer's a myth," spat the Sith, walking forwards again, "And I'm tired of talking to myself."

With a buzzing crack the two lightsabres clashed again as the Sith launched into a quick attack, changing styles almost between blows to press the Jedi back. Xander absorbed the offensive and then launched his own counterattack, slashing blows that the Sith deflected with a snarl of defiance. They were very evenly matched. Too evenly matched, the last time that he had been this hard pressed was the fight in the desert, and he'd won that one by using his head, not his arms. He needed to... wait a second; there was a tremor in the force...

With barely a split second's worth of warning he spun, sliced the incoming chair in half, dodged the next one, which vanished off towards the main doorway at great speed and then caught the coffee mug with the force when it was inches from his face. Parrying another blow from the Sith with his lightsabre he threw the cup back and added the length of wooden railing that was lying on the stairs from earlier. The Sith swatted both aside with his own lightsabre and then tilted his head. "Not bad," he grudgingly conceded. "For a Jedi."

Strategy, he thought quickly, I need a strategy... and space. Less chance of damage to the library, we need this place. Lure him out of the school and finish him off, the force willing. Anakin never did understand strategy properly, he was too impulsive, and as far as I know Vader was never that innovative. A brilliant starfighter pilot did not necessarily make a good general, or a good admiral. Vader had his flunkies to do the flying – and the dying. And as for the pre-force me, I always thought that a flanking manoeuvre was something that happened in football matches.

"Very poor," he goaded, "For a Sith."

His opponent hissed angrily again at that, the red blade lifting and hammering down in a whirlwind of force and fury. Xander turned slightly but didn't need to fake his backwards movement that much, the Sith was pressing him hard now, looking for an opening that he never found whilst taking the fight to the Jedi. Back he went, using his peripheral vision to make sure that he was heading towards the doors. He just hoped that the others had either retreated somewhere safe or were wise enough to move away as they approached. Pausing to feint with his lightsabre he felt his foot crunch on a piece of shattered glass and he risked a quick glance. Oops, no door. Okay, Snyder was going to be pissed. Better still, no Scooby gang – he could sense Buffy and Faith off to one side, out of sight. That was excellent.

The Sith lashed out again, flowing attacks that he met with as much force as he dared, before he risked a quick counter. An upward stroke that the Sith parried, around to one side, two more quick and hard blows, and then back onto the defensive again. The Sith probed briefly and then tried again, the humming red and blue blades crashing into each other. A locker door was caught by one leading edge and gaped open, sending a cascade of battered books and carefully hidden magazines onto the floor, a concrete post received a slash that left it with a long groove on its edge, a notice board creaked apart and deposited a week's worth of notices in a pile. Boy, Snyder was going to have a field day when he discovered all this damage.

Back further and he could feel the faint rush of air that said that the main door was either open or unlocked. Bad security but good for him at that moment. Another hard clash of lightsabres made him tense as the Sith unloaded a series of blows that he was hard pressed to fend off without revealing that he still had reserves of strength left. The red blade caught a junction box in passing, slicing it in half and severing most of the cables inside. The lights in the ceiling above them blew with a resounding crack of noise and bright sparks, most of them dying and the remaining ones flickering madly. The corridor was now lit by a strange coloured pattern of white flashes interspersed with the red and blue lightsabre glows. Back went Xander, back to the doors and the open air, fighting hard and planning as he went, while a crazed rictus of fury ebbed and flowed on his dark side's face.


Buffy stared down at the book while Giles flipped pages back and forth whilst mumbling to himself. Then he stopped and jabbed a finger at a part of a page, opposite which was a diagram of an odd pentagram thingy. "Was it this one?"

There was a pause whilst Amy leant over his shoulder. "Yes," she said in a worried voice. "I'd never done it before but it didn't look too hard. Complex but not too bad."

"I don't understand," said her Watcher softly, "This is a spell to bring inanimate objects to the owner. How can it have brought someone from a closed off parallel reality to Sunnydale? It's not possible."

"Looks pretty possible to me," drawled Faith from her spot by the window. "They're outside now and the Jedi just chopped a stop sign in half. Man, they're fast!"

Frowning worriedly Buffy darted to the window. Below the two figures were in a full-on fight, darting and slashing backwards and forwards, one minute the red lightsabre attacking the next minute the blue one. As she watched the figure of the Sith leapt over a parked car, tucked into a tight roll and landed on the other side, the red blade cutting through a street lamp so that it fell towards the good version of Xander. The Jedi dodged quickly, and gestured so that one end of the lamp veered towards the Sith, only to be cut off as if it was made of paper.

"Somehow I don't think that we can help him, do you?" she said to Faith in a very small voice.

