The Road Back: Season Three

by xxmagex

The events started in The Road to Hell continue. The world changes as the Scoobies and others realize they are part of a bigger world.

12. Chapter 12

Part Fifty c

Kabul, Afghanistan. 5:38 AM September 12, 2001 local time, 8:38 PM September 11, 2001 EDT

Dayna Curry pulled the blanket tightly across her body to fight off the cold of the chilly Afghanistan morning. In a nearby cell the woman known as Heather Mercer did the same thing, as did the other foreign aid workers recently imprisoned by the Taliban government.

The guards were definitely on edge, Dayna was sure of that much right now. Something had happened that made them nervous. Dayna idly wondered if their trial might be delayed - the proceedings had started about eleven days earlier. Even if, to be perfectly honest, actually calling it a 'trial' was laughable in the extreme. Then again, what else could one expect from a kangaroo court system like this one...

Her thoughts were interrupted by an explosion in the building. The other prisoners stirred. "What was that?" one of them asked.

There was shouting clearly heard outside the jail area. The sound of running feet could be heard as well. Then there was gunfire. The prisoners in the cells all made their way to their feet. They looked at each other, a few of them wondering out loud what to do.

Suddenly a shaft of light illuminated the room, as the door to the cell block was thrown open. In the doorway was one of the guards. Dayna was off to the side and could see the look on his face, which was a combination of rage, fear and helplessness. The guard looked around and his eyes locked onto Dayna's.

"Infidel whore!" he screamed hatefully as he raised an AK-47. "Die now!"

The other prisoners moved back in sheer panic and Dayna closed her eyes, preparing herself to meet her maker as she heard the roar of automatic weapons fire. When she suddenly realized that she wasn't dead, the woman opened her eyes and saw the guard face-down on the floor with several red spots on his back and a spreading pool of blood underneath him.

In the doorway now stood a man in battle armor, carrying what kind of looked like an M-16. He swept the cell with a beam from the flashlight he had attached to his rifle.

"I found them!" he shouted in English, before looking back to the aid workers. "U.S. Army Rangers. We're here to take you home." Behind him, several figures similarly dressed could suddenly be seen. The prisoners honestly weren't sure though if they were dreaming, all this was happening so quickly and unexpectedly.

"Secure the area. Keep the civilians here for now," one of the ranking soldiers said, and his comrade at the door nodded. Two more soldiers came into the holding area as the others moved away.

"Is anyone hurt?" the first soldier asked. The prisoners all shook their heads.

At the cell block door, another soldier appeared carrying a pile of bulletproof vests. "Put these on," the grunt said simply as he started heading out the garments to the aid workers.

"What's going on?" Heather asked while she put on her vest. "I mean, not that I'm complaining or anything, but - why are you guys here? You're risking an international incident or whatever doing this, aren't you?"

The soldiers were checking the aid workers, and the one nearest to Dayna answered, "Not today, the Taliban picked the wrong fight. And we wanted you out of here before they killed you already."

One of the aid workers looked distressed. "What about our families? My dad is right here in Kabul!" Other workers chimed in too, worried about their loved ones.

"Don't worry, they've been taken care of. Not many places a foreigner can stay here in this city," one of the soldiers replied. "We've got choppers picking them up right now."

"Are we going to meet them?" Dayna asked.

"Not quite yet," was the answer.

A sergeant stuck his head in the cell. "Area's secure, now let's move 'em out!"

The aid workers went out into the hallway as the soldiers formed a protective circle around them. The smell of cordite was almost overpowering. Automatic gunfire could still be heard down some of the hallways. They passed the bodies of guards every once in a while too. As they passed one intersection, they heard shouts in Farsi of "Out, get out, run as fast as you can. Don't stop until you're out of the city!"

"They're getting the regular prisoners out of the prison as well," one of the soldiers explained in response to the questioning look from Dayna.

"Why?" she asked.

"Later, now keep moving!" was the answer. They soon passed one soldier who was holding a handcuffed Taliban guard prisoner. The sergeant leading the column nodded, so the soldier leaned down and undid the handcuffs.

"Get out. Go home and maybe you won't get hurt," the PFC said as he pushed the guard in the direction the aid workers had come from. The Afghan wisely scurried down the hallway and out of sight, as the American soldier joined the convoy.

They turned a corner and started up a series of stairs. After a few minutes, the group stepped out into the cold morning air, high above the streets of Kabul. A stiff breeze blew by and made all the civilians shiver on the roof. One of the soldiers motioned the aid workers to lean down against the wall.

The sergeant spoke into a microphone attached to his vest. "Romeo Tango Victor, this is Alpha One. Ready for extraction, all present and accounted for."

After a short wait, which seemed far longer to the former prisoners than the soldiers, the sound of rotor blades was heard. A black helicopter landed on the roof of the prison, and the military men quickly ushered the recent 'guests' of the Taliban into the chopper.

A few seconds later they were in the air, flying over Kabul. The sergeant spoke into his microphone again. "We're clear. Send them our parting gift."

Dayna stared back at the prison she had recently been incarcerated in. After a few seconds, she saw a red line in the morning sky coming towards them. There were two lines behind the first one. The helicopter climbed with the sun just beginning to peak up in the distant horizon. She could now see the red lines were connected to three rockets that continued on their path.

The first rocket slammed into the side of the prison, and a huge explosion blossomed from the impact site. The second and third rockets flew into the blast zone and two more explosions took place.

As the smoke from the explosions thinned, Curry could see the prison. Well, what remained of it anyway, as flames and ruins was all that she could actually see. The building had completely collapsed.

The soldier who had been the first one into the cell block looked over her shoulder. "Good morning Joe Taliban. Come on, let's have the medic look you over. We've got a long trip back to the Kitty Hawk."

1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale, California. 6:10 PM local time, 9:10 PM EDT

The sun, which was just rising in Afghanistan, was setting half a world away on the west coast of the United States. It was being watched by Buffy Anne Summers from her back porch. She pulled her jacket closer to her body against the cold breeze she suddenly felt.

The Scoobies had been busy ever since the meeting in the Magic Box earlier today. Jonathan had made copies of the videotape Willow had recorded, and the duo had safely hidden them in a number of places. The group had also tried to learn more online and from whatever was available on the news networks. Personally Buffy thought that Dawn was going to wear out the battery on the TV remote control, she had been changing the channels so often.

They had all taken turns looking at the website that Jonathan had discovered. Oddly enough, Giles had marveled at some of the details and constantly muttered about calling contacts of his. Buffy hadn't ever seen the British man polish his glasses so thoroughly, or heard so many 'good Lord!'s come out of his lips at a single session.

For her part, the blonde Slayer had had to fight the urge to just grab some car keys and take off to Los Angeles, on more than one occasion. The enforced waiting was not something she was handling well. She understood why it was necessary, but her nature as the Slayer called out for action and it was hard to resist following her blood that way.

Buffy knew she had been on edge all afternoon. She had spent the day watching the airport video footage, over and over again. Something had been nagging at her, but she couldn't quite place what it was. Eventually, the college girl had come out here to the porch so that she would quit bugging the others and so that she could think in private.

The Summers girl heard the back door open. A glance back showed her mother Joyce carrying two cups closing the door with her hip.

"Thought you might want some company," the older woman said, as she sat down in the chair next to Buffy. "It's getting a little cold out here." She handed her daughter one of the cups.

Buffy took it and took a sip. It was tea. { Man, but Mom and Giles really are getting completely domestic! Nothing says 'I'm dating an English guy' better than a cup of Earl Grey. Next thing you know, it'll be scones and warm beer.} Abandoning that line of thought, the young woman stared at the setting sun, but said nothing.

After a few seconds, Joyce spoke. "I wonder if Xander's doing the same thing with his father right now."

"No, somehow, I don't think that Xander's dad would share tea with him. Beer, maybe, but not tea. Besides, I heard he wasn't exactly the sharing type," Buffy commented, recalling an unpleasant meeting that Cordelia Chase had ranted about once. Back in the days when Angel had been the love of her life - not the man who had cruelly betrayed her this way.

Joyce grimaced a little bit, but said nothing. She too had heard enough to know Xander's family situation had not exactly been Norman Rockwell in its nature. Silence fell again as the two Summers women stared at the sunset for about a minute.

"He's alive, mom," Buffy said suddenly.

Joyce nodded. "I know, dear."

"But we never knew. Xander hid it from us," Buffy continued on, the pain evident in her voice. "Willow and Tara couldn't find him with their locator spells today; he hid from that sort of thing too. Xander doesn't want to be found. He, he didn't want to stay here with us-"

"Buffy, it's not that simple. Remember back when Willow did that memory restoration spell? I mean, not that I was there that night, but I learned later on that Xander couldn't be around any of us without having those terrible headaches," Joyce said. "Maybe that's why he did it."

"Mom? No headaches when you use the postal system," Buffy said sadly, still looking at the sunset.

"Well, that's exactly what he did, honey," Joyce said quickly. "I'm still alive today because of Xander sending us that letter. He could have just vanished completely and never said anything, you know, but he didn't do that. Xander made sure that we would know what we needed to know, about you, Dawn and me."

Buffy blinked a few times. Earlier today, her little sister had brought up the subject of her two so-called encounters with Xander, and the Key had had to be forcefully talked out of seriously hurting herself in order to activate that telepathic dream link again. { As if Dawnie needs to end up in the hospital *again*! }

Focusing, Buffy looked at her mother. "But mom, he still could have contacted us! This whole time we thought Xander was dead, we were grieving his loss, and it was all a lie! He was alive all along..."

Joyce nodded. "Yes, I know. But Buffy, try to remember what happened towards the end of your senior year in high school. I mean, Rupert's told me how he was worried that that Wesley person was going to cause trouble, that he might have told the Council to send some kind of thugs to kidnap Xander. He's had his reasons to hide."

"Right, even though Xander got himself kidnapped by the government," Buffy said snippily.

"No, dear, I don't think so. Like Tara said earlier, they wouldn't have ever let him get on that plane if that's the case. Also, I think he has some kind of influence with them - remember the surgeon who operated on me? Dr. Chalmers? He's from the same hospital that treats the President. Given what we know now, do you think it's simply coincidence he just happened to be in Sunnydale on the day I was scheduled to have brain surgery? And he also just happened to be here on the same day I was supposed to die?"

Joyce was silent for a few seconds to let the implications to sink in. "No, Buffy, Dr. Chalmers was here because Xander wanted it. Wherever he is right now, that boy has enough influence to make sure one of the top doctors in the country treated me. That doesn't strike me as the behaviour of someone being held captive."

Buffy thought for a second. "You're right. He can pull some strings. But if that's the case, why didn't he pull some other strings just to let us know he was still alive and kicking?"

Joyce sighed. "Let's be honest, dear. Would you have been satisfied with just that? Or would you have moved heaven and earth instead in order to personally find him? I'm sure Xander knew you well enough to predict what you'd do, and what all the rest of us would have done too. So he made his decision, and I suppose we just have to respect that."

It was patently obvious that Buffy didn't want to accept this in any way, shape or form. "But still, mom! I mean, I know we didn't exactly part on the best of terms, but not giving Willow, Cordelia and me *any* chance to make it up to him one day for what we did back then? That's just...not right." She started to cry, the tears of shame and regret coursing down her cheeks.

Joyce hugged her daughter and comforted her. "It's alright, sweetie. Look, there's a lot going on that we don't know about. Remember, he *has* been looking out for us, so he's not shut the door on his Sunnydale life completely." Joyce offered Buffy a Kleenex she had taken from her pocket.

Buffy leaned back and rubbed her eyes with the Kleenex. "But how do you know that for sure?"

Joyce thought for a second. "He's not been in touch with you."

Buffy frowned at that. "For those of us here who happen to be me, huh?"

"Think about it, honey. If he really didn't care about you, *at all*, would he have gone to so much trouble in order to hide from you? It would have taken some major effort to hide from Willow and Tara's magic that way. That's an awful lot of bother to go to for someone who doesn't care about you one way or the other," Joyce explained.

"I don't know..." Buffy started, not really convinced by that argument.

Joyce continued on. "And if Xander really hated you that much, wouldn't he have told you that to your face? Well, I mean not to your face-face, but in writing to you. Instead, he wrote to Rupert to look out for you. He could have written an entirely different kind of letter, but he didn't."

"Well, yeah. I, I suppose that kinda-sorta makes sense," Buffy said hesitantly.

"Of course it does," Joyce said firmly. {At least, I *hope* it does!} She thought to herself privately. "Also, it may be too painful for him to come here in person because of the bad memories."

Buffy nodded. "I know. We hurt him more than he could ever stand that night outside the Bronze."

Joyce frowned ever so slightly. "Actually, I was thinking more about Faith."

Buffy frowned as well. "Faith?"

Joyce nodded. "Yes, sweetheart. Think about it; he never even got the chance to say goodbye to her. I'd imagine there were a lot of issues Xander would have wanted to resolve with that girl, but he couldn't do it in person before she died - and now he won't ever have the opportunity to do so. That's got to be very painful for him." The Summers woman had no knowledge of Xander's brief encounter with Faith and Enoch while he'd been dead that night, and so she truly believed what she was saying.

Buffy played a little with the Kleenex in her hand. "Yeah, I know how that feels. Having issues to resolve, but thinking you never will - because he's dead." The memories of that possession by the poltergeist James Stanley three years ago were indelibly imprinted into her brain, after all.

"You know the pain. But, you don't have to think about anything else. Xander is worrying about you, Willow, what's coming in the future and what the terrorists were up to. That's quite a lot to have on your mind," Joyce said. She shook her head, "That poor child. I can't even imagine what it's been like for him, these last two years."

Mother and daughter stared at the now darkened sky for a few minutes.

"What do I do now, Mom?" Buffy suddenly asked.

Joyce thought for a second. She quickly turned to face Buffy and, reaching out, hugged her daughter fiercely. The middle-aged woman then looked into her firstborn's face and said simply, "Honey, listen to me. Make things right. You can fix this."

Fair Oaks Bar, Richmond, Virginia. 9:37 PM local time, 9:37 PM EDT

Xander Harris took a deep breath, as noise from the bar he had just exited spilled out onto the street behind him.

He knew he wouldn't be alone for long. Someone would come out to keep an eye on him, it was simply one of the disadvantages of his situation that the Siberians didn't like him being unattended for any extended period of time. For now, he simply took a seat at one of the tables set up outside the bar entrance and just stared into the sky. { Seem to be doing that a lot, lately. }

As expected, the noise from the bar increased as someone opened the door and stepped onto the street. That someone quickly sat down in the seat opposite him.

"Brought you a beer, kid," Cleburne said as he put two bottles on the table. He opened one of the beers and took a swig. "Thought you might want some company."

"Not particularly," Xander shrugged, but he did take the offered beer.

"All right, I thought I might want you to have some company," Cleburne said, clarifying his previous statement.

The two sat at the table for a few minutes. Cleburne suddenly spoke up, "You did good today, kid."

Xander still hadn't looked at Cleburne, just staring down the street. "People still died."

"Not all those thousands of people that happened originally. You made a big difference," Cleburne responded.

"Well, I kinda doubt the families of those people at Disney World or the Stock Exchange would see it that way," Xander said shortly.

"Yeah, but there are a lot of families from the World Trade Center that would feel that way if we could ever tell them the truth," Cleburne shot right back. "What happened in Florida and elsewhere, you can't blame yourself for that. The bad guys changed the game plan from what happened the first time around, which means you can't hold yourself responsible."

"So do you know why it all happened differently?" Xander asked.

"Wizard has some theories. Said something about probabilities, and consequences after the Order of Taraka got wiped out. And that maybe after the attack on the Cole was blocked, Osama and his boys wanted to up the ante. A bigger bang for their buck, if you will. They added some more people, copying what Timothy McVeigh did in Oklahoma City."

"Oh, joy. We block one thing and so they come up with something worse. No offense old man, but life around you sucks. Well, maybe some offense," Xander commented.

"But the pension plan is great, let me tell you!" Cleburne chuckled. "Nature of the beast, kid, it keeps coming at you until you stomp down hard on that particular beast. Then you get to deal with the new beast."

"The Big Bad."

"What?" Cleburne asked of Xander.

"Back in the original history, every spring in Sunnydale there was a demon, witch or vampire out to destroy the world. You could practically set your watch by it."

Cleburne nodded. "Well, our big bads aren't on a similar schedule. Their schedule is based on Lord knows what - maybe whatever they think the Lord tells them. Must be nice, having a travel agent with divine connections."

"You don't have to worry about catching connecting flights," Xander joked. "'Course, you do have to worry about other things."

"Yeah, infidels like us," Cleburne said with satisfaction. "Anyway, kid, no matter what you think, you did good. You should be proud of yourself."

Xander snorted. "Well, then, I suppose I should get a medal or something?"

That earned a laugh from Cleburne. "Funny you should mention that." He pulled three envelopes from his jacket and placed them on the table in front of Xander.

Xander looked at the envelopes. "What, you got me something from a crackerjack box?"

Cleburne shook his head. "No. As you might have guessed, people in Siberian Trip Wire don't get medals. Kind of hard to explain black ops on the award citations."

"Yeah, you guys love to keep your secrets."

Cleburne ignored Xander's comment. "However, we do have a tradition of recognizing actions that go above and beyond." He moved the top letter closer to Xander. "Ever since Eisenhower, the President has written a personalized letter to a Siberian who really comes through. Think of it as our version of the Medal of Honor or Silver Star."

"Right. And that is-?" Xander asked, pointing at the top envelope. Xander could now see that it had the name 'Alexander Harris' on it.

"President Bush's letter to you, commending you on your actions leading up to today. We can't give you a medal, but this is a start," Cleburne explained.

Xander looked at Cleburne. "You're serious."

The Marine colonel nodded. "Oh yeah. That, kid, is the most treasured possession of many a Siberian team member. Red and Gunny both have received letters before."

"And you?"

"Reagan wrote me one in '84. Framed and hanging in my office," Cleburne answered proudly.

"I've never seen it."

"Kid, you've never actually been in my office."

Xander nodded. "Good point, and the other letters?"

Cleburne moved the second letter over to his companion. "You've done some things in the past, perfectly justified mind you, but nonetheless things that the penal code of California might take a dim view of. I know that right now everyone thinks you're dead and all, but still - you never know what might happen down the road."

Cleburne took a breath. "So inside this envelope there's a Presidential pardon, exonerating you for any actions you took which might have led to the death of Maggie Walsh, Warren Mears or that intern Ben Maxwell. Also, anything else there might be on your record is unconditionally pardoned as well."

For the first time in a very long while, Xander Harris didn't know what to say.

Over the years, he had done quite a number of things which he knew the conventional authorities wouldn't like - such as stealing that rocket launcher to deal with the Judge, for example. Not to mention his attacks on the Sunnydale gang's future enemies - or cold-blooded acts of murder, call them what you will. Here and now though, Harris suddenly remembered someone he hadn't thought of in ages.

One of the prisoners in that hell dimension, Xander had never known his name - Ken had drummed that into all of them, after all, how they were 'no one' - that had been part of the escape plan. The Judas of the group. The man who Soldier Guy had personally executed before he sold everyone out to the demons in order to save his own hide, and the slaves had finally made a break for it.

Looking at the envelope, Xander wondered whether President Bush's pardon extended even to that particular act. { Probably not, not his jurisdiction and I hadn't exactly been myself then for over three years. But I guess it's the thought that counts. }

"Okay, thanks. Still, I don't really see the need for this," Xander said slowly. "What's done is done, and Xander Harris isn't gonna be popping up in public again anytime soon - if ever. Far as I'm concerned, to the rest of the world he no longer exists."

Cleburne smirked. "Kid, you think the Marines are some sort of knockoff of the French Foreign Legion?"

A look of puzzlement crossed Xander's face. "Huh?" In response Cleburne scooted the third envelope across the table. Xander picked it up, opened it and started reading it.

After a few seconds, Xander looked up in sheer disbelief. "You have *got* to be shitting me, right?"

Cleburne smiled broadly. "Nope, no shit. Congratulations, Lieutenant Harris. Let me be the first to officially welcome you to the Corps."

Xander blinked. "But, but...come on, old man, this is crazy! 'Cause I'm officially dead, and besides, I never asked for anything like this. Hell, Cleburne, I've never done anything towards even thinking of applying for an officer's commission!"

"Guess again, kid. As far as I'm concerned, everything you've done ever since the Wizard convinced me to let you join STW has contributed one way or another. Think about it; you went into Wolfram & Hart and then Pylea, knowing beforehand what you might be in for - in order not to leave one of your own behind in the hands of the enemy. You've showed leadership ability in your operations. You also insisted on being on the planes today, you weren't willing to just sit on the ground and send others in harm's way. That's the kind of man who can pass through the Annapolis academy and officially get his lieutenant's bars. Trust me, you'll do fine as a Marine officer," Cleburne explained.

"I don't know what to say," Xander said, his mind awhirl.

"Then don't say anything and take it as a compliment," Cleburne said. "Yeah, what is it?" he turned his head around.

Gunny had come out from the bar. "I just got off the phone with Mrs. Marcum, everything's ready. You can place the call now."

Cleburne smiled as only a predator would. "Thank you." He pulled out a cell phone and started to dial.

"What's up?" Xander asked.

"A phone call I've been waiting almost 18 years to make," Cleburne said as he held the cell phone up to his ear.

Damascus, Syria. The same time

The line of four cars sped down the road on the outskirts of the city, concealed by the pre-dawn twilight darkness. The reason for the motorcade of cars and the bodyguards in them was sitting in the third car, nervously contemplating the events of the last day or so.

He had known what was supposed to have taken place, as he had actually helped plan parts of it. It was one of the largest operations he had ever participated in. He had been looking forward to this morning, to seeing the infidel pigs suffer as their lives were turned upside down.

But somehow, almost everything had gone wrong.

He didn't know how, but the enemy had known what was coming. Well, at least parts of it. It had been a setback, only two of the car bombs had gone off as planned in Orlando and New York. And Allah only knew what had happened with the Los Angeles bombing, it had certainly not been as successful as hoped.

Then, there had been this morning. There had already been panicked reports out of Afghanistan. The reports had been fragmentary, but he had a good idea of what was happening. He also knew that Afghanistan would not be the only place he had to worry about.

Which was why Imad Mugniyah was hurrying to downtown Damascus. He figured that he would be safe among the civilian populace of Syria's capital city and the protection of its government.

He jumped when his cell phone chirped.

"Yes!?" he answered in an irritated tone. This would probably be more bad news.

"Did you know that every cell phone in the world can be tracked anywhere, if you just know how?" a voice with an American accent asked in English.

"What?" was the startled reply.

"Oh yeah, it's amazing what modern technology can do nowadays. I know it's somewhat Big Brother-ish and all, however right at the moment I have to admit - I'm just loving the idea."

The terrorist leader looked around, panic growing in his stomach. "Who is this?"

"Well, now, I'm shocked that you don't remember me," Cleburne said, his tone dripping with venom. "So let's just say this is a greeting from the United States Marine Corps, returning the visit you paid to Beirut in '83. Enjoy your long-overdue trip to Hell, you prick." There was a click on the other end of the line.

"Pull over, pull over now!" Imad Mugniyah shouted as he was already reaching to the window. He saw a flash off in the distance.

A few seconds later, two Hellfire missiles from a predator drone slammed into the limo and the resulting explosion rendered any concerns over the cell phone completely moot.

Orlando, Florida. 10:11 PM local time, 10:11 PM EDT

The halogen lights lit up the entrance area to Disney World. Well, what was left of it anyway. It wasn't a pretty sight. FBI agent turned Siberian Malcolm Fletcher really wished he was somewhere else, especially after the day he'd had today.

All around him, forensics personnel hurried about. This was a crime scene after all, a horrible one and terrorism-related, but a crime scene nonetheless.

There was procedure to be followed, and a crime to be investigated.

Fletcher stepped gingerly along the pavement. He had flown down by special plane earlier in the evening, on one of the few planes allowed to fly in United States airspace at the present time. Most of the others were military jets, constantly doing flybys over America's cities in order to monitor the situation.

He looked to his left. About twenty yards away were the twisted remains of what looked like a minivan. Malcolm figured it must have been blown here, as vehicles weren't supposed to park this close to the entranceway.

The local FBI agent that was Fletcher's contact stood next to him. "We've set up an evidence recovery site at a nearby high school gym. We're trying to reassemble as much as we can, but unfortunately we're still sorting out what debris belongs to what vehicle."

Fletcher nodded. He knew doing the same thing after the Oklahoma City bombing had yielded the information that led to McVeigh's arrest. The FBI was good at things like that.

In this case though, he already knew where the evidence would lead. "You have a good description of the van?" Malcolm asked.

"Yes sir," was the prompt answer.

"Good, then contact every rental van company within a two hundred mile radius. One of them is missing a van. We might get lucky and catch someone still loose."

"You think so, sir?"

Fletcher noted that the agent was young, probably only a few years out of the academy at Quantico. "After the '93 bombing of the Twin Towers, one of the bomb makers actually tried to get a refund on his rental fee, arguing that the van had been stolen. They might be that stupid again this time."

"And then?"

Fletcher stopped and looked about 50 yards ahead. There was a line of white sheets there, a line that stretched out way too far for his liking. He knew what was under those sheets, just like everyone else.

"And then," Fletcher paused for a few seconds. "We have ourselves a reckoning."

Wolfram & Hart building, Los Angeles, California. 8:32 PM local time, 11:32 PM EDT

Lilah Morgan leaned back in the chair, keeping an eye on the TV that was broadcasting CNN worldwide. She cradled a phone on her shoulder as she did so.

"What do you mean, you can't get in touch with anyone in our Beirut office? I don't care, there should be someone there. What? No, that doesn't concern us." Lilah frowned at the response she got. "I'd watch your tongue if I were you. Otherwise, I might be watching it for you on my desk."

The threat had the desired effect. "Good, don't let it happen again, and call me when you find someone." She hung up the phone with some force. "You'd think the whole world was coming to an end!"

"No. In fact, this isn't even close."

Lilah looked up in surprise, she hadn't heard anyone come into her office. She blinked several times because sitting on the couch on the other side of her desk was Holland Manners.

"You're dead," she managed to get out.

"Well, of course I am. Otherwise I wouldn't look like this," was the older man's response. Holland bared his neck with the horrible bite marks, courtesy of Spike and Drusilla that night in his basement.

Lilah shook her head. { Standard perpetuity clause in his contract, of course. What's the matter with me? } "I'm sorry, Holland, I guess it's just been one of those days. Now, as far as I know we don't have much time, so tell me - why have the Senior Partners sent you back to this branch of the firm?"

Holland shook his head, and Lilah could have sworn that his jowls shook. "What makes you think the Senior Partners sent me here?" Lilah instantly got suspicious. "But enough about me, I'm here to talk about you."

Lilah took a deep breath, her eyes narrowing. This was worrisome - and now that she thought about it, why wasn't Manners talking to Linwood instead of her? There was a chain of command around here, after all. "All right. What can I do for you, Holland?"

"Normally I'd say nothing, you're too low down on the food chain to merit my attention. However, you have made yourself into something of an expert on several individuals that threaten my plans."

"Xander Harris and his people?" was Lilah's cautious answer.

Manners nodded, only suddenly it wasn't Holland her ex-boss anymore; it was a young blonde woman. "You look kinda tense. Does me looking like this make ya feel any more comfortable?"

Lilah was up in an instant. "Whoever and whatever you are, the Senior Partners aren't going to stand for this-"

"Oh, please! Like I'm afraid of some ancient dog, a goat and a lameass deer? I'd say grow a pair, but that'd be totally wasted on you, huh?"

Ms. Morgan easily dismissed the insult, sitting down again as the blonde went on, "See, originally I thought I'd only be dealing with the Council and the Slayer. But now, there's all these other people running around. They follow Xander's lead, the big dummy. In the last few years, y'know, strange as but you've done the most to get under his skin. I tried it myself, but he proved kinda resistant to my charms. You've had a little more success. So I wanna know more."

Suddenly, Lilah knew what was in her office. She knew Xander's file inside out and back to front, and she recognized the female form currently standing in her office. "You're the First," the sharp-witted female attorney said.

The First Evil smiled using Buffy's body. "Yeah, so no need to bow down or grovel. Just tell me what I want to know."

Lilah shook her head. "I'm sorry, but the information you want is classified commercial property of Wolfram & Hart-"

"You think you can say no to me? You think your so-called Senior Partners can say no to me?" Buffy Summers was gone, morphed into the image of Glory or Glorificus, the late and unlamented hellgod. "Little girl, I was around long before they ever became lapdogs to the Old Ones. I was around long before *time itself* ever existed! There's a reason I'm the First; *all* evil is part of me. Which includes you and your bosses."

Glory/the First glared as she got up off the couch, "Now start talking, before my Bringers slice you into little pieces. Well, after my boy Caleb has his wicked way with you first, that is!"

Not far from Grozny, Chechnya. 8:47 AM September 12, 2001 local time, 11:47 PM September 11, 2001 EDT

The Russian army sergeant ducked his head down as he heard the whine of mortar shells passing overhead. All around him, his squad did likewise.

After a few seconds, he heard the explosions and lifted his head up. He could see the dust clouds from the artillery shells impacting on the earth several hundred yards away.

"All right, you miserable sons of Armenian whores, get up! The cockroaches are waiting for us." Sensitivity training was not something the Russian armed forces required or desired in its soldiers. The grunts under the sergeant's command quickly got to their feet. Making their sergeant unhappy was something they knew better than to do, after all.

The soldiers started advancing down the road. They had barely advanced 50 yards before they came under fire. The Russian soldiers instantly scattered and took cover.

The sergeant started cussing using an impressive variety of swear words. Of course he also took cover, he had been a soldier long enough to know better than to take chances like that.

{This is going to take longer than expected, } he thought to himself cynically. "All of you, fall back! We can't stay here, move! Move!"

141 Embury Street, Los Angeles, California. 9:21 PM September 11, 2001 local time, 12:21 AM September 12, 2001 EDT

The microwave's bell dinged politely, so Cordelia Chase walked over and took the mug out of the oven, steam rising from the tea within it.

She walked from the kitchenette of her Silverlake apartment into the living room. She then sat down on the couch and pulled her legs in underneath her. The TV came to life with another of the news programs that had been running all day.

The former Sunnydale girl leaned back and took a sip from the tea. { Whew, what a day. }

It had indeed been a long day. The Fang Gang had managed to avert that car bomb blowing up a lot of innocent people, and also Wolfram & Hart. "Oh well, can't have everything," Cordy muttered to herself, as she watched a news report about the aqueduct where the terrorists had blown themselves up.

"Oh, thank you, Dennis!" Cordy said to her spectral roommate as he brought her the remote control. Then she made a face, the seer/secretary had forgotten to buy new batteries for the darn thing *again*.

The night looked to be a quiet one, well - in the demon world anyway. The Fang Gang had called their sources and they all agreed that the things which went bump in the night, weren't going to do so tonight. Just about everyone, including vamps and demons, were too intrigued by the historical events that had happened today and the 'night life' was watching the news just as avidly as the human population.

Thus Angel had told everyone to take the night off, saying that blowing up that truck should be enough for them for one day. He just wanted a quiet night in with Darla and Connor.

Cordy didn't know what the others were going to do, but she had decided she was going to go home and just veg. Somewhat tellingly though, she hadn't thought of contacting her boyfriend Chuck. It had been a stressful day, and Miss Chase wanted the alone time.

Well not completely alone, of course, Dennis was here. He had been what had turned on the TV. Cordy spoke up, "I don't suppose there's anything lighter on, is there?"

In response, the channels of the TV started changing. "Slow down, Dennis!" Cordy said. After a few seconds she spoke up again, "There! Go back to the singer. I want to hear some music."

Dennis quickly did so and the image of a young girl singing "Here With Me" appeared on the screen. Cordy smiled and leaned back, not knowing what tomorrow would bring for her.

Mogadishu, Somalia. 7:31 AM local time, 12:31 AM EDT

The Toyota truck's wheels squealed as the vehicle tore around the corner, because the driver pressed down on both the brakes and accelerator at the same time. Normally he would know better, but then fear has a way of making you do things that you normally wouldn't do.

The driver swerved to avoid the truck in front of him. A soldier held onto the machine gun that had been mounted in its truck bed, desperately searching for something to aim at.

They had all been roused from a sound sleep a few hours before at the camp where they had been undergoing training. A normal morning would have involved exercises and lectures, being fully indoctrinated into the aims and means of the organization.

This morning was different though, as the instructors had shouted for them to wake up and started handing out assault rifles. The instructors were clearly scared; they had been on edge the night before, but now it was outright panic.

Then the explosions had started. They seemed to be taking place everywhere. Building after building had just exploded into component atoms. The truck driver had been lucky, he had been with several others at the perimeter of the camp and not gotten blown up.

They had started hearing gunfire from the camp at that point. An instructor had run up and led them to a group of trucks. The plan had been to drive into the city and lose themselves among the civilians. The instructor had said that the Americans would never risk killing civilians.

He had been wrong.

They had started out with five trucks. Now they were down to two. The others had been blown up by what looked like guided missiles of some sort. The last one had blown up three blocks ago, and the safety of the city environment was proving illusory so far.

At the end of the block, the truck turned again. The driver slammed down on the brakes as the truck in front had come to a complete halt. The driver suppressed a curse and leaned his head to the side to see why the other truck had stopped.

In front of it, about halfway down the street was a hovering jet. A few seconds later the wings of the jet lit up as a line of cannon shells marched down the street towards the truck.

The first truck blew up in a huge fireball. The driver of the second truck tried to shift into reverse and escape the deadly barrage.

He didn't make it in time.

Major Arthur "Dragonslayer" Hixon looked out from the Harrier jump jet cockpit at the two burning trucks. True, it hadn't been dragons he'd gotten to blow up on this mission - he still needed three more to be a dragonslaying ace - but he was still satisfied with his performance.

He lifted the jet up to head back to the terrorist camp. His unit might need air support.

Southern coast of the Caspian Sea, Islamic Republic of Iran. 10:05 AM local time, 1:35 AM EDT

The ambulance struggled up the road leading to the top of the hill. Its siren blared out, and a soldier at the top of the road moved aside and waved it through.

The ambulance pulled up in front of a villa that had smoke pouring out from all the windows. Firefighters and soldiers milled around the scene. There were some wounded off to the side, which was where the ambulance stopped. The driver and attendant paramedic jumped out and quickly hurried over to the wounded.

The paramedic started tending to the nearest one. "What happened?" he asked as he started bandaging the wound.

"I don't know," the wounded guard rasped out. "I heard a huge roar, and then everything exploded. I was outside, so I didn't get hurt too bad. But the boss and his lieutenants in the villa didn't have a chance."

The medical attendant continued his work. "Who were they, anyway?"

The wounded guard's eye moved from side to side. "Ah, traders. They were staying here for a few days after doing some business in Afghanistan."

The paramedic nodded and didn't say anything. He knew the government let foreign jihadists use these villas dotted along the coast. And he knew better than to ask questions his government didn't want asked. He just kept doing his job.

USS Patrick Henry, off the coast of Iran. 10:26 AM local time, 2:26 AM EDT

The ship's captain walked into the bridge from the communications center. He grabbed the microphone to the boat-wide intercom and keyed the button, sending a squeal throughout the entire ship.

"Attention all hands, this is the captain speaking. I thought you might want to know that I just got the battle damage assessments for our Tomahawks this morning. The first batch we sent went to northern Iran to hit some cottages and offices. This group al-Qaeda, the one who blew up Disney World, they were using 'em as a place for a little R&R. Well, they're not going be doing that there anymore."

He smiled as he heard cheering from throughout the ship. "Command is very satisfied with our work. Good job, people, keep it up. Because we've still got more work to do. That's all for now." He put down the microphone and turned to the executive officer.

"We're getting some new targeting data for follow-up sites. Start punching it into the computers for the next rounds of strikes." The executive officer nodded and went to the communication center to start the process.

Great Russell Street, London, England. 8:40 AM local time, 3:40 AM EDT

Roger Wyndham-Pryce stirred his tea as he sat at his desk within the Watchers Council headquarters. His schedule hadn't been disrupted by the worldwide events of the last day or so; in fact, he'd been able to relax slightly as it seemed the denizens of the paranormal world were all mostly staying home to watch the news. It gave him time to get caught up on some things.

"Very well," he said, putting down the cup. "Now, has anything happened that I need to know about since our last meeting?"

The aide called Nigel standing in front of the desk answered, "Nothing since Mr. Zabuto contacted us about his Slayer Ms. Greene having a prophetic Slayer dream. The one she shared with Ms. Summers in California."

The head of the Watchers Council looked up. "Shared the dream, you say?"

The aide nodded. "Yes I know, sir, but it's true. I followed up with Mr. Zabuto personally and confirmed it for myself. Here is the report he sent us." Nigel held forward a sheaf of papers.

Wyndham-Pryce read through them silently. After a few minutes, he put the papers down on his desk. "Both Slayers dreamed about Mr. Harris in reference to the events of yesterday?" Roger said in a questioning tone.

"Yes, sir. If we had known what was coming, we could have made the proper assumptions quicker. But the Americans played this one close to their vests," was the response of the aide.

"Yes, yes, their fetish for secrecy. Well, we can keep secrets as well," Roger said.

"Sir?" Nigel was confused.

"For now, the knowledge of the dream is something we keep to ourselves until we know the full implications of it."

"Er, I'm not sure that's entirely possible sir. After all, we can't tell Mr. Giles and Ms. Summers what to do, they aren't exactly members of the organization any longer," Nigel felt he had to point out.

Roger snorted, "Even so. I hardly think they're going to call up the colonial government and tell them everything they know, do you?"

Kandahar International Airport, Kandahar, Afghanistan. 1:35 PM local time, 5:05 AM EDT

The colonel with a patch bearing a screaming eagle on his shoulder walked across the tarmac towards the terminal. All around him, American soldiers hurried back and forth.

The colonel looked around and noticed that several of the arched windows of the terminal had been blown out during the attack. He was actually surprised that more of the glass hadn't been blown out.

Neither side had been afraid to use large amounts of firepower.

He checked his watch and smiled. Everything was still on schedule. His troops had secured the airfield. The roar of airplane engines up above told him that the reinforcements were landing, before too long they would be able to advance into the city.

{They may have gotten the first shot in, but that's the only one they're going to get in.} the colonel thought with grim satisfaction as he watched the first transport plane land.

Kashmir Province, India. 3:40 PM local time, 6:10 AM EDT

The truck drove along the road behind a line of artillery pieces. The Indian Army private tried not to think about his cargo too much, as he really did not want to see what it could do close up.

The truck pulled in an earthen dugout. As soon as the driver shut off the engine, soldiers swarmed the truck and started unloading the artillery shells.

The driver got out of the vehicle. "Be careful with those things!" he shouted out of habit more than anything else, as the soldiers gingerly lifted the shells out of the cargo bed of the truck. They moved the artillery the short distance to the box next to the howitzer that was sitting silent.

Several hundred yards away, another howitzer barked as it fired its deadly progeny. The boom and shock caused the soldiers to pause for a second. The driver stood next to the crew chief.

"This is the fourth time I've had to bring a load over here. You guys are really giving it to the terrorists in the hills," the driver remarked to his companion.

"They're giving it right back, we're getting a lot of calls for support from the troops in the hills. Lots of ambulances have gone by as well," the crew chief replied. "You'll be coming and going at least two or three more times before the day is over."

Number 10 Downing Street, London, England. 12:20 PM local time, 7:20 AM EDT

"The American response has been extremely wide-ranging," the high-ranking military officer said to the PM and his assembled Cabinet ministers, as they all sat in the briefing room. "As we expected, Afghanistan with its al-Qaeda sanctuaries has received substantial American military attention. Air strikes were followed up by landing of ground troops. Kandahar fell to elements of the 101st Airmobile Division and the U.S. Marines. This was a major stronghold for the Taliban, and it appears to have thrown their command structure into chaos."

The British general clicked the remote control device, and the screen behind him changed to show a map of Afghanistan.

"The Northern Alliance and other anti-Taliban factions started offensive operations when the scale of the American operation became clear to them. The forces under Ahmad Shah Massoud are coordinating their operations with the Americans, which is hardly surprising. They've had Special Forces officers and CIA agents embedded within his ranks for quite a while, after all."

"And elsewhere?" Tony Blair asked.

"Air strikes on al-Qaeda camps in northern Iraq. Air strikes on terrorist command and control facilities in Iran, Lebanon and Syria. Commandos have deployed in Somalia and West Africa, attacking terrorist training camps. All highly coordinated," was the answer.

"The Americans playing cowboy again," muttered one of the men sitting at the table.

"Perhaps, but the cavalry clearly ambushed the Indians this time instead of the other way around," Alec Cummings said from his spot near the general. The minister who had made the cowboy comment turn an interesting shade of red, realizing his comment was louder than he had intended.

Cummings continued, "That said, it is clear that the Americans are taking advantage of the opportunity presented to them. Several of the targets are not directly related to al-Qaeda. Reports are that several installations connected to the Iranian nuclear program were targeted as well. Also, the Americans are not limiting themselves to just using military forces."

"Meaning?" the Foreign Secretary asked.

"Their domestic law enforcement agencies are arresting and detaining terrorist subjects all across the country and the tax authorities have been freezing accounts related to terrorist organizations," Cummings answered.

"And the Americans were able to do all this, based on the information from that...person...you told us about a couple of days ago," Blair commented.

"Yes, Prime Minister."

Tony Blair shook his head, and wondered if he should consider retiring and letting Gordon Brown deal with such things after all. {We live in a bloody strange world these days.}

Los Angeles, California. 5:10 AM local time, 8:10 AM EDT

Ametila walked into her kitchen. Her boyfriend Michael "Red" Byrne was there, already making breakfast. He looked up as the female demon came through the door.

"Morning Am, I was hoping to surprise you with breakfast in bed," he said as his green-skinned girlfriend came up from behind and hugged him.

"I woke up and you weren't there. Shouldn't you be asleep? You had a big day yesterday, and last night had to be tiring for you," Ametila said with a smile.

"Well, my line of work calls for endurance," Red replied with a straight face.

Ametila smiled slyly. "Endurance is a quality you possess in abundance, Mike."

Red smiled at the comment by the demoness. "Honey, you are also well supplied in that area." He kissed her.

When they broke off from the kiss, they were both smiling. "Here, let me help you," Ametila said as she walked over to the table when Red had a tray sitting.

"No, wait! Let me do that," Red said suddenly.

But it was too late, as Ametila frowned. "What's this?" She picked up a small black box that was next to the plate on the tray. Red hurried over to where she was standing.

"Damn, I was hoping to surprise you," Red started to explain as his girlfriend opened the box. Her eyes grew wide and a small gasp came out of her mouth.

The Caritas waitress then looked from the diamond ring up at her boyfriend as he swallowed. "See, I wanted to wake up and ask you…oh hell, never mind." He quickly got down on one knee. "Honey, will you marry me?"

Kabul, Afghanistan. 5:25 PM local time, 8:55 AM EDT

The merchant hurried down the street. It had not been a good day for business in the marketplace. He had been woken up by the sounds of explosions and gunfire from the city prison. Later, he had been setting up his stall when the prison had been blown up.

The rest of the day had been filled with reports of fighting and bombing. There had been explosions across the city, people had said it was the airport or government buildings being attacked.

Taliban soldiers had been on the streets in force, acting with a combination of swagger and fear. The merchant made a point of avoiding them as much as he could. The whole day, the radio had been talking of jihad against the American infidels, growing increasingly shrill as the day went on.

He had closed the stall early today, as had some other merchants. He was now hurrying back to his home, following the merchant from the adjacent stall who lived in the same neighborhood he did.

Suddenly, there was a roar which made the two of them look up. Above them a plane with stars on its wings flew above their heads.

It flew towards a small hill above Kabul which had a small television transmitter on it. The transmitter had been there for as long as the merchant could remember. When the Russians had occupied Afghanistan they had used the tower for target practice, but they had never managed to knock it down though. Since the war, the Northern Alliance had tried a few times, but the tower had survived that also.

Something dropped from the plane as it twisted to the right and shot upwards. The bomb fell for a few seconds and then straightened out. It fell true to its target and blew up at the base of the tower.

The tower collapsed in a cloud of dust and flames.

The first merchant looked at his neighbor. He was silent for a few seconds before he spoke.

"I think the Americans are coming."

Richmond, Virginia. 9:12 AM local time, 9:12 AM EDT

Xander staggered into the kitchen of the townhouse, clutching his forehead. Oz and Fred looked up at him.

"Morning Xander," Fred said cheerfully. She was in a good mood now that all the excitement was over, and she had engaged in some girl talk with Samantha Finn before the woman had left to meet up with her husband Riley.

Harris just grunted incoherently in response, his head throbbing from last night's drinking binge at the bar. He opened the refrigerator door.

"Cleburne said for you to drink the red juice on the bottom shelf," Oz said calmly, as he cut his pancakes into bite-sized pieces. "Said you'd need it if you got up before tomorrow."

Xander reached for the aforementioned glass and took a hesitant sip. He remembered what a certain hangover cure had tasted like, that day he'd first met Dr. Reynolds. After a few seconds with no adverse reaction, he took another, longer gulp. He snorted a little bit, "Did the old man say what this was?"

"Not really, mentioned something about tomato juice and a secret ingredient. A good cure for a hangover," Oz answered.

Xander was taking a third gulp, clearly it was helping greatly with the hangover. "Did he happen to mention why this is the first time I've heard of this?"

Oz shrugged. "He said you weren't a Marine officer before, called it a Marine Corps secret."

"Hey, did you enlist and not tell us?" Fred brightened up. "Oooh, did you get a dress uniform, that one with the sword?"

Xander shook his head. "No, Fred, he didn't mention anything about a tailor or a sword last night. 'Course with all the booze flowing, I might have missed it."

"Oh, well, it's just I remember mom talking about when dad came home from the Navy. She met him at the bus stop and she said her heart just about leaped out of her chest when she saw him getting off the bus in his uniform, said it was one of the happiest moments in her life," Fred said happily.

Oz didn't look up from his pancakes. "Cleburne also said something about how there were some things to do that he would get to, later on today."

"He has more surprises in mind. Well, color me stunned," Xander said in exasperation.

"Oh, speaking of surprises!" Fred smiled and jumped up from her seat. "Wait here." She hurried out of the kitchen.

"Hmmm. She's cheerful this morning," Xander said as he got a plate of pancakes himself and sat down at the table.

"After-effects of yesterday's excitement. It was kinda nerve-wracking waiting to see what was going to happen," Oz explained.

"Well, we already knew what was going to happen-" Xander started.

"No, we knew what was *supposed* to happen. We knew what would have happened in the world that you remember, not how things would turn out in this reality. Fred and I were worried about what would happen to you, Xander. When you change history, sometimes you don't know where things are gonna end up," Oz said.

Xander blinked. For Oz, that was a pretty long monologue. "Wow, that was...deep."

"I'm deep," Oz said. "Remember-"

But whatever Oz was going to remind Xander about was interrupted by Fred returning. "Here it is!" she said with an air of pride. She held forward a rifle of some kind.

"What is it?" Xander asked, looking at the weapon.

"Well, you know that a big concern of Colonel Cleburne is the fact the vampires sometimes require more than one shot to kill them, well - make them more dead than they already are," Fred clarified her earlier statement. "So I got to thinking, the principle of the bullets that the Siberians use is to try and start a fire when it encounters vampire skin. Now, that works for them because they can group their shots so that the bullets combine enough to start a fire which consumes the target."

Xander nodded. "I've been around for the old man's 'one shot one kill' tirade. You know he has memos on the subject, volumes of them. One time, Cleburne actually got out videos of the tests they've been doing."

"We've all seen them," Oz commented.

"He brings them out every chance he gets. It's kinda like a movie night with him," Fred said. "Anyway, I thought I would see what I could do to help out, so I started fiddling around with this."

Fred smiled at the rifle in her hand and continued. "I wondered if there was a way to cause a vampire's skin to heat up and combust without using projectiles. So I got to thinking if we could project a sphere of heat, a fireball if you will? If the fireball hits a vampire, well, the vampire would go up in flames at once."

"Right," Xander nodded, following her logic so far.

"Now, I came up with the idea of a sphere of extremely hot air since a normal fireball won't work, well, unless maybe if we had a fireball spell or something that we could use. You know, like one of those things from Dungeons and Dragons. You could look for a spell book that-"

"You were saying about the rifle?" Xander said, interrupting Fred's Willow-like rambling.

"Oh yeah, right. Well, I had a look at the plans that the Initiative people had developed for their blasters. Then I dug up one of the old prototypes, and Irving and I tinkered with it a bit. But then I had my new idea; and basically I amped up the power so that it delivers a blast of super-heated air for a few seconds, kinda of like an invisible fireball."

"Wow, Fred, that's great. So how far along are you with this thing?" Xander was impressed, and looking forward to trying the new weapon out.

"Well, I've got the hot air coming out fine," Fred stated. "The main problem so far is that its range just isn't right, unfortunately."

"So does it actually work?" Oz said, looking up from his pancakes.

"Uh, I've not had a chance yet to really field test it. However, when I ran the computations, the distance covered by the blast of air before it lost cohesion was in the range of hundreds of yards. I don't know if we want invisible fireballs flying around for the length of several football fields."

"Well, if we ever come up against a vampire version of the Washington Redskins, at least we'll be prepared," Xander joked.

Fred smiled and suppressed a laugh. "Or the Dallas Cowboys." She shifted the rifle and when she did so, it coughed and the air rippled above the muzzle. "Oh, no!"

There was a crackling sound, and steaming hot plaster fell from the ceiling onto the kitchen table. "Yeah, uh, another problem is the strength of the hot air," Fred said sheepishly.

All three of the Siberian 'exiles' looked up at the softball-sized hole in the ceiling. After a few seconds, the phone started ringing. Oz leaned back and picked up the receiver from the kitchen counter. He listened for a few seconds, and then held it out towards Xander.

"It's Cleburne. He wants to talk about what just came up through his floor, and went all the way up through the roof of the building."

Apartment B, 523 Oak Park Street, Sunnydale. 6:21 AM local time, 9:21 AM EDT

Rupert Giles walked to the front door of his condo, and opened it in response to the loud and determined knocking. He made a bet with himself as to who would be there at this time of day, and as expected he won the wager.

Buffy Summers stood there, wearing a stylish jacket and having a look of sheer determination on her face.

"It's been long enough, Giles, I want to go to Los Angeles right now."

White House, Washington D.C. 10:01 AM local time, 10:01 AM EDT

Richard Clarke made a note on the written memorandum he was finishing up. Yesterday had been busy. The job of saving the world didn't end at five o'clock, and he had the paperwork to prove it.

He put the memo in his out basket. The man then reached over, pulled another memo in front of him and read the title.

"Connecting al-Qaeda to the Saddam Hussein regime," Clarke muttered to himself as he leaned back. "I wonder in whose office *this* memo originated."

Siberian Trip Wire headquarters, Georgetown, Washington D.C. 10:38 AM local time, 10:38 AM EDT

Esther Marcum walked down the hallway and saw the door to the conference room opened. She slowed down and looked in.

There at the table sat the child genius Irving Hollins, surrounded by stacks of papers with a laptop in front of him. She walked in and looked over his shoulder. He was scrolling down the images on the screen.

"I thought you would have taken a little time off after yesterday's excitement," the woman observed.

Hollins shook his head. "No, the various law enforcement and intelligence services have been forwarding copies of everything they seized yesterday. I'm looking for materials that are time-sensitive."

"Any success?"

"Nothing so far that demands our immediate attention, although there are some plans and ideas in the initial stages. However, I have found something rather interesting floating around on the Internet."

"Interesting how? Is it something the intel boys picked up on the jihadist websites?"

Hollins typed a little on the keyboard and pulled up a picture on the laptop. He then leaned back so Esther could see the screen.

She read the top of the screen. "Opening Soon - Disney Afghanistan" it said in bright orange letters. Below the title was a picture of Mickey Mouse, dressed as Rambo blasting away with an assault rifle.

Esther suppressed a laugh. "Where did this come from? Cleburne?"

Hollins shook his head. "No, I've not heard from the good colonel this morning. This is from Florida, at best as I can trace it."

They were silent for a few seconds, and then Hollins closed the picture and opened up a new file. "I hope to put together a full post-op report within the next few days. I'm also hoping for our forces in Afghanistan to capture more materials over the next couple of weeks."

Esther frowned. "You know, you could take a little time off."

Hollins didn't look up from the screen. "I could."

"All right, let's forget about subtlety. You are taking some time off." Esther said as she closed the laptop in front of him. "Go outside and play some tennis. Ask Bethany, she probably wouldn't mind joining you. She's back now, you know."

The trace of a smile appeared on the 13-year-old boy's face. "Well, I suppose a couple of hours playing tennis wouldn't hurt."

Hart Senate Office Building, Washington D.C. 10:47 AM local time, 10:47 AM EDT

Senator Helen Brucker looked formidable sitting behind her desk. Before her sat several of her more trusted staffers; most of them looked human, 'looked' being the key thing to their appearance, while some of them did not.

"We still don't know much about how they really knew about the hijackings ahead of time. Of course, there is that story they've told the media," her chief of staff was saying.

"Oh yes, that. Who knew the White House could tell fairy tales so well," Brucker said. She was rewarded by dutiful laughter from the assembled aides.

"A mole, it has to be," one aide said. "The CIA must have finally managed to put someone inside of al-Qaeda."

"What, is that a joke? You must know a very different CIA than I do!" The chief of staff looked at all the aides. "There is some reason that they were able to pull it off yesterday the way they did. We need to learn how and how we can use it to our advantage."

"They're guarding whatever they have closely. It'll be hard getting it," one of the aides said.

Brucker fixed the offending aide with a piercing stare. "I do not want to hear your excuses and neither does Bathory. We want to know what's going on. Find out or I get a group of new aides, and you will not like my severance package." She looked over all her aides. "Now get out of here and get to work."

Richmond, Virginia. 11:15 AM local time, 11:15 AM EDT

Cleburne muttered to himself in angry frustration, as he stood up from patching the damage in his floor. He was already dreading having to get estimates for the repairs to the roof.

Of course, it was something he had done quite a few times before.

His attention was distracted by the ringing of the phone. He picked it up once he saw who it was from the caller ID. "Hello, Dad."

"Morning, son," Daniel Cleburne said from his farm in South Carolina. "Didn't expect to find you at home, but your office said I should try you there."

"Yeah, just getting caught up on some stuff here, I had some emergency house repairs to take care of." Cleburne looked at the patch he'd just installed and sighed.

"Saw you and your friend on TV yesterday morning," Daniel said.

Cleburne was silent for a few seconds. "Lots of things were on television yesterday, Dad, and lots of people too. Thing is, different people often look alike when you see 'em on the idiot box."

Now it was Daniel Cleburne's turn to be silent for a few moments. Over the years, his prodigal son had explained that there were some things he simply couldn't talk about related to his job, and the old man knew better than to push the issue now that Joshua had given him the hint. "I suppose so. Still, whoever that was your mother and I saw you with yesterday, his parents must be proud."

Cleburne smiled for a second. "I imagine that pleases whoever it was, of course, I would hate for any wild rumors to get started."

Daniel chuckled. "Don't worry, son, you know how tight-lipped rural folk are down here. By the way, your mother wanted me to remind you about Thanksgiving."

Cleburne frowned. "Thanksgiving? I hadn't thought that far ahead."

"Well, she said to say you're coming home for Thanksgiving dinner and bring your friends with you."

"Friends?"

"Yeah, you know, the ones who spent Christmas with us. Bring all of them along."

"I don't know if I or they can make it, Dad, their schedules may already be set," Cleburne said with a shrug.

"Nonsense, we're still two months out, plenty of time to make plans. Your mother wants you and them here, and that's that."

"Okay, I'll tell 'em Dad. Odds are not everyone's gonna come, some of them will want to go home to their families; but I'll let them know that everyone who can come is welcome to do so."

Hyperion Hotel, Los Angeles, California. 8:37 AM local time, 11:37 AM EDT

Angel had no idea how his whole world was about to be turned upside down, as he turned the page of the book.

The thing was he appreciated the quiet moments whenever he could get them, and was using this free time to get in some light reading. The vampire was rereading "The Count of Monte Cristo" and he was about halfway through the book, occasionally reminiscing about what life had been like all those centuries ago.

Angel knew that Gunn and Wes were somewhere in the hotel, as he had heard them talking in the lobby a few minutes ago. Darla was upstairs, she had muttered something about morning sickness and been in her room ever since. Gwen wasn't back from whatever errand she was running for the government, and Cordelia was due in later in the morning. So for now, he was able to enjoy the quiet.

Angel suddenly heard Gunn talking to someone, even if he was too engrossed in the book to make out the words. After a few seconds he heard Wes say something too in a surprised tone, again being unable to make out what was exactly said. His curiosity piqued, Angel stood up and started to walk towards the door.

The door swung open with great force. "Buffy, what are you doing here?" Angel said in surprise as he took a step towards her.

Then he noticed something odd; she did not look happy to see him. In fact she looked very much like a half-mad tribal chieftain Angel had met decades ago, as the expression on her face was one of fury and anger. Buffy took a few steps into the office and once he was within range, she punched Angel in the face - hard.

"You bastard!" the Chosen One shouted angrily as he fell back against the desk.

"Buffy!" Angel yelped out.

"Buffy!" Giles said as well, as he followed her into the office. Behind him were Willow and Tara.

"Angel, are you alright?" Wesley asked, as he hurried by Giles into the office to help his undead boss up. Right behind him, Gunn rushed into the office and got in front of Buffy.

Charles held out his right arm out and pointed at the Slayer. "Okay, chill. I dunno what your problem is, blondie, but you gotta back off - right now."

"Get out of my way," Buffy didn't even look at him, continuing to stare murderously at her ex.

"Buffy..." Giles moved forward.

"He lied to me, Giles, he knew all this time!"

"I know, Buffy, but what exactly will punching Angel repeatedly accomplish?"

Buffy's face scrunched up a little. "Well, it'll make me feel a bit better for one!" She turned back from Giles and stared at her ex-boyfriend, who had scrambled to his feet by now.

Angel pushed Wes away. "Buffy, what's wrong - why are you acting like this?" the vampire asked in confusion as he straightened up.

"All this time, you knew. YOU KNEW HE WAS STILL ALIVE! You knew, but you didn't think we needed to know? How could you *do* something like that to me?!" Buffy screamed.

{Oh crap. They know about Xander! But how?} For a brief second Angel considered denying it, but he knew better than to try. He also respected Buffy and the others too much to keep up appearances now that the cat was well and truly out of the bag.

"In a nutshell, I had to. You couldn't know he was still alive back then," Angel confessed at last.

"And you decided that?" Willow asked from the doorway.

"No. He did," Angel replied simply.

Gunn looked around confused. "Yo, white folks. Who are we talkin' about?"

"Army Guy," Angel said, using the name that Gunn had known Xander by back then.

Buffy glanced at Gunn and then back to Angel. "He knows?!"

Gunn answered before Angel could. "Yeah, I know Harris. Soldier boy saved my ass more than once back in the day. And the asses of my crew as well."

"Right, see - after Xander escaped from that hell dimension, before he came back to Sunnydale? He, um, he helped out Gunn and his people with their vampire problems," Angel explained.

"That was before the high school blew up," Buffy said flatly. All eyes in the office turned to Gunn. "Before we thought Xander was dead."

"Hey, Harris isn't dead! Okay, Army Guy got himself kidnapped by some dudes from England, but me and my little sis went to the old South to help him out," Gunn said, with a slight grimace at the memory. "He went and disappeared after that, but the man wasn't killed back then, basically thanks to Deadboy here."

All eyes then turned to Angel. "Who gave you the tip?" Giles asked, feeling somewhat shocked at hearing that old high school nickname. Just like Buffy and Willow.

"Yeah, and what dudes from England?" Buffy said, looking more confused than bloodthirsty now.

Angel put aside the annoyance factor and said, "The Oracles sent me to Gunn and his friends..." He then went on to explain who and what the Oracles had been. "Bottom line, they were pretty clear on the fact that I couldn't leave Los Angeles then. So Gunn and his crew had to do so for me." Angel looked at Gunn. "Go ahead, fill them in."

"Me, Alonna and Bobby, we went to good ol' boy country. We set some stuff on fire, and then there was a fight at some airport. Some things got blown up, and a truck got crashed. After we pulled him outta the vehicle, Army Guy got away clean," Gunn summarized the story.

"What happened to him, exactly?" Willow asked softly. Tara placed her hand on Willow's shoulder to reassure her girlfriend.

"Well, Harris got banged up pretty bad, but he got away from the Masterpiece Theater wannabes who kidnapped him. Last I saw, he was back with the MIB types he'd hooked up with, said something was going on involving the First Evil," Gunn said.

"He went back to those people willingly?" Buffy asked, ignoring that part regarding the First Evil for now.

"Yeah, surprised us too, whatever this First Evil thing was musta really freaked him out."

"And you just let him go?" Buffy was not completely satisfied with Gunn's answer.

"Didn't go down like that, Barbie. And in case you didn't notice, I already told you how Army Guy made his own decision," Gunn growled at her.

"And what happened to the kidnappers?" Giles asked, trying to keep the peace. He was worried about who they were.

Angel decided to change the subject. "Never mind that right now, it's pretty much ancient history - look, why now? Why did you guys show up today, and how did you learn the truth?"

Giles spoke up. "Well, we just found out yesterday that Xander was still alive-"

"How?" That was Wesley.

Buffy and the others exchanged glances. "Show them," Buffy said.

"Do you have a VCR handy?" Willow asked.

"Upstairs in one of the rooms," Wes answered. "I'll go get it."

A few minutes later the VCR was set up in the hotel's lobby, attached to the television set. Willow put the VHS tape into the machine and pressed Play.

"I got this yesterday off the Today show, they were talking about the attacks," the redhead said as she fast forwarded the tape. "Here we go." She let the tape play in real time.

"Hey, everyone, good morning!" The front door to the hotel lobby opened up and Cordelia walked in. She saw Buffy and the Scoobies and said, "Whoa, what brings all you people to civilization? And what's that on the tube?"

A look of deep anxiety instantly crossed Angel's face. "Cordy, could you possibly get something for me from my office?" he asked hurriedly, getting in her way.

The blonde Slayer instantly got it. "She doesn't know," Buffy said. { Well, gee, why am I *not* surprised? }

"Know what?" Cordelia then saw what was happening on the screen, after pushing Angel aside in annoyance. "That's Xander," she said in shock. She looked at the others in the room. "When was this taken?"

"Yesterday, I saw it and I-I knew I had to record it," Willow answered rather timidly. By this point, she too had figured out that the former cheerleader hadn't known the truth.

Cordy watched for a few seconds. "That's Xander." A look of confusion crossed her face. "But if that was yesterday, that means..."

"Xander's alive," Buffy finished.

"Xander's alive?" Cordelia continued staring at the TV screen, her mind going blank at the concept. It was almost too much to take in, kind of like learning how the Chase family fortune had evaporated and she had to figure out how to live poor in order to survive.

And then suddenly, Miss Chase had a series of memories of her former boyfriend.

{OH MY GOD! XANDER'S ALIVE! } the young woman's mind finally shrieked with a combination of ecstasy and disbelief. "So, so, you guys came to tell us the good news?" Cordelia finally pulled herself together, as Buffy and the others exchanged looks. "You mean you didn't?"

Angel mentally prepared himself for what he knew was about to come. "No, uh, they came because they figured out I knew that Xander was alive."

Cordelia's head turned sharply to look at Angel. "What? You knew?"

Angel nodded, he understood how the time for secrecy was over. "Yeah, I helped him fake his death back then."

It took a few moments for her to process that one. But then Cordy took two steps towards Angel and slapped him, hard. Then she wound up and hit him again, just for good measure.

"Cordy!"

"You lied to me, you've been lying all this time! YOU ASSHOLE! We've been working together for two years, and you lied to me about *this*?!" Cordelia screamed in his face.

Angel stepped back and rubbed his cheek. "Um, yeah, I guess. Sorry. Okay, can everyone stop hitting me now?"

"Sorry? Sorry ain't gonna cut it, you bloodsucking jerk! And I'll let you know if and when that time comes," Cordy snarled at him. She noticed that Wes and Gunn seemed to be trying to subtly move away from her. "Wait a minute. Did you two know as well?"

"Yeah. Way I heard it, everyone around here knew 'cept you," Gunn said apologetically.

Angel said hurriedly in response to the lethal look on Cordelia's face, "Gunn met Xander back when he had only the soldier memories, and Wes figured it out just a short while ago. I told them both not to tell you."

That earned Angel another slap to his face. "Still not that time yet," the former Queen C growled in response to the look from her boss. "Alright, I'll bite. What in God's name made your tiny little undead mind think it was a good idea to keep the fact *Xander* was alive a secret from me?"

Angel pseudo-sighed, he'd been hoping it wouldn't come to this. "I'm sorry, Cordy, but I had to. Xander wanted it kept secret. At the time he was still kinda pissed at you, Buffy and Willow, but ever since then...well, he's gotten worried about what would happen if you all found out."

Buffy crossed her arms, trying to ignore the hurt from Angel's statement. "That's not gonna work. Xander had no reason to be scared of us!"

Angel shook his head. "No, he was never scared of you, well - there was that whole headache thing to deal with, but I'm sure that's not important to him. He got scared *for* you, Buffy. Because of what they might do."

"They? Who's 'they'?" Willow looked confused.

Giles was cleaning his glasses. "Perhaps if you started at the beginning, when Xander faked his death at Graduation."

Angel nodded. "Okay, let's sit down, this might take awhile."

Everyone sat and Angel told the assembled listeners of how Xander had been sure that the longer he stayed in Sunnydale, the more chance there was of a Watchers wet works team trying to capture him for 'study'. So he'd decided to fake his own death while the Mayor ascended and then disappear out of town.

"And then what?" Willow asked.

"Well, originally Xander planned to go live in Canada, somewhere in the mountains. Hide in a cave or a cabin or whatever till it was safe to come out," Angel said. "The main thing was throwing off any pursuers."

"Okay, the part about faking his death certainly worked as far as we were concerned. So did the secret agent types help with that?" Buffy spoke up.

Angel shook his head. "No, someone in their brain trust figured out later that Xander was still alive. Then that super-secret government agency caught up with him and took him into protective custody."

"So he *is* a prisoner!" Buffy almost yelled.

Angel thought for a second. "No...no. I think at first he was something less than a prisoner, and more than a guest; I mean, he wasn't locked up, but he wasn't free to just wander around either. But later on, things changed - it seems he sorta became one of them, Buffy. And a lot more mobile."

"Mr. Gunn mentioned something before about kidnappers from England?" Giles said. In his gut he knew the answer already, but he had to ask it out loud.

"Who do you think?" Angel asked with a sideways look.

"I was rather hoping it would be someone else," Giles said in a sad tone. "Dear Lord, but how far the Council has truly fallen..."

"Giles, c'mon! You aren't responsible for them. So do *not* blame yourself for that part of it," Buffy said firmly.

"Indeed. If anyone's to blame, it's myself. The Watchers Council only knew about Xander because of my reports back then," Wesley said sadly. "Looking back on it, I certainly have cause to regret my actions at the time..."

"Don't worry about it, Wes, we've all done things in the past that we regret." Angel then continued the story, "Anyway, the Oracles had me meet up with Gunn here to help Xander. And like he himself said a few minutes ago, the three of them helped him escape from the Watchers. Xander then went back to the government's protective custody."

"And since then?" Buffy said.

Angel paused for a few seconds. "Uh, I've heard from him a few times, indirectly." He decided not to mention details regarding that meeting with Cleburne and Gwen. "That's how I know he's not a prisoner, more like an agent of theirs."

"Indirectly, how?" Willow spoke up from in front of the TV where she was retrieving the videotape.

"Various ways," Angel answered vaguely.

Buffy frowned and crossed her arms. "Cut the cryptic act, Angel, it doesn't impress me anymore. Now tell me, how do we get in touch with him? 'Cause it sounds like you can do it any time you want!"

"No, I can't. And before you ask, I don't know where he is right now," Angel said. "The people he's with, they know enough about my curse not to want to trust me with that information."

"He wrote to you, didn't he? I mean it stands to reason, he wrote those three letters to Giles. That's how you guys keep in touch, right? So do you have a way to write back?" Willow asked hopefully.

Angel thought for a second to deny it, but the look on Willow's face made the decision for him. He shook his head. "No. It's a one-way delivery system, he's sent a letter once or twice via a...a third party."

"And they can't forward a letter to him?" Giles asked this question.

"Well, I don't absolutely know for sure, but I really doubt it. They're...different," Angel explained uncomfortably. "Definitely not part of the government crowd."

"Who?" Cordy demanded in no uncertain terms.

"The Furies," Angel replied unhappily.

"Oh, yeah, the trollop trio is definitely not your average post office," Cordy muttered. She knew of the sisters from the various occasions Angel had sought out their help, and hearing them chorus 'Mmmm, Angel' that way had not exactly endeared them to her heart. Due to the fear that one day, they would unleash Angelus in all his glory.

Willow walked back to the others with the videotape in her hand. "What exactly did Xander's letter say?"

"That his plan didn't work," Angel started to explain. "When he left LA before Cordelia arrived, he headed north for the border. It was after that the spies caught up with him." Angel winced at his seer's expression and left unsaid that there was another letter relayed via the Host, he didn't want to talk about that until he had a chance to talk to Cordelia in private.

"I see," Giles commented. "So what exactly do you know about them?"

"Well, not much. I do know that those people don't exactly like to publicize themselves. But apart from that - Giles, I don't even know the name of their organization," Angel answered. "Basically they got their hands on Xander, and eventually he signed up with them of his own free will."

"And you got all this from his letter?" Tara asked.

"Amongst other things," Angel answered.

"What other things?"

Angel paused at Willow's question. "There were some other indirect communications and, uh, I've heard some stuff over the years. I mean the Furies, they like him-" The instant he said that, Angel knew he had made a big mistake.

Indeed, as Cordelia immediately looked completely disgusted. "You're not actually serious, are you? You and Xander boff the same women now?! Make me yak, Angel!" Buffy and Willow looked rather sick at the concept as well.

"Cordelia..." Angel didn't want to go into this, and he didn't want to give up too much about Xander just yet either. He had hoped to be better prepared before having this conversation.

Buffy scowled over her crossed arms, doing her best to repress a...a *disturbing* mental image of an orgy involving her ex and her best male friend. "All right, Angel, 'fess up. Where are these government secret agent types? I figure if I whale on some of them hard enough, they'll tell me where Xander is."

Angel shook his head. "No, Buffy, that won't work. This isn't a problem you can solve simply by using violence."

"It's always worked for me before," Buffy said mulishly, briefly thinking about the Knights of Byzantium.

"Buffy, listen to me - this isn't something you can just slay your way out of!" Angel snapped. "You can't take on these people like that, I mean they might decide to just shoot you and be done with it - they're the U.S. government, and by this time they have to know who and what you are! Besides, there's something big going on. You heard Gunn, something about the First spooked Xander so much that he went straight back to his keepers when he had the chance to just ditch them and run for it. Whatever the problem really is, Xander obviously feels he needs their help to stop it."

Buffy kept her arms crossed. "We handle the end-of-the-world stuff all the time. It's what we do."

"Not this time. Don't you understand? Xander's effectively been at war with the First for longer than you've been a Slayer, what with all those future memories in his head," Angel said passionately. "The man knows what he's doing. You don't."

"The First...is the entity that tried to get you to commit suicide, nearly three years ago," Giles said slowly to Angel, doing his best to not to dwell on Buffy's hurt look.

Angel nodded. "Yeah, I know. Luckily it didn't work, the Powers intervened on my behalf or something. Look, from what I've learned the Big Bad's got a master plan, something big..."

"Okay. But, but have you heard how Xander is?" Willow asked, being more concerned about her friend than the creature wanting to bring about the end of the world.

Angel paused for a second. "He's in good health. At least, I don't have any reason to doubt that. I've heard some rumors about him..."

"There are rumors about him?" Willow looked up.

"Well, not about Xander Harris per se, the rumors are about his alias in the demon world. The Timetripper," Angel answered.

"Ah, yes. We, we've examined that website," Giles said, staring at the ensouled vampire. "We're not sure yet just how much is over-the-top hyperbole, but there does appear to be some factual basis to the stories there."

"You'd be surprised. I heard he's had some weird adventures over the last two years! However, he seems to be stronger for it. And I heard Xander put in a good word for us with his..." Angel searched for the proper word, "patrons."

"Did the President really have a meeting with aliens about Xander?" Tara suddenly asked.

Angel stared at her with a confused look on his face. "What? Aliens?" Nearby, Cordelia rolled her eyes in disdain.

"Yes, um, s-some of the stories there would, uh, would seem to be more at home in the National Enquirer. However when you said he put a good word with his patrons, what exactly did you mean?" Giles asked.

Angel looked at Gunn who answered, "Me and my crew get food and aid packages from 'em, tools and supplies to give us an edge against the bloods."

"Right. And they do that purely out of the goodness of their hearts, I bet," Buffy commented.

Gunn smirked. "Ain't no such thing as a free lunch, girl. When it started, they had us looking for some weird cult at this youth center-"

"New Hope Family Shelter!" Everyone turned and looked at Cordelia after her almost shouted comment.

"Yeah, that's the place - damn freaky too, way I recall it," Gunn said with a shrug.

"No, no, no!" Cordelia explained about the time that her friend Lily had asked for her help with the kids freed from that demon cult. "There was a moment that day when I was sure I saw Xander walking along with a bunch of FBI agents! I mean, later I convinced myself that I was mistaken, but now - I'm certain he was there, he must have been!"

"Those were FBI agents getting off the plane on the videotape. You could be right," Willow said in sheer wonder.

"All right, what's all the yelling and excitement about? Can't a woman get any sleep around here?"

Everyone in the hotel's lobby looked up to the top of the stairs. "Hey Darla..." Angel said before realization hit him. Unfortunately, Buffy and the Scoobies all had eyes and knew who the blonde vampiress was.

"She's pregnant," Buffy said in disbelief. { I knew she was still here after Will and Tara did their soul curse mojo, but now she's *pregnant*? }

"Oh dear Lord," Giles took off his glasses. He spluttered, "This, this is impossible!"

"Yeah, I-I-I thought vampires couldn't have children?" Tara asked.

Willow looked confused. "Darla, you're having a baby...? But, but the spell I did wasn't meant to do that! Did, did I really screw up that badly back then?" She looked at Giles for reassurance.

Giles was cleaning his glasses so hard the lenses almost fell off. "No, no, I-I looked over the spell myself, there was nothing that would lead one to even suspect this would happen..."

"And yet here I am, as is Junior. No, wait, his name's Connor actually," Darla said with a smirk as she descended down the staircase, holding her swollen belly. The mother-to-be locked eyes with the Slayer, and instantly Buffy knew the truth. She, Angel and Darla had quite the history together, after all.

Angel steeled himself and turned to face Buffy. She was staring at him now.

"You're the father," Miss Summers said in a horribly neutral tone of voice.

Feeling like a condemned soul about to enter the pits of Hell, Angel just nodded silently.

He actually saw the fist coming and managed to close his eyes before it impacted on his face, breaking his nose and sending quite a bit of his lukewarm blood spraying onto the floor.

The male vampire hit the ground hard, vaguely hearing Cordelia's voice barking in annoyance about how she wasn't going to be the one cleaning up the mess this time. When Angel eventually opened his eyes again, he saw Buffy and Darla looking down at him.

"Nice shot, although I thought he would fly back a lot further and hit the wall," Darla said, still smirking.

"I pulled my punch at the last moment," Buffy said as she continued to stare down at Angel. "Didn't want him out cold for the duration. So. Care to explain, either one of you?"

"Well, a man and woman sometimes...join together in that special way," Darla started, barely containing her laughter.

"Darla!" Angel said, shaking his head as he woozily stood up. "Buffy, Darla is carrying my son..."

"Yeah, figured out that part for myself," Buffy replied nastily, fighting a very real sense of betrayal. "So you lied to me way back when about how vamps couldn't have kids, huh?"

"No!" Wesley and Giles said together, before the Sunnydale ex-Watcher gestured to the LA one to go ahead. "Miss Summers - Buffy - it's true that under normal circumstances, no vampire can have children. But this is a, a special case..."

"Ancient prophecy, mystical pregnancy, blah-blah-blah; been there, done that. I mean I almost gave birth to seven baby demons myself a few years ago," Cordelia interrupted, ignoring the looks that earned her from the Sunnydale crowd. "Can we focus back on Xander, please?"

"Er, Cordelia, if you're thinking what I think you're thinking? You can't, it's impossible. Don't you remember what it was like for him in Sunnydale back then? You surely haven't forgotten the terrible headaches Mr. Harris always used to get, whenever you or anyone else he knew was around?" Wesley asked her impassionedly. "You know that he can't meet with you until 2003..."

"Unless Willow can somehow find a way to fix that spell she did, right?" Cordy shot back immediately, as the redhead in question started in surprise. "Look, Wes, I don't care what I have to do or how long it takes - now that I know he's still alive, I am going to do everything in my power to bring Xander Harris back into my life!"

There was a silence, as Angel and Darla abruptly turned their heads towards the front door. Upon following their glances, Miss Chase saw someone there that made her want to curl up and die.

Her boyfriend, Chuck: who, from the expression on his face, had no doubt just heard her say that.

The man turned and walked back out the door without a word. Cordelia instantly chased after him, "Chuck! Wait! Wait!"

The young woman raced down the hotel's garden path, and eventually caught up to the aerobics instructor. "Look, I can explain what you just heard-"

"You want to know what the really sad thing about all this is?" Chuck interrupted with a quiet, mournful tone. "How it's not exactly a surprise to hear you say that. I mean, deep down I always knew that I was playing second fiddle to that guy in your heart..."

"No, it's not like that! Look, if you'll just give me a chance to explain everything-" Cordelia said desperately.

"What's there to explain?" Chuck interrupted. "You've obviously made your choice, Cordelia. And that's all I need to know. The rest of it is just window dressing, which quite frankly I can do without."

"You..." Cordelia suddenly started to get angry. "So, is that it? We hit a rough spot, and you're giving up on 'us' just like that?"

"No, Cordelia, you are," Chuck said in that same quiet tone that the Chase woman finally figured out was concealed heartbreak. "Lemme put it like this - if I asked you to choose between me and him, once and for all, who would you pick?"

"Chuck, I..."

The man waited, but somehow Cordelia couldn't seem to find any words that wouldn't be either a lie or an evasion. So Chuck said, "I thought so. Look, Cordy, trust me; it's better for us this way. A clean break may be the best. And could you do me a favor? Don't come to my gym anymore, at least not for awhile. It would hurt too much to see you there right now," Chuck asked pointedly.

The tears began to stream down Cordelia's cheeks as she stammered, "Okay."

"I'll go collect my things from your place and leave the key on the table," Chuck added way too calmly. "Say my goodbyes to Dennis too, I guess." Before he walked off to his car he added, "Oh, and if you ever manage to get what you want from that Xander Harris guy, tell him from me - that he won himself one hell of a girl."

Her heart almost breaking in two Cordelia Chase cried alone within the hotel's garden, as Chuck drove off down Hyperion Boulevard.

Police headquarters, Chicago, Illinois. 11:10 AM local time, 12:10 PM EDT

"Through her actions, Officer Patricia Garrett saved countless lives and avoided a major disaster here in our city..."

The rookie police officer in question shuffled her feet as the Commissioner of Police went on with his speech. Next to her was Garrett's partner, Officer Ted Ball. They were in the middle of a line of Federal, state and local law enforcement officials. The room in front of them was full of reporters and television cameras.

Carl and Joan Kolchak sat in the second row of chairs. Joan was taking notes while Carl just listened. "They're really putting on a show," he whispered to his daughter.

"Well, she and her partner prevented a lot of death and destruction," she whispered back. "You heard the Commissioner talk about how big a bomb those guys had in that painter van. This Officer Garret is a real live hero."

Carl smiled. "I like that, be sure to include it in the story you send out."

"I will, Dad. And I swear, the brass at Daley Plaza are totally eating this up. They love it, having something go right for Chicago's finest for a change."

Carl nodded, police scandals in Chicago - or police scandals in general - were a regular item that they wrote about at INS. "Also, they seem pleased with the fact that their hero had no help from the Feds on this one," Kolchak mused.

"There is that," Joan responded. "Whatever crystal ball the Feds used to spot the hijackings, it wasn't working here in the Windy City."

Carl Kolchak chuckled lightly. "The locals always like it when they put something over on the Feds. There might be a story in how they did it, maybe."

Joan didn't look up from her notebook. "I've got a couple of ideas about that." She looked up at Patricia Garrett, who was clearly uncomfortable at all the attention being paid to her. "Yeah. It's something I'll definitely have to look into."

Los Angeles, California. 10:35 AM local time, 1:35 PM EDT

The police captain walked down into the Sixth Street viaduct towards the hub of activity, his tan raincoat looking out of place in the weather today. The center of the activity was a burnt-out van. Various technicians were examining it and disassembling the remains. Up above them on the street a large crowd had gathered, with several TV news crews also there.

The captain walked to a cluster of Federal and local law enforcement officers. "So, is it one of yours?" he asked the lead Federal agent.

The agent in question turned from the others towards the LAPD official. "Well, what we've seen so far does seem to indicate that. The type of van and quantity of the explosives match those used in the other cities. The VIN we recovered from the wreckage matches a van that was rented by two men of Middle Eastern descent. The names we got from the rental company are being traced for connections to terrorist groups. So all in all, I'd have to say yes to your question."

The captain looked around. "Right. Still, there are some things about this that just don't add up to me."

"Such as?"

"Well, why would the terrorists want to blow up a viaduct? There are a million other better targets in LA! And I heard the NBC guys say there was nothing special about the explosion, they just blew themselves up in a normal way."

One of the Federal agents shrugged. "Maybe they screwed up. Pulled in here to prime the explosives, crossed the wrong wire and got blown into little pieces."

It was obvious the cop didn't accept that fully. "Maybe. But what about the buses?"

"Some abandoned buses, you're surprised to see them here?" another of the FBI agents asked.

"Yeah, 'cause those abandoned buses are blocking entrances to the viaduct. The other entrances show signs of something blocking the blast too." The police captain played with the unlit cigar in his hand. "And another question, where did they go?"

"Some of the buses are still here," one of the other Federal agents observed.

The LAPD captain shook his head. "No, I meant the buses at the other entrances! My money says someone was here when the explosion occurred, but they left before we arrived."

"Why would they do that? I mean surely they'd stick around for us to arrive, wouldn't they?" the lead Federal agent said. "Assuming you're right and there were some concerned citizens here, trying to stop the terrorists."

"You'd think so, huh. Also, whoever they were, they knew about the terrorists. They would have had to - how else were they able to trick them into driving into a location where no one would be hurt by the explosion, and then scare them enough so that the terrorists blew themselves up rather than be taken alive?"

"You're making them sound like superheroes or something," one of the junior Feds said, trying to keep a sneer off his face. He didn't notice the other LAPD officers exchanging looks, they knew their captain's reputation from his time in Homicide over the years.

"Well, I don't think they have a comic book, but they're someone we need to know more about."

Richmond, Virginia. 2:14 PM local time, 2:14 PM EDT

"Oh don't you worry, I'm working on the paperwork right now."

Cleburne kept an eye on the workmen working in his kitchen, as he made notes during his phone conversation. "The workmen are patching up the floor as we speak." He listened for about a minute.

"Come on, I know the budget has a special discretionary fund in it for their mischief! Remember, I insisted on it the last time we submitted the paperwork, 'cause this isn't the first time something like this has happened. And don't you dare say boys will be boys or some other cliché like that, I've got a freaking hole in my kitchen floor and roof!"

He scribbled down some more notes. "And another thing, this kind of thing raises havoc with the security system. It's not like I can program it to know the roof being blown off is just the merry trio downstairs getting up to their usual hijinks!"

Cleburne looked up as one of the workmen dropped his hammer. He glared and the workman hurriedly picked up the hammer, quickly going back to work. "Don't give me that! And another thing, do you know how much it costs to have a contractor on retainer for emergency repairs?" He listened for a second. "So I said 'and another thing' twice. I'm under stress here, my investment is becoming a money pit. I didn't intend that when I bought this property!"

"Don't mock the Cleburne retirement fund, I don't see *you* offering up your pension." Cleburne moved out of the way of a couple of workmen who were bringing materials in. "I'm serious." He listened for a few seconds. "Okay, I'll get the papers to you in a little bit. The three of them are downstairs right now. I'm going to pay them a personal visit before I head back to Washington."

"Yeah, I'll ask him about that, but I think he can't help beyond what he has already, all he knows is that someone mailed those letters." Cleburne moved out of earshot of the workmen. "I'm getting Fletcher up here tomorrow, and we're going to meet with the people from the postal service to see if they have any ideas. I mean we're not even sure if it's an organized terrorist act, or just some lone nut."

He listened for about a minute. "I'm not sure that's a good idea, the vaccine is pretty painful and we don't know if they're under threat. Plus it's not like he gets his own mail. Tell you what, I'll talk to them and they can make the decision. No, I think they can make that decision." Cleburne frowned for a second. "Smallpox, you want me to mention that as well? Yeesh, what a world we're living in..."

International Airport, Prague, Czech Republic. 9:10 PM local time, 3:10 PM EDT

"I'm sorry, sir, I know you were scheduled to leave tonight for the United States, but the flight isn't going to leave until tomorrow at the earliest," the attendant behind the airline desk said.

Brother Feodor sighed, this was an unforeseen and unwelcome complication. "What exactly is the problem?"

"It's the Americans. What with the events of the past day or so, they've shut down all air traffic coming into the country. No civilian planes are allowed. The flight obviously can't take off if we don't know whether or not it will be able to land at its destination," was the explanation given by the airline employee.

"I see, so do you have any idea when the flight will be able to leave?" the undercover Abbot for the Order of Dagon asked.

"We're hoping tomorrow afternoon sometime. If you want, you can check back in the morning?"

The monk nodded. He had waited this long, he could wait another evening.

Sunnydale, California. 12:45 PM local time, 3:45 PM EDT

The demon known as Doc made his way through the sewer tunnel. He was easily able to travel up there in the daylight, looking the way he did, but the party he was meeting would draw too much attention to itself if it attempted to do the same. So arrangements had been made for an underground meeting.

He walked into a large chamber. "Hello?" Doc's voice echoed off the wall. The silence that met him lasted for a few seconds.

"You came."

Doc turned to face what had spoken. "Yes. I need an item, a magic tome of sorts. You came highly recommended."

The demon he was talking to stepped out of the shadows. The creature was large and had ridges up and down his body, there was no danger of this demon being mistaken for a human. "Can you meet my price?" it asked.

"For this, no price is too great."

The demon walked further into the room, its feet splashing in the water. "What is it exactly you seek?"

"The Grimoire of the Meclurian Gathering."

The demon drew back at once. "You ask too much!"

"It's what I need, and I'm told that you have the tome," Doc replied, losing the pleasant demeanor. "You will provide it to me."

"No. The Grimoire is too dangerous, its use is forbidden - it can be used to summon...dangerous things," the demon took another step back.

"It will help me bring back Glorificus. How can something which can do that be wrong?" Doc tried a charming smile, which was ruined by his human guise briefly rippling to show the demon underneath, tail and all.

The other demon started shaking its head. "No. No, she is gone, and bringing her back would be a disaster for us all. Besides, I have heard what happened two years ago. I will not be party to anything to do with that, I do not want her assassin coming after me as well."

Doc's eyes fluttered for a second, showing their true appearance. "I care nothing about your cowardice, all I care about is the Grimoire. You will bring it to me. Now. You have no other choice in the matter."

The demon kept edging away from Doc. "You are all alone here, you can't force me to do anything-"

"You fool. What makes you think I came here alone?" All around them several demons came out of the shadows, including Jinx, Dreg and Murk, which caused the reptilian demon to whip his head around in shock and dismay.

"I am never alone. The followers of Glorificus are legion," Doc said with a horrible smile.

Private airfield outside Rome, Italy. 10:03 PM local time, 4:03 PM EDT

"Welcome back, sir," the underling said with the proper respect as the Immortal came out of the Lear jet. "I hope your trip was successful?"

The Immortal deigned to notice him. "Yes, they were most accommodating of my needs. I hear there were some occurrences while I was away, though?"

The underling followed behind as the Immortal walked to the car. "Oh yes, sir. The events in America definitely had an effect here also. I'm told that Colonel Qadaffi is terrified that he is about to be attacked next."

"Good, a scared Qadaffi is one who will be more compliant with my wishes when I need him."

The underling smiled in the way he was supposed to when his master stated some obvious fact like it was a deep insight into the universe. "Sir, Countess Bathory appears to believe that there may be more to the Americans' actions than meets the eye. She is making inquiries of her agents there. She sent word that if we should learn anything, we are to notify her."

The Immortal paused as he arrived at the luxury car. Sometimes he wondered if he should simply tell that vampiress once and for all that they were equals, and that he was not her damned messenger boy. He simply shook his head, though, that was something for another day. "Of course, that goes without saying. For now, though, I am tired and wish to rest. Later on, arrange for a woman to amuse and entertain me. It's unfortunate how my former companion had to become a guest of Charles Taylor's hospitality, but such is life - and no doubt his minions will be enjoying themselves with her for a while."

The underling knew better than to make any comment about that.

A military airfield outside Lisbon, Portugal. 9:10 PM local time, 4:10 PM EDT

The Immortal might not have been so desirous of rest if he could have known the role the former South African mercenary known as Cyrus would play in his future. At the moment, however, Cyrus was driving towards a hangar.

The craggy blond man regretted leaving Lisbon. He had enjoyed himself here, and knew he could have enjoyed himself a whole lot more. However, when the call came, he was a good enough soldier to know when not to delay. His American friends seemed to have accomplished what they wanted to do during the last few days, despite the...collateral damage, or whatever their military called it. Now they were looking at tangling with the things which went bump in the night again.

So they were sending out a call to arms to those who had been in the night before, which definitely included him.

Cyrus parked the car and simply walked into the hangar without looking back, he knew the vehicle would be taken care of. He was met by an Air Force MP holding a clipboard. "Can I see some identification, sir?"

Cyrus had already been through three checkpoints, and if his identification papers had been out of order he simply wouldn't have gotten this far. Still, the USAF man was not going to take any chances, not after everything that had happened back home lately. He looked over the papers Cyrus gave him very carefully.

The MP finally nodded and handed them back to Cyrus. "Thank you, sir. They're expecting you." He pointed over towards a military transport. "You should be in Washington for breakfast."

"What, no food on the flight? And here I was looking forward to the lovely stewardesses feeding me," Cyrus said with a smile.

The MP smiled back, it had been a long tour of duty lately and he was only human. "You'll get the same treatment the brass gets, I'm sure."

Cyrus smirked. "I hope not. I want to be treated better than that!" He then walked past the SP with a jaunty salute and boarded the plane.

Highway between Los Angeles and Sunnydale, California. 1:47 PM local time, 4:47 PM EDT

Giles drove his car down the interstate back towards Sunnydale. Tara sat in the front passenger seat alongside him. She had decided to do that when they'd left Los Angeles, figuring that Buffy and Willow would want to talk together about what had happened on the trip home.

She was quite right, too.

Despite their best efforts, Angel had refused to give the Scoobies any information on how to contact Xander or the secret agents he was with. Willow and Buffy had asked, begged, cajoled, pleaded, and done anything else they could think of to try and get the information, but to no avail.

"Well, that could have gone better," Willow commented.

Buffy stared out the window at the passing scenery. "No argument here from me. God, I knew that they'd gotten close towards the end of senior year. But I never thought they were *that* close! Angel was, is, willing to..."

"...say no to you. Just for Xander," Willow finished the sentence.

"Yeah. I guess I hadn't expected Angel to move on that much. And he clearly has, he's going to be a daddy now after all."

Willow shook her head. "There's nothing bigger than that a guy can do to move on. Y'know, that might be one of the reasons Angel is so loyal to Xander nowadays."

Buffy looked puzzled. "What do you mean, Will?"

"Well, Xander must still be giving Angel some kinda advance knowledge dealie. I mean, like I've said before, how else would Angel have known for me to prepare the spell to ensoul Darla? Xander's been helping Angel avoid the mistakes from the first time around, like he has with us and the government. And Angel's thing, it's really big Buff. I mean think about it, he's spent nearly 250 years being a vampire and now out of the blue - he's going to have a family. That's huge!"

"Well, yeah," Buffy said reluctantly. "But thing is, Xander missed out on a few things."

"Such as?"

"Cordelia," was the one word answer.

Willow nodded. She had spoken with the former cheerleader before the Sunnydale crowd had left town, and the brunette had promised to keep her friend informed on how well her efforts on forcing Angel into giving up the required information would go. It was also obvious to the redhead that Queen C was still carrying a major torch for her ex. "Well, I'm not sure what happened there, Buffy. Uh, we both saw how her boyfriend didn't exactly seem happy when Xander was mentioned, a-a-and I don't think their conversation afterwards outside was all that rosy either." A truck towing a semi-trailer passed the window next to Willow with a loud roar, cutting off anything else she might have said.

Buffy just looked at her best friend, she too had seen the ruined mascara after Cordelia had come back into the hotel a few hours ago. "I don't know, Willow. I mean, nowadays it's been so long since Angel and Cordy were in Sunnydale - I can't help wondering, what was it like in the original history Xander remembers? Maybe Cordelia was still together with him in Sunnydale, at this point? Or did she leave for LA after Graduation, like she did here? More importantly, though, how would things be if we had all been better friends that night outside the Bronze?"

Willow swallowed. "I don't know, Buff. And I'm not sure I *want* to know anymore either. I mean, we can't change what's happened in the past, but can we change things now? Of course we can, we just have to find a way to do so. "

"You really think you can do what Cordy suggested, and modify that spell you did all those years ago?" the Slayer looked askance at the witch.

"I don't know. I mean, Hecate...she's kinda temperamental about that sort of thing," Willow said delicately.

"Well, we have to find Xander first. We still have to find him first," Buffy sighed.

Willow nodded. "We will."

The Magic Box, Sunnydale, California. 2:08 PM local time, 5:08 PM EDT

"Thank you, come again soon and spend more money!" Anya called out to the departing customer.

It had been a brisk and efficient day for commerce at the magic supply store. Anya was happy with the profit margin for the day, particularly since Giles had made her co-owner a few months before. Which was hardly surprising, what with all her contacts Miss Jenkins was the key for the magic store maintaining a good profit margin lately.

Anyway, with Giles in Los Angeles with Buffy and Willow, