Everyone stopped talking and Xander scooted over on the couch as Buffy came back into Giles' living room. "So, what's the news from LA, Buff?"
The Slayer plopped down beside him, shifting uncomfortably and not meeting anyone's eyes. "25 to life. She pleaded guilty to everything."
The gang took this in in silence, except Dawn who sat up straight. "25 years? That's it? Faith gets to kill a bunch of people and she's out before she's Mom's age?"
"They said there were, uh, midisomething circumstances." Buffy kept fidgeting with the portable phone. "There was some stuff... about her childhood."
"Oh dear." Giles looked at her with concern. "Did they say-"
"I'll tell you later." Buffy very obviously avoided looking at her little sister, who rolled her eyes and snorted with derision.
Tara wasn't surprised but still cringed inside when Willow mirrored Dawn's reaction. "I'm sorry, but I officially don't care. If you're old enough to kill people, you're old enough to take responsibility for it yourself instead of blaming it on 'Mwaaah, my parents didn't love me'. I say good riddance to her."
Buffy didn't answer. Tara still was not completely clear all that had happened between the two Slayers – Faith was a very sore spot with Willow – but the tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife. "Buffy? A-are you OK?"
For a few seconds, Buffy just kept staring at her hands. Then she looked up at her watcher. "Giles, you have to talk to the council. I mean, if something happens to me... there has to be a Slayer, and no matter what Faith did, I don't want them to..."
Giles put his hand on her shoulder. "I'll try. I don't know if I have any pull with them anymore, but I'll try."
"What do you mean 'if something happens'?" Dawn cut in. "Nothing happens to you, you're the Slayer."
"No I'm not." Buffy finally looked at her sister. "Dawnie, I haven't been THE Slayer in three years. I'm a... a... parrot box?"
"Paradox." Giles corrected her automatically.
"Right. I did my time and the line passed to Kendra. If I die –"
"You're not going to die!" Dawn's volume knob was turned up to about eight now, and all treble and tremble.
"If I die again, Dawn, we can't be sure that anyone takes my place. The only way there'll be a Slayer then is either if they let Faith out or if they... and they've tried to kill her before."
"So have you!" The thirteen-year-old, very upset by now, didn't sound like she thought this was a particularly bad idea. "The heck with Faith, Buffy, you're the Slayer and you're not going to die, so stop talking about-"
Buffy put her hands over her ears. "GOD, Dawnie, shut UP! You're the only person I know who can whine in frequencies that only dogs can hear!"
Tara awoke from the dream knowing it wasn't a dream. That exact scene had taken place about a week after the scoobies had defeated Adam, and had been one of few bleak spots on an otherwise blissful summer; she and Willow had had their first almost-spat afterwards when Tara had suggested that maybe Willow didn't have to spend the whole day reciting The Evil Deeds Of Faith, Parts I-XXV, and that sometimes there could be more to it than just "my parents didn't love me" – something Willow had refused to even discuss. And Dawn had sulked for days even though no one brought up the possibility of Buffy maybe not living to 106 around her again. Tara hadn't thought about it since, but the dream was vivid – so vivid, in fact, she thought she could still hear Dawn pleading hysterically.
Then she sat up straight from where she'd fallen asleep by the door and realized it wasn't the dream. The wails were coming from inside the house – very faint, separated from her by a couple of thick walls, but loud and high-pitched enough that she could just about recognize them. Dawn was here, she was in trouble, and Tara was locked in here, helpless... BANG. She pounded her fist against the door in frustration. "Gods damn you, OPEN!"
There was a crack of splintering wood as the door flew open so fast that it ripped loose of its hinges and crashed into the opposite side of the hallway. One of the hinges did several surprised turns in the air before falling to the floor.
Tara got to her feet, staring in disbelief at the doorway. How...? She pointed at the fallen hinge. "Levitare." It rose off the carpet, hovering in mid-air until she let it drop again.
The protection spell was lifted.
And with the door gone, Tara could hear Dawn's sobbing cries from the basement clearly and didn't hesitate. She had gotten halfway down the stairs when she heard the noise of the old rusty meatgrinder; her brother was busy in the kitchen, which meant he wouldn't be paying attention to much else. Good. But that still meant she might have to get persuasive with her father and Donnie, and she had never learned much in the way of fighting magic. She needed protection... her eyes fell on something sitting on top of the table in the hallway. Oh yes. That should do.
In the basement, Dawn slowly managed to get a hold of herself and crept over to the two men lying still on top of each other. The pool of red that had formed around them was seeping slowly into the dirt floor. "Giles?" She grabbed the Englishman by the shoulder and shook him. "Giles, come o-" Then she yelped as Giles' body rolled over on its back, his unseeing eyes staring at the ceiling and blood trickling listlessly from the gaping red maw in his chest. The shotgun blast had more or less obliterated the left half of his chest and even though Dawn managed to look away, the image – bone fragments, flesh, blood around the hole in the once-proper shirt – was burned into her eyes. Whimpering, she started crawling towards Willow, who had remained deathly still throughout the whole thing, when she heard a wet cough behind her.
"Giles?" She turned around. No, not Giles. At least part of the shotgun blast had hit the Texan and he was bleeding badly from his side and his left arm, but Mr Maclay was coming to, already fumbling for the gun. Dawn tried to get up, but her legs seemed to have gone on strike and wouldn't obey her.
"You... little... bitch." Maclay panted as he sat halfway up against the wall, cracked the shotgun open and started rifling through his pockets for shells. "You'll pay for that." One of the shells fell out of his hand and Dawn watched it bounce a couple of times and then roll towards her. She stared curiously as it came to a halt against her foot, then slowly reached out and grasped it, holding it up to her eyes. She'd never seen a bullet of any kind before. Could something as toy-looking as this really be dangerous? Could something like this really have killed Giles?
"Yeah. You just hang on to that, if you think it'll do you any good." Maclay managed to load the shotgun. With a grunt of pain he snapped it shut, used it as a cane to raise himself to his knees and started turning it towards Dawn. "If you're the praying sort, now would be-" Then he froze as he felt the blade of the chainsaw against his neck.
"P-p-put the g-gun down, Pa." Tara was standing behind him, all white-knuckled hands and trembling muscles as she held up the heavy chainsaw.
Her father coughed and spat a red-tinged blob on the floor, but sounded as assertive as ever when he spoke. "Don't be silly, Tara. You don't even know how to work that thing."
She put her hand on the clutch, pulled the strap and the well-oiled engine roared to life. All she had to do now was literally lift a finger and the blade would start spinning. "Th-think so? I spent 18 years in this house, P-pa. I pick things up. Now put the gun d-DOWN!"
Maclay swallowed as the blade poked him a little extra in the neck; after all, he was probably one of the world's leading experts on how much damage a chainsaw could do to a person. But he didn't lower the gun. "Tara.. I know you and I know you're not going to do this. I'm your father. For eighteen years your family has taken care of you, supported you, fed you –"
"On human flesh, Pa!"
Her father's voice had grown softer, almost tender. "I did what I had to to take care of you. And then you fell in with the wrong crowd and they've made you forget who you really are, turned you against your own family, but I forgive you, and like the prodigal son, I welcome you back with open arms. I can make it better." He patted the shotgun. "It'll be just like ripping off a band-aid, Tara, it hurts for a second and then we can go back to when everything was good."
There was no telling if the noise that escaped Tara's lips was a sob or a bitter laugh. "When was it ever good, Pa? When you beat Mom, or when you and Donnie beat me? When you tortured Bubba for years for being retarded? When you had him kill all those people?"
"I-I-I'm not perfect, Tara. I know that. I'm just a lowly sinner like everyone else. But you were always the best of us, and now that you've been returned to me I know you don't have it in you. 'And the son said unto him, Father, I have sinned against heaven, and in thy sight, and am no more worthy to be called thy son. But the father said to his servants, Bring forth the best robe, and put it on him; and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet: And bring hither the fatted calf, and kill it; and let us eat, and be merry.' You will put the saw away, Tara, you will let me deal with this, and then we will be alright again."
Tara's hands were shaking, her vision was blurred with tears and the saw seemed to weigh a ton. She almost let it drop. But when she looked at Dawn, crumbled up in fear, and Willow lying there as if dead, she shook her head and held it tighter and there was no stutter when she spoke again. "No. I made a promise last night to take care of my family. And you're no longer a part of that, P... Eugene. So just put the gun down. Please, I don't want to do this..."
"I'm sorry, Tara. But I know that once they're gone you'll see things clearer."
The rest was a blur as everything happened at once. Eugene Maclay swung the shotgun towards Willow. Tara may have cried out something, but if she did it was drowned in the roar of the chainsaw as she released the clutch. Her arms shook wildly as the saw met resistance and something warm and sticky sprayed across her dress. There was a thud as something round hit the floor and bounced off into a corner. Then Tara turned off the chainsaw and there was complete silence for a few seconds before she fell to her knees and threw up violently over her father's twitching corpse.