The dark-haired Slayer shook her head wordlessly.

"I hate this, I hate it when there's nothing we can do."

"If we go down there, B," muttered Faith, "The only thing we'll do is get our noses cut off. Those two are pedal to the metal and fighting fit to bust a gut."

A high pitched sound started off to one side and after a mutual baffled look with Faith, Buffy finally narrowed it down to the other window where Willow was watching the sound and talking rapidly, without seemingly being able to breathe. "WegottastopthisImeanhe'sbattlinghiumselfandhemighthurthimselfandGileswegottasendtheotherversionofhimbackbecauseSithornotit'sstillXanderandohmygodohmygoddidyouseethatXandermighthavekilledXanderandwhyarethereallthosepurplespotsinmyeyesand..."

"Wills, chill. Take deep breaths," said Buffy worriedly at her hyperventilating friend. "Giles what can we do?"

"Nothing until I work out how this happened and... Oh dear Lord. Amy?"

"Yes Mr Giles?" said the witch, looking worried again.

"How long has your family had this book?"

"It was my Mom's. It was in her family since they came here from Scotland, and before then. Why?"

The Watcher reached down and ran his forefinger down the page join. "Because there's a page missing here. Perhaps two. That's the incantation to find a lost item, yes. But the diagram is for a different spell." He looked at it hard. "A dimensional summoning, I think, I can't be more certain than that. Which explains a great deal."

"Like what, Giles?" she asked, glancing out of the window at the fight below, which was moving in the general direction of one of the cemeteries.

He looked up sharply. "Buffy, spells can be, be complex things. Something said without the right preparation, in the wrong place, at the wrong time, can literally blow up in your face. And this – using the wrong diagram with the right spell – might have started something terrible if you hadn't stopped it. It might have pulled other parts of other worlds into this one. Or it might have pulled Amy and Anya into another dimension. It would be like... baking a cake using the wrong ingredients, or playing Rugby Union by Australian Football rules." She must have had her 'what?' face on, because he sighed and looked around for another phrase. "Imagine... imagine playing tennis, but not realising until the last moment, as you hit the ball, that you're using a baseball bat. Where's the ball going to go?" He shrugged. "Could be anywhere."

"So how do we reverse it?" she asked urgently.

He sagged. "I don't know. I'd need to know what the exact original spell this diagram was for and then reverse-engineer it, so to speak. I don't know where to start. And even if I did find out, it would take some experimentation, which would take time that I don't think that we have."

"Oh for the love of Thor!" said Anya, speaking up for the first time. "I thought that Watchers were big on the occult. Let me see that diagram, I used to be a demon so I think I should be able to work out which..." She looked at it. "Ah. Um. Boy, do I feel stupid now. I'll be over here in the corner being quiet now. No, I don't know what it is."

With a sigh Giles looked back at Buffy. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, "But I think that we're back at our earlier position. Either Xander defeats his Sith counterpart or we, well, finish the job."

She issued her own sigh.


The two blades met again, buzzing spitefully as they ground against each other and then parted again, to meet again with a crack of energy. Xander took another step back, ignoring the ache of his muscles and the drop of sweat at the end of his nose. The Sith was good, and was also looking as if he was feeling the pace a little as well. But still the eyes blazed and still the mouth sneered. The dark side had his opponent in his grip and it looked as if he still believed that the dark side was stronger than the light side. But it wasn't. Master Yoda's words were as true now as they had been in the past – Obi-Wan's past, that is.

"Easy, the dark side is. Quick. Seductive. Anger it comes from, yes, and hate. Not as deep as the light side, no, roots do not go as deep. Powerful the Sith felt, yes, but did not see, did not understand."

Well now he was fighting a real Sith, one who was every bit as powerful as Darth Maul or Dooku, but who had his face on. Damn, sometimes he really disliked the Hellmouth.

They had fought their way across the road, across part of a park and then into a cemetery, one of the many such places in Sunnydale. And this was where he had planned to open up the fight. It had been close even now. But he had two cards up his sleeve, one that he had been very careful not to show until now and one that the Sith probably suspected. He'd been fighting using the conventional Jedi techniques and he'd been met by the conventional Sith techniques. But there was something extra. Vaapad. It was a Jedi technique that had been developed by Jedi Masters Mace Windu and Sora Bulq. It was quick, hard, aggressive, and it could win a fight. But he'd never used it on the Hellmouth so far. It could be too aggressive, it could take you too close to the dark side if you weren't ready for it, if you hadn't emptied your mind of all emotion first, achieved the correct state of balance. And here, away from the school where his friends were, away from anywhere where they could do much damage, he could collect himself and unleash it.

