Part Forty-seven
Madrid, Spain. July 11, 2001
Cyrus leaned back, and took a long gulp from the beer he had ordered a few minutes ago.
The blonde man was enjoying his time in Spain. The Americans he was now somewhat closely associated with had gone back to the land of the Yankees, but he was here on his own enjoying some rest and relaxation time.
The Americans were certainly feeling uptight about something, there was certainly no doubt about that. That war against the Order of Taraka was proof of it. Still, Cyrus didn't worry too much about it - because he could take care of himself, thank you very much. And right now, he was also truly enjoying himself.
One thing you could definitely say about European women, they weren't as hung up on youth as the bloody American ones were. And he had been taking advantage of that fact a great deal.
"Hello, Cyrus."
The South African looked up in response, and immediately stiffened. He knew the African man standing in front of him. {Stupid, stupid, stupid! I should have been more aware of my surroundings. } He thought to himself worriedly.
"Don't worry, man, this is not a hostile visit. No matter how much it should be." The new arrival then sat down without being invited. "You've gotten some new travelling companions," was the next terse comment from him.
"Yes. My travel agent made quite impressive arrangements," Cyrus said cynically.
"And curiously enough, they have informally put out the word that it would be an unwelcome state of affairs for all parties involved - if certain things in the past were to be dredged up, so to speak." The black man grimaced, clearly uncomfortable in Cyrus' presence. "So be it. But there's something about that wild tale you told many years ago, about things that go bump in the night..."
"Well, that was so long ago - when everything was different," Cyrus said at once, unsure where this conversation was going.
"True. However, you've heard of Bouvet Island?"
This puzzled Cyrus even more. "Yes, deserted island in the south Atlantic. We had some business meetings near there during the late 1970s."
The African nodded. "However, you weren't as clever as you thought you were. American satellites caught a glimpse of-"
"Nothing was ever proven," Cyrus interrupted defensively, his mind going back over 20 years and cursing himself for not being careful enough back then.
"I already told you, your past sins aren't my concern today. I'm just here to tell you that your new friends may want to take another look there. Something's going on, and it appears right up the alley of your new...associates."
The black guy stood up. "So now, I'm going to go and find more pleasant company. Here's hoping for your sake, that I never see you again." With that, he walked off and left Cyrus sitting there at the table.
The White House, Washington D.C. July 12, 2001
Vice President Dick Cheney frowned. "I still don't think it's a good idea, waiting to take action like that."
"We must not move too early. If we do so, we will lose the only advantage we have," the child genius known as Irving Hollins interrupted. "It could very well cause the enemy to react in ways we cannot hope to anticipate."
"And if something goes wrong? We could have the damn planes crashing into the World Trade Center and killing thousands of people!" Cheney said, as he leaned back in the chair at the head of the table in the basement briefing room.
"There is that risk," Cleburne agreed. "However, we've got a pretty good idea what their master plan is, and when they'll execute it. And that point will be our best shot to intercept them."
"Why not just prevent the planes from ever taking off?" Condi Rice asked from her seat next to Cheney.
Esther Marcum responded to that one. "Because it would stop the attacks on that day, but nothing else. We would not have a clear mandate to respond as we must. There will be people saying that we overreacted, and that there wasn't really ever such a big threat in the first place!"
Cleburne leaned forward. "She's right. There are still people out there who think the Israelis were in the wrong, to throw the first punch back in 1967. Those guys had every reason to think they were about to get hit incredibly hard, still - people held their actions against them then, and still do so today. This way, there's no doubt that we're in the right."
Attorney General John Ashcroft spoke up, "The FBI could easily sweep up all the terrorists, they wouldn't get anywhere near the planes."
"And what exactly would we charge them with? Until they take definite action in seizing those aircraft, we don't even have probable cause to arrest the criminals for anything all that serious. And even if we do convict the worker ants, the people who sent them are still beyond the reach of the courts," Esther said.
Cheney was clearly not happy. "Imagine the media circus if we screw this up!"
"Well, imagine the New York Times saying how we're overestimating the threat potential! The politicians could refuse to endorse what we need to do about Afghanistan and al-Qaeda," the bearded man named Scheuer said. "Look, some of my predecessors may have been an egotistical empire builders, but they were absolutely right about the need to take out the terrorist camps in that particular country. If we don't remove those places first and foremost, bin Laden and the Taliban will just keep on cranking out suicide bombers to come at us!"
"When you set out to take Vienna, take Vienna," Cleburne said.
"What?" Secretary of Defense Rumsfeld spoke up. "What do you mean by that?"
"It's a saying by Napoleon. It means no half-measures. Do not start something only to stop halfway through. We can't just lob cruise missiles at empty tents!" Cleburne's remark got heads around the table nodding, as everyone in the room remembered how the Clinton administration's retaliatory strikes against terrorists hadn't really accomplished anything.
"To make this work, we need boots on the ground, lots of boots and lots of grounds. To do that we need political support, the ordinary people of the country need to be behind sending their sons and daughters off to war. I mean, *we* all know it's important, but the public has to know it too. Very clearly. And I mean no doubts, no protest marches back home. We saw what happened in Vietnam and Lebanon. They need a reason so plain even the conspiracy theory nuts can't dispute it!"
The room was silent for a few seconds. The Wizard spoke up, "Colonel Cleburne raises good points. The plans proposed so far are far-reaching, and cannot be completed quickly. They will require a long-term commitment from both the President and Congress. And such a commitment must have public support behind it, or the plans will fail. A clear demonstration of the danger will help obtain that public support."
"Besides, John Wayne never shot first," Cleburne commented. Esther Marcum rolled her eyes at that.
"Can we guarantee that nothing will slip by?" Cheney said.
"100%? No," Rumsfeld replied. "However, we know which flights are going to be hit. We know all of the airports they're flying out of. We know some of the passengers on the flights. We're tracking persons of interest taking flying lessons, and we can track them when they buy their plane tickets. Other than shutting down all air traffic in the United States, I'd say there's nothing more we could do."
"Also, we have the advantage of knowing when and where certain things will happen and certain people will be. If we interfere with that, they'll scatter to the four winds and regroup for a new and deadlier attack," Hollins said. "We'll only get one shot at this. Thus, we have to take it at the best time."
"At a time and place of their choosing," Cheney said, still unswayed.
"But, keep in mind we'll control the places they choose," Cleburne said. "Each of those planes will have many of our people on them."
"And if you miss them, and they get to succeed in striking a blow for the jihad?" Cheney asked.
"Lamp posts," Cleburne said simply.
"What?" the Vice President demanded in an irritated tone.
"In 1940, when FDR ordered the relevant authorities to sell equipment to the British, and an Army general said that if Britain fell to the Nazis and the U.S. needed that equipment? Subsequently, everyone involved in the deal would be found hung from a lamp post," Hollins explained didactically.
That caused everyone in the room to be silent for a few seconds. Secretary of State Colin Powell then spoke up, for the first time.
"Colonel, if all this goes completely south during September, no doubt you won't be the only one found hanging from a lamp post."
Guantanamo Bay United States Naval Base, Cuba. July 14, 2001
"Okay, *why* am I here again?" Xander asked, as he sat on a deck chair and looked out at the ocean.
"Because you needed some R&R," the U.S. Navy SEAL informally known as Red answered as he sat in a chair behind Harris. Oz and Fred were seated in chairs next to Xander, and appeared pretty relaxed.
"Well, but I could just as easily relax in the Bahamas. Or the Virgin Islands, or maybe even Tahiti. Why Cuba?" Xander opened his eyes and looked back at Red.
"These are great beaches, you have to admit," Byrne commented.
"Yes, fine, but again why here, in the middle of a Navy base with Marines everywhere? Why not one of the other places I just mentioned?" Xander wasn't going to let up on the subject.
"Well, Tahiti is ruled by the French, so that's automatically out - as far as you're concerned," the Navy commander started to explain. "The Bahamas are nice, but the level of security we have there simply isn't what the colonel feels comfortable with; the Virgin Islands, ditto. Here in Cuba, well - Gitmo is completely secure, pretty much. No one gets onto the base without the permission of the military. No civilians or tourists to worry about, either. Everything's nice and safe here."
"In the middle of communist Cuba?" Fred commented.
"You bet, this is probably one of the safest places on Earth! The only problem is when the Navy brats who grew up here go to the States, they have to be taught to be aware of street crime. They keep wanting to hitchhike and stuff like that," Red said, shaking his head. "This place really is a slice of America not seen back home since...oh, say, 1950."
"Like segregation," Oz commented laconically.
Commander Michael Byrne, Boston blue blood and all-American soldier, frowned at that sort of remark and the itchy sensation it caused. "Look, important thing is that outside of a ground invasion by Castro's boys, we can maintain complete control over who comes and goes here. There's no better place for you to be safe than here, outside U.S. borders."
"I'm touched by your concern," Xander muttered.
"Well, considering how a lot is about to happen in the next few months, we don't want to take any risks with your safety. The Wizard is worried about affecting the flow of history and all that. Why take chances?" Red closed his eyes and leaned back. "It's also a great place to visit."
"And our little trip has nothing to do with all the soldiers and operatives who've been sent here for training, regarding 9/11?" Xander asked.
"Well, you know how it is with any good place to visit, the tourists will naturally gravitate towards it," Red replied, trying to hide a smirk.
"They probably came for the beaches," Fred said excitedly, thinking about whether she should try on her new bikini and give Xander an eyeful.
"Maybe. Oh, almost forgot - Finn's supposed to be here before too long. He's flying in from Central America," Red commented.
"It'll be good to see him again. Do you know if he's travelling alone?" Xander recalled Samantha, and wondered if she and Riley had gotten together by now.
"I don't know. Why do you ask?" Red said.
Xander smiled. "You'll see."
Somewhere in Costa Rica. Later that day
Graham Miller motioned to Riley Finn. "C'mon, man, we have to go now!"
"I'm coming, I'm coming!" Riley hurried toward his fellow soldier.
"We can't be late for this one. We're dead meat if we are," Graham said simply.
"Worse ways to go," Riley observed.
"For you, maybe, but me? I like keeping all of my body parts firmly attached," Graham held the door open for the Army Ranger. Riley went through, and everyone on the other side of the door turned and looked at him.
"Sorry, took longer than I thought - getting the demon guts out of the tuxedo," he explained, hurrying up the aisle. And trying to ignore the disapproving looks from his prospective bride's parents
"I was getting worried, Captain Can-Do. You weren't planning to slip out on me, were you?"
Riley hurried up to stand next to Sam, who was dressed in her beautiful white wedding gown, as Graham took his place next to Finn in order to ride shotgun. "No, honey, I would never do that!" the groom said, sending a brief glance to his best man.
Sam suddenly smiled at her soon-to-be husband. "Good, 'cause it took a helluva lot of work to get all this set up here! I would hate to have to hunt you down and kill you..." The former Peace Corps worker turned to the Catholic priest. "Okay, we're ready."
What the hell. It was three months earlier than it otherwise would have been, and it wasn't being held in a military chopper just before a hairy night drop into hostile territory. But in the ultimate grand scheme of things, what difference did all that really make to the marriage of Riley and Samantha Finn?
"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today..."
An isolated castle, somewhere in the Swiss Alps. July 20, 2001
"So it's true, then? The Order of Taraka is no more?" Elizabeth Bathory demanded.
"Yes, mistress. The Order's last stand was rather spirited, but in the end utterly futile. The Americans and their Israeli allies were quite effective in exterminating them. As far as I know, there are not even remnants of the Order left in the world today," her servant said respectfully.
"Well, I certainly won't shed any tears if those incompetent fools allowed themselves to be destroyed, after bungling the job I paid for! However, I find it disturbing that the humans were able to so easily destroy an organization of such antiquity. What might they do to myself, if they were to learn of my existence..." Bathory commented.
"There is surely nothing to fear on that front, mistress. You're powerful and wise enough that nothing could ever possibly threaten you."
Bathory smiled at the servant's grovelling. {The little toad's fawning is laughable, but also factually correct. Well, I suppose I may as well let him live a little while longer! } "Of course, I would be a tougher proposition than the Order." She looked out the castle window at the night sky. "The Immortal has not been able to learn anything about these humans who seem interested in their betters?"
"When last we spoke, all he had been able to find out is that for some reason, the deceased Wizard's former associates are interested in the Hellmouths in both Ohio and California."
She nodded. "As well they should, nothing else?"
"Rumors only. There were some hints of a connection between them and a human organization from the previous century, circa the 1920s."
Bathory turned to face her servant. "Delta Green?"
The servant's face showed surprise for once in his life, dangerous as that was. "Yes, mistress, that was the name given to me."
"Typical. As I recall, the Immortal was too obsessed with enjoying himself back then to really notice what was going on in the world. If he hadn't been so busy indulging his damned sexual appetites, the fool would have noticed all the things that were active then!"
The servant wisely kept quiet after Bathory's comment.
"Well, never mind. If this so-called *Timetripper* is connected to Delta Green, that helps explain more than a little of what has been happening lately. Hmmm, I suppose this is cause for greater concern..." Bathory paused. "Is there anything new on whether or not the Timetripper has a girlfriend?"
"No, mistress."
She thought for a few seconds. "Very well. In that case, I have a new task for you."
"Yes, mistress?" the servant bowed respectfully.
"Find out where this Timetripper person is, no matter where they've hidden him. Once that is done, let Ivan Roja know that I want to see him."
UC Sunnydale Library, Sunnydale, California. July 23, 2001
Willow Rosenberg made a note on her notepad, as she continued reading the textbook.
The fact was that the young witch truly loved being a student, filling her mind with any and all forms of knowledge. Otherwise, how else could one explain the fact that it was eight o'clock in the evening, and she was actually studying for a school year that hadn't started yet?
Willow was definitely looking forward to the upcoming junior year of college. And not just for academic reasons, either.
Tara, Jonathan and herself had been researching transmogrification spells for well over a year now. And despite all the wrong turns and false leads, they felt confident that before too long they would be able to return Amy the rat back to human form.
On the non-Wicca front Joyce Summers was getting better, and she was able to walk for short periods of time now. Her daughter Dawn was starting to go back to the whiny rebellious adolescent she'd once been too, which come to think of it - was a bit of a mixed blessing.
True, Buffy was still a little depressed over the pool party thing from weeks ago. Still, all in all, life wasn't too bad right now.
And as said, Willow wanted to be prepared for her Modern Media class when it started in late August. So here she was in the library, reading up on the subject when she didn't have to.
When all of a sudden, the Jewish girl heard an ominously familiar male voice. "Following in Giles' footsteps, over how he really lived for school? I'm sure he's still bitter over how there were only twelve grades back then!"
Willow raised her head in astonishment and looked around, "What-?"
"Hey, Will."
Again the voice sounded damned familiar, as the young woman looked around - and felt her entire world freeze.
"You're dead," Willow managed to stutter out, as she *finally* identified who the voice belonged to.
"Yeah, well, that seems to be the popular opinion anyway," that which looked like Xander Harris smiled, as he sat down in the chair across the table from Willow. "I hear you've been active, though!"
"This isn't poss- I saw the explosion, we all did. We, we searched throughout the ruins for your body..." Willow whispered.
"I know, but doesn't matter - water under the bridge and all that. Look, Willow, I've been allowed to come back - on account of I need to talk to you," Xander said simply.
"Allowed to come back? From where? And who allowed it?" Willow asked. And somewhat tellingly, the former nerd didn't mention Faith's name.
"Sorry, but not allowed to say. They don't like anyone spoiling the big mystery," Xander explained, pointing upwards. "What I can say though is that quite a few of our old classmates are there. Larry says to say hi, by the way."
"Larry? But I saw his body after the Mayor...oh," Willow said softly. "You're..."
"Dead? Well, if I'm not, you really do have mental problems! And call me crazy, but I think we already covered that part," Xander replied somewhat snarkily. Just like Willow remembered...before the whole Big Lie and hell dimension thing, that is.
Willow instinctively jumped up as if to hug her oldest friend since childhood. However, she stopped when Xander moved back in his seat and waved her off. "Hold on, Wills - remember Halloween four years ago? Well, just like you back then, I'm not of the solid body persuasion here. And besides, we need to talk, it's important."
Willow swallowed and sat back down. Xander started talking again, "Hope you don't mind, but I've been watching you. All of you. And you've done alright, ever since I vacated the premises. You've handled some major problems over the last two years - like, I saw how that demon prince asshole pretty much taxed all of you, nearly to the limit! However, you all came through in the end. So, kudos to you guys on that one."
"Xander, I'm sorry..." Willow started to apologize for everything, only to be waved off again by Xander.
"I only have a limited amount of time here and a lot to talk about, so we don't have time for all that," he said with a semi-shrug. "Thing is, Will, I'm worried."
Willow frowned at that. "Worried about what?"
"You," was the short reply.
"Me?" Willow almost bleeped in reply.
"Yeah, you've been dabbling in some pretty powerful magicks over the last year or so. I know all about black-eyed Willow, both when that Toth creep came to town - and when you gave Darla her soul back!"
Willow's green eyes looked down. "Well, that first time, I-I-I *was* under the influence of magic!"
Xander nodded. "I know, but that's the problem right there! You loved - no, you *still* love the mojo way too much. The rush it gave you, it almost consumed that version of you. Tell me that sometimes you don't crave that feeling again?"
Willow shifted uncomfortably. "No, I'm-"
Xander interrupted firmly, "Willow. Don't try to lie to me, there's no point! You could hide things from me, sometimes, but you could never successfully lie to my face like that. I mean, I could name a million times where you tried to stumble your way through unconvincing lies that way! Like, remember Billy Fordham?"
Willow gulped at Xander's tone. "All right, fine. Yes, I *do* miss the feeling of power sometimes. The knowledge of what I could do. How I could make things right, a-and fix them. That if I could learn how to raise the dead."
"Oh, geez, but listen to yourself Will! Who do you think you are, God? It's not up to you to decide who lives and who dies! You're heading full tilt into the dark side of the Force, with that sort of mindset. And this keeps up, you'll soon be all in black again with a helmet and breath mask before you know it-"
Willow shook her head at Xander's accusation. "No I wouldn't! Never. I learned my lesson-"
"Come on, Willow, how often have you watched Buffy over the last five years and wished that you had that kind of power?" Xander asked. "It's human nature, you can't help how you feel. And at times it really eats up you inside, doesn't it?"
Willow didn't respond, clearly uncomfortable.
Xander continued, "So you have to watch yourself all the time now, to be sure you don't slip up and lose control. Because if you *do* lose control." Xander left the thought hanging in the air. "Do you know yet what you tried to do in the history I remember, from your botched little memory spell?" he asked.
Willow audibly gulped. "What?"
"You tried to destroy the world, during May 2002. End it all in a big ball of fire," Xander answered, as the redhead's eyes went wide with disbelief. "Dark Willow really went off the deep end that day..."
Willow was shaking her head now vigorously. "No, no, I would never do that, never!"
Xander smiled sadly. "But you did. You were in pain, and lots of it. You were taking it out on others, and eventually decided to end the pain of everyone in the world. Not a smart notion, by the way!"
"Why and how?" she asked softly.
Xander appeared to sigh. "Someone you loved died in your arms. It pretty much drove you Insane-O Girl. That's why you hurt a lot of people."
"I did?" Willow said, staring at her companion.
"You threatened to turn Dawn back into the Key. Giles was beaten up to the point where we thought he was gonna die. Buffy, well, you really went to town on her!" Xander explained.
"Tara?" Willow managed to get out.
Xander didn't answer that one. "You hurt people, Willow, hurt 'em bad. You even killed a guy - two if you wanna count that other scumbag. You slipped and lost control."
"What about Tara?" Willow said with more force.
Xander again ignored the question. "Willow, the magic and the dark side of magic is inside you. And it's struggling to come out."
"What happened to Tara?" Willow demanded angrily, as she stood up suddenly.
Xander actually leaned back and blinked at that. "She...okay, she's the reason why you completely lost it. You wanted power because of what happened to her. Lots of it, and you didn't care how dark it was," Xander explained with a grimace.
Willow sat back down. "She died," the young woman then said in a matter-of-fact voice.
"Willow, you're endangering everyone you love," Xander said pleadingly, not confirming that but not denying it either. "And you don't want to do that, do you?"
"How?"
"What?" Xander said in response to Willow's question.
"How did it happen? How did Tara die?" Willow asked.
"I can't say-" Xander started off.
"The hell you can't, you know and you can tell me!" Willow semi-shouted. "And don't you dare say you're not allowed to because of some stupid rules! This is *Tara* we're talking about!"
Xander shrugged apologetically. "Willow, the rules are in place for a reason, whether you like it or not. I can't break those rules."
"But you're already breaking them just by being here," Willow pointed out. "What difference does a few extra words make at this point?"
"Willow, I'm here to save the world. We can't lose sight of the big picture here," Xander replied.
"And just how do we not lose sight of the big picture?" Willow demanded sarcastically.
"By being willing to sacrifice," Xander explained, the apologetic look back on his face.
Willow looked at Xander, and suddenly - something regarding his appearance really started to bother her. {The face, something about it.} "We make sacrifices every day, just by living in Sunnydale," the redhead finally commented.
Xander shook his head. "No, I'm not talking about the little stuff. Staying up late to patrol isn't the issue here. Like it or not, you have to make sure you never use magic again."
"Huh? Give up magic completely? Well, uh, we have Jonathan and Tara now to do that sort of stuff, so I suppose if it's necessary I could just become Net Girl again." Willow said musingly.
"No, Willow. The temptation would still be there, and you would give in sooner or later. I *know*. There's only one thing that'll make sure the magic doesn't consume you and everything else."
Willow looked at Xander. "What's that, some kind of spell?"
Her companion seemed to take a deep breath before answering. "No. You need to kill yourself."
Willow's eyes widened in shock. "WHAT!?"
"It's the only way, Willow, the only way the world can be made safe. I know it's tough, but it's all for the best." Willow just stared at Xander. "Look at it this way, it's not all bad - you'll be with me again."
Willow was silent for a few seconds more. Then she broke the silence, with a firm look on her face. It wasn't a Resolve Face, mind you, but something close to it. "Who are you? Because I know you're not Xander Harris."
"Will..." the male part of the equation started to say.
"Don't you 'Will' me, whoever or whatever you are. Xander, *my* Xander, would never say something like that! He'd know what kind of horrible pain it would cause my parents, from me offending their religion that way! And yes, we had a huge problem between us because I was so *stupid* that night on the street three years ago...but Xander never wanted me dead, or to commit suicide! Now you want me to cut my own throat? Oh, please!"
"You were willing to do just that a little under a year ago," Xander said, referring to the time Willow had been split into two.
"No, I was prepared to do whatever it took to stop my evil side going on a rampage," Willow said.
"Well, same thing here!" Xander replied firmly.
"No, no, no! That was a clear and present danger then, not some kinda nebulous future maybe danger. Also, Giles and the others tried to talk me out of it. My friends weren't urging me on like you," Willow explained. "Xander may have hated me for what I did, but he never tried to harm me."
"You need to do this." Xander said forcefully.
"No, whatever you are, *you* need me to do it. You can't do it yourself, or you would have already attacked me by now - right?" Willow suddenly reached over and poked the false image of her one-time best friend, and sure enough her finger went right through his chest. "Well, looks like you didn't lie about being noncorporeal."
"You little bitch! Not even Angel was this annoying!" the fake Xander suddenly hissed, finally dropping the act.
Willow then stared at Xander for a few moments, as the tumblers finally clicked in her head and the woman figured out what had been bothering her before. "You're older."
"What?" the faux Xander seemed genuinely surprised by this observation.
"The dead don't age, you moron! You're good - got the voice and the mannerisms down perfect, yeah, but you slipped up on the face! Because ghosts and angels don't age, you know, just like vampires...like Angel, who you obviously know from somewhere. Look at you - you look like Xander in his mid-twenties, or maybe even older."
The impostor hissed incoherently at that even as Willow went on, "Now, Xander was in his early twenties after he came back from that hell world I sent him to - even if I only saw him up close once, after he came back from LA. But he wouldn't have continued aging after he got blown up in the library! You have. So obviously, you're not Xander." Willow declared.
"But I look just like he is now, damn it," the fake Xander muttered with what appeared to be chagrined annoyance.
"What?" Willow asked, not hearing that clearly.
The fake Xander shook his head and glared at Willow, focusing back on the job at hand. "You need to do this, you have to kill yourself!"
"Xander would never say that," Willow said again firmly. "I don't know what kind of shape-shifter demon you are, but you obviously don't know squat about who Xander *really* was. Yellow crayon!" she suddenly blurted out.
"What? Look, I don't have time for this Will, you have to do it now."
"Xander would know what the yellow crayon meant. Who are you?"
What appeared to be the former Scooby released a frustrated snarl. "Look, I don't have time for flashbacks to elementary school and what you ate on a dare."
"You're just guessing, and you know what? You guessed wrong," Willow shot back. "You have no idea what I'm talking about! Get out, you, you..." the Rosenberg woman searched for a mean enough word. "Frog in disguise!" she finally shouted out.
The evil thing wearing Xander's face stood up. "You have no idea what's coming, little girl. By the time I'm done with you and your friends, *all of them*, you'll wish you had killed yourself tonight!"
He pointed at her. "Desde abajo te devora."
Suddenly the false Xander's mouth flew open, impossibly large, to reveal a set of sharp teeth stretching back the mouth. Willow blinked as it somehow looked like the teeth circled the whole head, then suddenly he, or it, or whatever, went transparent. And then - the First Evil was gone.
Willow almost fell back into the chair she had risen from. "Oh boy," she said, just like out of an episode of the TV show Quantum Leap.
The Magic Box, Sunnydale, California. An hour later
The Avengers had assembled, and a research party was currently in place.
Willow had left the college library after her encounter with that monster, and gone to what had become the substitute for the old Sunnydale High library in this day and age; Giles' magic store. A few phone calls later, and everyone bar Dawn and Joyce had come to help with the book learning.
"Desde abajo te devora," Jonathan said, looking through a book. "What does that mean?"
"Uh, I know my high school Spanish sucks, but isn't it something like, 'it eats you starting with your bottom'?" Andrew asked timidly.
Everyone briefly stared at the guy, as Anya gave him a quick slap upside the head. "Go back to looking stuff up in the books, you crazy little monkey!" she huffed.
"Got it! I just Googled the words and 'translation', and it actually means, 'from beneath it devours you'!" Willow said triumphantly, leaning back in her chair.
Giles looked thoughtful, a dictionary in his hand. "Actually, from the root sentence structure and the tense association, I think it more accurately translates to 'from beneath you it devours'."
"Oh," the former hacker looked momentarily taken aback. "Sorry."
"That's quite all right," Giles said calmly. "Now think, Willow. Did this...creature...say or do anything which might reveal why it wanted you dead?"
Ms. Rosenberg shook her head, for oddly enough - no one here had made the connection to the events of Christmas '98 back then. "Not really. It put on a pretty darn good act, though! Oh, did Angel say whether he knew anything about what it might be?"
"No," Giles grimaced, think about his recent phone call to LA. "Apparently he has no idea, with so little to go on. And he seemed rather in a rush, like he had an emergency to deal with, so I don't expect we'll be hearing much from him again anytime soon."
"Sorry," Willow again apologized.
"It's not your fault, Will," Buffy said comfortingly, as she came up to her best friend. "So, what was it like? I mean, seeing, him?"
Willow sighed, again leaning back in her chair and thinking about the presumed-dead Xander Harris. "Oh, Buffy...I really wanted it to be real, y'know? I wanted it to be the real Xander so much, but I couldn't fool myself about it, from the moment I figured out the truth. Whatever that thing was, it was just a...a skin-deep imitation. A cheap and nasty fake!"
"I'm sorry, sweetie. I really wish it could have been real for you," Tara said comfortingly, massaging Willow's shoulders.
The redhead couldn't help thinking, {What if the fake Xander didn't lie about Tara getting killed in about nine months, though? What if whatever happened in that other world...also happens here? } Resolve began to be born in her heart, {No way, that's not gonna happen. I'm gonna do whatever I have to do, whatever it takes to keep her safe! }
Cleveland, Ohio. July 24, 2001
"Samuel Zabuto here, may I help you?" the Cleveland-based Watcher asked as he answered the ringing phone.
"Mr. Zabuto? It's Rupert Giles calling."
Zabuto stiffened as he heard who was calling him. The Watchers Council had ordered him to not have any contact with the now ex-Watcher in Sunnydale. And he had obeyed this directive, until this moment.
"Rupert, a pleasure to hear from you once again. I hope you understand though when I say that I may not have time for a leisurely chat..."
"Samuel, if I may, as much as I regret it - this is not a social call," Giles replied. "I need your help."
Zabuto knew what the Watchers Council would want him to do. Hang up and report the contact, with no assistance provided. He thought about following their orders, for roughly a nanosecond.
"Of course, Rupert. What can I do to assist?"
"One of my charges had an encounter with what we think is some sort of noncorporeal demon, that has left her rather shaken. I need to properly identify the culprit."
"How certain are you that it was a demon?" Zabuto asked with a frown.
"Well, it appeared to have the ability to mimic the appearance of a deceased friend of hers. It also demonstrated some very odd behaviour at the end of the encounter, which made us think it might be a demon as opposed to a warlock or an astral projection of some sort," Giles explained.
"Odd behaviour? What sort?"
"Teeth, I'm afraid. It had teeth that appeared to go all the way around its head. It also said something."
"What?" Zabuto asked of the expatriate British citizen.
"It was in Spanish, but the best translation we have is 'from beneath you it devours'," Giles replied. "And I've been researching all night, but I can't find a reference to that phrase anywhere. I was wondering if maybe you had run across it before, or might be able to make some discreet enquiries?"
Zabuto nodded to himself. "I will see what I can find out, determine if that saying is connected to any particular entity. It might take a few days, though."
"Of course, any help you could give would be greatly appreciated," Giles replied.
"Not at all. I'll call you when I know something," Zabuto said before hanging up.
Hyperion Hotel, Los Angeles, California. Later that afternoon
"You needed me for something?"
Angel looked up, as Gwen entered his office. "Where the hell have you been? I've been trying to get in touch with you for ages!" he demanded of the seer/thief.
Ms. Raiden shrugged. "Got struck by lightning. Again."
"What!?" the head of Angel Investigations wanted to know with some trepidation.
Calming him down, the brunette woman quickly explained how it was nothing to get bent out of shape over. "It's happened before, and over a dozen times at that, okay? So don't freak out the way Charles did!"
"Gunn?" Angel asked in confusion.
"Yeah, we were hanging out on Venice Boulevard when it happened. No big deal! Anyway, what did you want to see me about?"
Angel took a moment to note how the black man and the seer had started hanging out a lot lately. "Well, I got a phone call last night from Sunnydale."
"Your old hangout, right?" Gwen asked.
Angel nodded, the memories of that town not exactly all pleasant ones. "Rupert Giles called asking a question. Turns out something happened to one of the girls up there, and it sounded to me like something we should let your friends back east know about."
Gwen snorted. "Friends? Friends don't interfere with your livelihood, Angel. Apart from Howard and one or two others, let's just say they're my sponsors - and leave it at that!"
Angel briefly smiled at her words. He wasn't that thrilled with the people he had met from STW either. "Fine, but I still think they need to know about this. It concerns a mutual friend of ours, if you know what I mean."
Gwen instantly knew who Angel was referring to. "What's up?" she asked.
"Someone or something is running around dressed up as him, paying a visit to his old friends and trying to get them to commit suicide," Angel explained. "I think it's whatever is responsible for his current situation."
Gwen nodded at that. "Yeah, I can see why that would be of interest to him and his keepers. Can you tell me anything more?"
Guantanamo Bay United States Naval Base, Cuba. July 26, 2001
"Dr. Hollins?"
The child genius looked up in response to the greeting from Esther Marcum, noticing David Nabbit following close behind her. "Good morning Mrs. Marcum, Mr. Nabbit. I hope you're enjoying this fine weather?" Irving responded, as he put down the glass of orange juice he had been drinking when Esther had come into the kitchen.
"I must admit, the climate is lovely. How are you enjoying your little tropical vacation?" Esther said.
"Yeah, uh, you must be loving your time here in paradise," Nabbit said, looking around.
Hollins shook his head. "Actually, I must admit I am most anxious to get back to Chicago and the university. Being officially dead for all those weeks until the Order was eliminated was most vexing, in that I was unable to function properly in almost any way at all! And now this enforced vacation, although understandable with regard to strategy and reason, is completely grating on my nerves."
Esther looked around. "Where's Cleburne? I thought he was bunking in this villa as well?"
"He is. But this morning, he's out playing on the planes. Trying to get inside the mind of those terrorists, as to how they're planning on capturing those four commercial air flights," the Wizard explained.
"I've always been a little afraid, you know, over how Cleburne seems to so easily be able to think like a terrorist," Esther commented as she sat down at the breakfast table. Nabbit did likewise, a little nervous - since the conversation was in a field he still felt very uncomfortable with.
"There is that. Still, I've found Joshua to be extremely effective at his job over the years. He can anticipate what the enemy will do, in a way few others can," Hollins remarked as he moved the plate of biscuits over to where Esther was sitting.
"Thank you. How is Cleburne coming with the preparations, anyway?" Esther took a biscuit and reached for the butter.
"Well, all the personnel are here now. They don't know exactly what's coming, of course, but they know something is up and that they've been picked to deal with it," Hollins replied. "Joshua wants to wait a little while longer before he tells them specifics."
"I heard that Riley Finn brought a friend with him," Esther observed out of the blue.
"Hmm, 'friend' is not entirely accurate. Cleburne was most..." Hollins thought for a second about his choice of words before he continued, "...perturbed over Mrs. Finn's arrival. If not for the fact that she already knew about the paranormal, I think he might have detained her in one of the base's jails! As it is, however, it looks as though STW has gotten itself a new recruit."
"I'd say so, particularly if we want to keep Finn onboard," Esther remarked.
"Well, the man is living up to the high recommendation that Mr. Harris gave him nearly two years ago," Hollins said.
"Speaking of our special colleague who uses many names, where is he?" Esther asked. "Some information has been forwarded to me that I need to ask him about."
Hollins raised an eyebrow at that. "Terrorist or paranormal in nature?"
"It concerns Sunnydale, so guess which," Esther said cynically.
Hollins shook his head. "That town, I swear. Someday soon I need to sit down and figure out just how much abnormal activity will happen there, before the rest of the country finally notices."
"If life in LA is anything to go by, quite a lot," David interjected briefly.
Irving then put down the napkin he had just used to wipe his mouth. "Anyway, Mr. Harris is currently with Joshua. Half out of the good colonel's belief that there might be some more additional information to obtain from him on the upcoming events, and half because Mr. Harris was bored out of his mind just sitting around here."
"Good, we'll go over there and ask the man just how worried we should be about this new tidbit. Also, maybe you can explain why Vice President Cheney has been complaining to me about all the memos he keeps getting from you about fuel efficiency in automobiles?"
Hollins got up to follow Marcum. "Quite simple. Nontraditional warfare, to weaken the enemy," the boy explained.
Esther held the door open. "You *do* remember though that both the President and the Vice President come from oil backgrounds?"
One of the base's airfields. Thirty minutes later
Esther, Hollins and Nabbit looked down the aisle of the plane as Cleburne was measuring off the distance between the rear and the front. They could see he had a stopwatch in his hand, which Joshua was constantly glancing at while he walked. And at the front of the plane stood Xander, with a look of impatience on his face.
"This is the fifth time you've done that! Oh hey, guys," Harris said, when he noticed the new arrivals.
"Good morning, Mr. Howard," Esther said, using Xander's current alias. "We would like a few minutes of your time, if possible."
"Sure, anything to escape the boredom here!" Xander nodded towards Cleburne with a smirk.
"What, if anything, does the phrase 'from beneath you it devours' mean to you?" Esther asked point-blank.
The grin instantly left Xander's face. "Oh, shit. Sit down, this'll take awhile..."
One of the base's converted mess halls. Later that night
"And so, may the years to come bring you both happiness and long life!" Graham called out in a loud voice, as the rest of the people in the hall joined in the toast of Riley and Sam Finn.
David Nabbit looked around, amazed how he of all people was here. Because the software mogul knew himself for what he basically was; and that was a rich geek, who loved to play D&D and make money off of his computer business.
So bottom line, the circles he normally moved in were either more nerdier or more brainier than this. A room of full of commandos and demon fighters were not something he was used to. Well, except for his time with Angel Investigations.
David could see the same spirit present amongst the various members of both those teams of good guys. Of course, the Siberians were far more militaristic. They had to be; ordinary humans had neither supernatural strength nor a mission of redemption to keep them going.
He put down his glass from the toast. He hadn't really drunk that much from it, as the man knew better than to try and keep up with the drinking binge the others at the table were going to engage in. Nabbit knew his limitations in regards to that, besides - he wanted to be clearheaded for the upcoming conversation.
"Excuse me, Mr. Howard?" he asked, after wandering over to the one man sitting alone.
Xander turned to David. "Yeah?"
"I hope this doesn't offend you, but I gotta ask - why are you sitting here all by yourself, so far away from everyone?"
Indeed, Oz and Fred weren't present tonight as Xander had asked the other two 'exiles' for some alone time. Harris gestured and David sat down, then the younger man said, "Thing is I only met Sam once, but it was still nearly a year from now. So I figure, why ruin her post-honeymoon welcome party having to deal with the freak constantly clutching his head, and moaning in pain?"
"I don't think you're a freak, Mr. Howard," David shot back at once.
Xander just raised an eyebrow. "Call me Xander. And you *do* know all about who and what I am from becoming a member of the new Committee, don't you?"
"Yeah, but still. You're only human, aren't you?"
Oddly enough, Xander just took a gulp from his beer and pondered that one. Eventually he replied, "Dude, I'd like to think so. But you know what? After everything I've learned in Pylea, the Deeper Well, and that STW hospital after Spike shot me...I just don't know anymore. At the very least, I'm different, physically and mentally."
"But there are plenty of people out there who vary from the norm, one way or another. And they're still human," Nabbit pointed out. "And everything what's happened to you over the years was like a million to one shot which can never happen again."
Xander laughed, an ugly sound that surprised David at once. "Been wondering about that lately myself. But how can I know that for sure?"
The Committee member didn't get it. "I'm sorry, what?"
Harris glanced at the other man, and saw something that allowed 'the one who sees' to confide in the geek. "How much do you know about what happens in the future? And I'm talking about the big finale, during 2003."
"Well, the First Evil gets...uh, 'scrunched', I think you called it this afternoon?" David asked.
"Yeah, man, but that's just it. How do I know the whole damn thing won't happen all over again, if Sunnydale goes the way of the dodo like that?" the Timetripper demanded.
When he saw the older man's confusion Xander sighed and explained, "Say we defeat the First again in about two years. Then when we kick its ass - history changes, like before. And I go through all that crap all over again; hell dimension, amnesia, Willow's memory retrieval spell, yadda yadda yadda. It was *bad enough* remembering two conflicting timelines, and trying to reconcile them inside my head. What do you think it'd be like with the memories of this particular go-around added in for laughs, the next time?"
David Nabbit just stared wide-eyed at Xander as the man went on, "Odds are with *three* conflicting versions of history in my brain, I'll go completely nuts before I can ever get Drogyn to help out with the Holy Grail!"
"I see...and, and there's nothing to preclude a fourth or even fifth do-over as well, is there? And so on every four years, ad infinitum. We, we could all end up prisoners without memory, in a jail cell without a key...human and demon alike..." David looked horrified, unconsciously quoting from the movie.
Xander just had another drink. "Not entirely. But the only one who'd remember it all...is me. A really Hellmouth-y version of 'Groundhog Day', huh?" Then he shrugged. "Sorry, I'm freaking you out at what's supposed to be a festive occasion here! I guess given my past, I just have this thing about anything to do with weddings."
"What? Why?"
Xander smirked. "Ever been to a gathering where the bride's side of the family are all demons, and the groom's side of the family are all monsters of the human variety?"
David just shook his head briefly. "Uh, what you said earlier, about the First?"
Xander tensed up. "Yeah? What about it?"
"Well, the way you describe it, time travel, able to appear as anyone who died, all these Bringers it has to do its bidding? It's bad, really bad," Nabbit said, his concern obvious.
"Got that right. After all, it's the First. All the others that came after, just pale imitations," Xander replied as he had another drink.
Nabbit looked around. "How do we beat it then?"
Xander grimaced. "Honestly? I don't know yet. I remember what happened during the first go-around, but by this time the First probably knows too. The amulet that..." Xander caught himself before he mentioned Spike's name. "Well, anyway, I'm not sure where it came from originally. I know Angel somehow got it from some evil lawyers...also, an army of Slayers? I'm not sure we'll be able to duplicate that spell this time around, or if we even should - if you wanna believe what Whistler said that night..."
"Evil lawyers? Do you mean Wolfram & Hart?" Nabbit asked, focusing on the first part of Xander's statement as he had no idea who Whistler was.
"Could be. I never did learn details."
"Too bad the First isn't like the aliens in 'Independence Day'. You know, a quick computer virus followed by a nuke solved the whole problem," David said musingly.
"Doubt that would work here, pal. The First really wasn't all that computer savvy. Not a modern evil genius," Xander joked back.
"Well, except for the modern thing, it has all the hallmarks," Nabbit replied. He was silent for a few moments. "We'll beat it," he said in a hopeful tone of voice.
Xander was silent for a few seconds, before he nodded. "Yeah, we will. I owe it one for making my life a living hell. It's only polite to pay my debt." Then he noticed David's expression and sighed, "Okay, go ahead and ask."
"Huh?"
Xander just stared at the man. "I know what you want to ask me, fella, you have the Look. Same as everyone else over the last 2 1/2 years! We have mutual acquaintances in Angel and his Fang Gang, and I remember everything till 2003. So you wanna know, did I ever meet you in that other timeline - and do I know what happens to you in the future?"
{Wow. Is this guy perceptive or what!? } David thought to himself. Finally he just settled for nodding, not trusting his voice. {Okay, just keep cool. Pretend it's your turn to be Dungeon Master, and you're simply gonna fry all the dwarves and orcs that get in your way.}
"Sorry, Dave, but we never met. And I never even heard of you till you became part of STW here," Xander said with a shrug, absently looking around.
David sighed with disappointment. Xander looked back at him and suddenly smirked. "Question for ya. You've met Cordelia Chase, right?"
Nabbit looked confused. "Yeah?"
Xander's smirk deepened. "Well, thing is, everyone's told me how she's so different nowadays from when I knew her. So tell me, what's your impression of Cordy?"
"Well, she," the corporate mover and shaker just gestured helplessly, thinking back to the occasions where he had met the brunette seer.
"Lemme guess. Your money got her all hot and swoon-y, but as some guy in a bar - you think she wouldn't touch you with a ten-foot barge pole?" Xander asked.
David said nothing, but he didn't have to, even though he felt the need to defend Ms. Chase. And Harris just opened a can of soda, the smirk never leaving his face - as he briefly thought of the woman who'd been both girlfriend and enemy over the years. "Guess that's the Queen C I remember, all right..."
Rome, Italy. July 27, 2001
The Immortal frowned as the lesser demon made his way from the nightclub's table. "This is becoming tiresome," he said out loud.
"I bore you? Well, I could always do something...different to keep your attention," was the response from his female supermodel companion.
The Immortal raised an eyebrow at that. {Ah, the implications.} "No, bella, of course I did not mean you! I was referring to the unfortunate news my retainer just brought me."
"Istanbul?" the supermodel said.
"Another one of my businesses is being subjected to undue interference from the authorities, yes," L'Eterno replied, silently wishing that this companion hadn't been so attentive to his earlier conversation. "I must see about diversifying."
The supermodel kissed the Immortal's neck. "That's what my stockbroker says to do."
The Immortal made a decision. "How would you like to take a trip with me? Get away to a warmer summer climate."
She smiled broadly. "It sounds grand. Where are we going?"
The Immortal returned her smile. "To see an old friend of mine. Charles Taylor. He has a wonderful country for us to visit."
Hong Kong, China. Later that day
"Madam, are you quite sure that you want to travel this way?" the customs official asked in obvious concern.
Darla bit down her sarcastic response. Her old soulless self wouldn't have, she would have just ripped his throat open and bathed in his blood; but that wasn't who she was anymore. {Try not to take it personally. The fool is just trying to help someone who he thinks is a pregnant human, and all alone.}
Darla then glanced down at her belly. She was five months along now, and the bulge was quite noticeable these days. Connor was getting bigger by the day, and now,
Now, it was time for her to go back. Back to her friends, back to the Hyperion, and back to Angel. Because there were no more sources to check out, no more avenues to explore to try to understand why the miracle child had been conceived within her womb.
Hell, after that fiasco with Truganini, it had just been one disappointment after another...
"Madam?" the official asked again.
"I can't fly due to my condition," Darla finally replied, the blonde vampire placing a hand on her swollen stomach.
"Yes, perfectly understandable of course. But this ship?" the customs official said, as he waved at the tramp freighter behind him.
"A cruise ship would be too crowded for me. Besides, this way I can bring what I need and not worry about getting it mixed up with other passengers. Plus there's the fact that I'm just not a people person," Darla replied.
She nodded at the two porters behind her and they started wheeling the various crates to the ship. "Be careful with that!" the woman then said sharply.
She definitely did not want the pig's blood she had packed damaged in any way, it would have to do until she got to her destination. Even though it was getting harder and harder to stomach the damned stuff; Darla wanted human blood, and the purer the better, nowadays. {Vampire pregnancy cravings. Who would have ever thought it? }
The customs official sighed in defeat. "Very well then, madam. Er, everything appears in order, and so we're officially done here. But please do be careful, the crews of these ships are not exactly the most sterling of characters."
Darla actually smiled back at that. "Don't worry. I can take care of myself."
And somewhere in another plane of existence, the mercenary named Skip received a summons from his employer - for new orders, and new information to be imparted to him.
TBC...