Okay, so it's been a long, long, long time since I've updated. All I can say is sorry 'bout that. I've actually had this for awhile, but I just sort of, kind of forgot about it. Oops. sheepish grin Well, better late than never, right? Anyway, not much really happens in this chapter, but back to the action in the next one, I promise.

Thanks to Kriken for betaing this for me.

Hope you guys enjoy.

Part 17: Ripper

Travers sighed, his head falling backwards against the back of the chair to give him a clear view of the ceiling. They had his wrists bound tightly, and it was becoming quiet obvious that he wasn't going to be escaping any time soon.

"You might as well get comfortable," a familiar British voice said.

Giles stood in the doorway that led to the front of the shop. His arms were crossed, and his face unreadable as he stared at the old man that at one time had been his superior. But not anymore, by any means.

"You won't be going anywhere for awhile."

"Ah, Rupert. Come to keep the prisoner company while the others go out to stop our beloved little angel?"

It was true. After sending Anya and Van to the hospital to wait, the others had headed out to save Buffy and the children, leaving just Giles and Travers back at the Magic Box. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he felt the Ripper grin.

Who says that God doesn't answer prayers?

"They've gone to clean up the mess you made, yes," Giles answered, walking across the room and taking the seat they had set up across from their prisoner.

"That was very courteous of them, but, as I said before, unnecessary. Dylan is a very capable girl and very loyal…Unlike other people."

Giles couldn't help but snort. "If that was an attempt to play on my old alliances to the Council, I suggest you save your breath. The only loyalties that matters to me now are those between myself and this – how did you put it years ago in your claim for dismissal? Band of misfits?"

Chuckling, Travers corrected, "I believe the word I used was miscreants, which seems even more appropriate now then it did then, especially with the additions of William the Bloody and our lovely Ms. Faith. Why, I say they fit right in, don't they?"

"The only miscreant I see is you," Giles bit back. He continued to stare hard at the old man, who just smiled at his accusation. "No, I take it back. Miscreant is too good for the likes of you. How about lowlife? No? Child abuser than? Common criminal? Kidnapper? Stop whenever you think I finally have the right word."

"Careful, Rupert," the old man grinned. "Or I'll start to think you don't like me anymore."

Dryly, Giles replied, "I can't imagine what would ever give you that idea."

Standing from his chair, the ex-Watcher crossed the room to study the assortment of weapons that decorated one of the walls. Some where missing, either having been taken into the battle that was about to occur or having been lost long ago in another, but most still hung in place.

The blades caught the dim light and shot shattered ruminates of it across the room. One in particular, a short blade with a black, carved handle, caught his attention. Picking up the weapon, Giles let the weight of it adjust in his hand, allowing him to get a feel for the knife.

"Tell me, Travers, what did you except to get from all this?" he asked as he headed back towards their captive. He took the knife and carefully cut through Travers' bindings, freeing the man before tucking the weapon away. "Money? Power?"

The older man raised a curious eyebrow at his old employee, but remained seated while he rubbed his wrists where the rope had been placed. "What's this, Rupert? The part where I am supposed to tell you my master plan? To answer all those little questions that have been bouncing around in that head of yours as to why I would do such a thing?"

"I was just curious is all," Giles answered calmly before his fist shot out and struck Travers across the face with a satisfying thud. The force was enough to cause the chair to screech as it was pushed backwards on the floor.

Travers hung his head to the side for a moment, spat out some blood, then turned his grin back towards the man who had just hit him as he rubbed his jaw. "Good to see there is still some of the Ripper left in you, old man."

"I'd say that there was more than some left," Giles shot back before hitting him again.

Travers toppled off the chair and landed on the ground with a hard bang. Giles was over him, grabbing him by the shirt collar and twisting his body to where he was looking up at the angry man that had just hit him.

"That was for that boy's mother and what you did to her."

He lifted the old man's body by his shirt, and slammed him against the wall before he smacked him again, harder. Travers groaned from the blow, and a small trickle of blood began to drip from the corner of his mouth.

"That was for what you did to Buffy and Willow all those years ago."

Grabbing a hold of the ex-Head of Council's shoulders, Giles jerked him forward and kneed him in the stomach. He then hit him as hard as he could across the face. Giles would swear he felt something break. Letting the old man go, he watched as Travers fell to the ground once again, holding his stomach in pain.

"That was for what you did to the children."

Drawing his foot back, Giles kicked the older man in the stomach for a final blow.

"And that was for me."

Travers coughed, trying to get the copper taste out of his mouth before he rolled over onto his back. Giles looked down at the man.

He looked like a turtle that had rolled over onto its shell; helpless to the man who had just beat the crap out of him. A small part of the ex-Watcher wanted to feel sorry for the old man. A small part of him yelled that Travers wasn't worth him loosing control and letting the Ripper come out and play, thus becoming no better than the battered Englishman at his feet. But the majority of him despised his ex-boss too much to care.

Reaching into his pocket, Giles pulled out a handkerchief and wiped a small amount of blood off his hands before he tossed it to Travers.

"You are hardly worth the effort, Quentin," Giles muttered to himself as Travers spat and coughed small amounts of blood into the piece of cloth he had been given.

The old man looked up at his former colleague, then grinned a little.

"I misjudged you, Rupert. I never thought you would have it in you to beat up a defenseless old man."

"You are hardly defenseless," he bit back, his eyes blazing for a moment before settling back into their repressed rage glare.

Giles turned his back on him and headed towards the door that led to the front of the shop.

"What?" Quentin laughed as he pushed himself up to his knees. "You're going to let me go?"

Stopping at the door, the younger Watcher turned around to face his old boss once more.

"Not by any means," he said, leaning back against the wall. "It would seem, Quentin, that we are not the only people who have been looking for you. Your little trail of kill and destroy has left you with more than a few enemies. The Pushkin family. Members of the United States secret ops for what you did to Mr. and Mrs. Finn. There are even members of the Council who would like to see you pay for the crimes that they know you committed while in power. And that's just to name a few; the list could go on.

"So, while you were unconscious and tied to the chair, I asked myself 'what we should do with you?' There are so many people out there who have good reason to want you. So, I decided to do the only fair thing. I used my resources and contacted all of them, and the first one to arrive gets you."

Travers gaped at him. "You did what!"

They paused when the sound of the front door being slammed opened echoed throughout the shop followed by someone cursing in Russian.

Giles raised an eyebrow, then said thoughtfully, "Oh, bad luck. It sounds as if the Pushkin's had people closer than expected."

"Rupert!"

The door to the training room tore opened and the room quickly filled with large men with guns drawn and pointed at the battered man on the floor. The one that had cursed up front continued to yell in the Slavic tongue as the others surrounded their target.

Giles didn't hide the smile on his face as he watched. Travers, who had always been so careful to be the one in control, was now at the mercy of these men who looked like they were ready to kill him. Yes, that was very satisfying to see.

Pushing away from the wall, Giles turned to head back into the front show room.

"Rupert!" Travers called, his voice pleading which gave his ex-employee pause. "Don't leave me here!"

The Watcher stood there for a moment, as if considering stopping this. He drew in a deep breath, then said, "There's weapons on the south wall. Help yourselves."

"Rupert!" Quentin yelled once more with more panic in his tone, but Giles paid him no mind and let the training room door slam behind him.

"That's kinda cruel, don't you think?" Graham asked, leaning against the counter. There was a small smirk on his face, clearing showing that he was enjoying this. But, as an officer, he needed to at least pretend to disapprove.

"Not particularly, no," Giles answered, heading around the corner and for the scotch that he had earlier. "Not after what he has done."

After Lindsey had told them about Dr. Miller and Sebastian, Giles decided to do a bit of research so there wouldn't be anymore surprises. Of course, he had a great one when he realized that the boy's 'aunt' had married none other than Riley Finn after a short courtship. He hadn't told anyone, not even Buffy, that the he was now dead, but had tucked it away for possible future reference. And it had come in handy that night.

"Yeah," Graham said. "Guess Sam and Riley wouldn't have disapproved too much. Not after what happened to Bastian."

Giles frowned a bit before covering his face with the glass to hide it from the other man. He hadn't told the Commander everything. The government didn't need to know about Dylan and Bastian and what they really were. They didn't need to know about Buffy and Spike. All they needed to know was that the man who had murdered two of their top agents was being held in Sunnydale, waiting for them to come get him.

Travers was getting off far too easy, but Giles wasn't ready to step over the line that made him no better than the old Council Member. Buffy and Spike won't like it, but, no matter what they think, it was better this way. Man would have their justice in court, and, hopefully, the Powers would deal theirs later.

"God have mercy on him," Giles muttered to himself then took another drink. Because the others certainly wouldn't have.

It was the darkest part the day; the time right before the sun would break over the horizon and bathe the land with its warm light. It would mark the day of the summer solstice, the longest day of the year. It would also mark the day when they put an end to this once and for all. As Sebastian had said, Travers wasn't going to hurt them anymore, and neither would these people once they were done.

The old charity hospital sat just outside of town, hidden away in a peaceful area. On the way there, Xander had dropped some more information concerning the place; namely that before it had been turned into a charity hospital by the state, that it had once been a privately own mental institution. That was why it had been placed out of the way, so no one of upstanding society would have to be reminded of those poor, deranged souls.

Very appropriate. A band of lunatics going after a group of crazies in a former nut house. One just had to love the hellmouth.

The Scoobies stood on a small dirt road that ran parallel to the property. The road obviously hadn't been used, except for maybe a tracker, in quite some time. They had to ditch Giles' car back at the main road, then take the whelp's truck the rest of the way.

Getting out there come sunrise was going to be a real bitch, but they'd have to worry about that later. Right now they had more important things to think about.

Sebastian picked up several of the weapons in the back of the truck and handed them over to the waiting Angel and Connor. The miracle child took the crossbow, held it up to test the line of sight, then handed it over to Faith. The dark-haired slayer smiled, repeating the process, before pulling the strap onto her shoulder. At the same time, father and son left the truck.

While the others got ready, Spike stood near the tree line that separated the property line.

"Whatch'ya see, eagle eye?" Faith asked, coming to stand beside him.

"Looks like they have a couple of guards posted out front," he said, watching the tiny figures that he knew the slayer could not make out in that light and from that distance. "Might be more out back."

"I'll take care of 'em," Oz volunteered.

Spike nodded his head in agreement, never taking his eyes off the building.

"Be careful," Angel told the werewolf, with a pat on the back.

"Don't worry. Dying will be the last thing I do," he answered dryly, then disappeared into the dark.

"Guess that means your up, junior," Faith called to the youngest of the group.

From the back end of the truck, Bastian sighed before jumping over the side. He landed silently, then took off quietly to do what he had to do.

Normally, they would have never entertained the idea of putting a child in danger, but, if there was one thing this kid had proven to them, it was the fact that he wasn't a kid at all. He was only ten, but had seen more death than a man twice his age should. And they needed him tonight, or else their little plan wasn't going to work; so it wasn't really like they had a whole lot of choice in the matter.

"Okay, is anyone else having major deja vu feeling here?" Xander asked. "I mean, we're about to go into a building full of people who want to kill us while we go and try to save Dill and the Buffest. I got to say, the last time we did something like this, it didn't end all that well."

"Just do what you're supposed to, Harris. We go in, you get Buffy out," Spike said with clipped tone. "We'll take care of the rest."

"Right," the carpenter frowned, pulling a sword from the back of his truck. He tested the weight in his hand then let the weapon drop to his side.

"Are we sure this is going to work?" Angel asked, coming to stand beside Faith.

Nodding, his grandchilde assured him, "It'll work."

With that, he took off in the same direction that Sebastian had earlier, followed by Connor and Faith.

"It did in Mortal Combat anyway," Xander shrugged, going after the others.

From behind them, they could hear Angel balk, "Mortal Combat? Wait a minute here!"