Xander force leapt up off a gravestone, twisted in mid air and landed, collecting himself, his eyes all the time on the Sith, who looked surprised for an instant and then rushed towards him. Up came the blue blade and he slashed hard, once to the left then up and again, hammering hard against the red lightsabre. The Sith's eyes widened and he dug his heels in to meet the attack, but Xander had him off balance now and he pushed his opponent back, the blades whining as they dueled in the place of the unseeing dead.

Another hard attack, moving faster now, losing himself in the grip of the force but retaining enough to keep control of his feelings. No doubt now, no fear, but no exhilaration, no elation at the thought of a victory. He was going to kill a version of himself, like a twin, and that was something to mourn. But still a Sith.

The Sith went backwards faster now, his teeth bared in snarl, gathering himself to leap backwards over the mouth of a sagging grave with a ragged hole by the tombstone, probably the first resting place of a fledgling. "Vaapad!" he screamed at Xander as the Jedi leapt over the tomb as well, "You dare to use Vaapad against the man who remembers killing Mace Windu?"

Time for the other card, the one that his Sith counterpart had seen briefly earlier on but not fully understood. He had learnt swordfighting skills from the Watcher as well, skills that he had used, fusing them together with the Jedi skills that had been in his head since Halloween. And now was the best time to put everything into action.

The blue blade hammered hard at the Sith's defences, up, down, across, pushing him away, shaking his senses and crashing into him. His opponent staggered slightly, recovered, and unleashed his own attack, the red blade meeting Xander's with a crack of energy as he attacked. Xander met it, countered it, repulsed it and then attacked again, keeping his mind blank as he delivered a kick to the suddenly off-balance Sith's chest that sent him hurtling back. In mid-air the Sith twisted, one foot connecting with a mausoleum wall, and then he was flying back again, his lightsabre over his head, descending in a blow that should have cut Xander in half or driven him to his knees if the lightsabres had clashed.

But the Jedi wasn't there to meet it – at the last moment he dodged, flying sideways, his feet meeting a gravestone and then coming up from one side and....

The Sith blinked. He was standing but he seemed to sense that something was wrong. Then he raised his arm and looked at the smoking stump where the hand clutching the lightsabre had been. And then he looked down at the blue blade sticking out of his chest. "Damn," he said.

Xander pulled the lightsabre out and the Sith stared at him. "Damn," he said again in a level voice and slowly crashed down to his knees and then pitched forward onto his face, into the grass.

Sighing, Xander deactivated his lightsabre and looked at the Sith. He was still breathing and then, to his amazement, the Sith found the strength to push with his remaining hand and turn himself over onto his back. Emitting a wet cough he looked up at the Jedi.

"Not bad," he wheezed in a weak voice. "Not bad. New... technique?"

Squatting down next to the Sith, Xander quirked a wry smile. "Something I learnt off Giles. Swordplay and Jedi skills. Good combination."

"Innovative... the Watcher... never taught... me..." The dying man's eyes were glazing over now, but he still struggled to speak. "Tell... your... Willow... I'm sorry..." The light in his eyes went out. The head lolled.

"Yeah," said Xander, looking at the man that he might have become, "I will." He looked over at the empty grave. It was time to bury himself, in a manner of speaking.


When they heard the footsteps they all exchanged worried glances, apart from Anya who seemed to be sulking in a corner. Then he came into view, a tired man dressed in their Xander's clothes and holding a lightsabre in his hand. He stopped and looked at them. "It's me and he's dead," he said in a voice that sounded tired beyond belief. Then he looked at their cautious faces and snapped the lightsabre on. As the blue blade extended and then retracted he laughed softly. "Come on guys, would a Sith have a blue blade?"

Willow stared at his face. Then she relaxed. There were no black circles under his eyes. "It's our Xander," she said, a tear running down her face. "It's him."

Giles walked forwards and looked at him. "Good God man, you look all in. Come on, let's go back to the library. Are you hurt?"

"No. He was good. Real Sith. I used the force to put his body in an empty grave, probably from a fledgling. Couldn't find his lightsabre though. Too dark. We need to search the cemetery over the road tomorrow. Don't want anyone finding that thing." He smiled a painful-looking smile. "It's over guys."


F'Var walked down the street quickly, making sure that he kept his human face on. The object – he had difficulty in thinking of it using it's true name – was a bulge under his jacket.

The memories of what he had seen that night remained etched in his head, like a film. The two figures fighting, the coloured blades crashing, the sounds, and the impossibility of what he had stumbled upon. And then the end, when one red blade had gone flying off to one side, turning itself off in mid-air and landing not too far away from him, when he had seen what it was...

The hand was in a drain somewhere but he had the... the thing... with him and he knew some people in Los Angeles who would be interested in what he was holding. Very interested indeed.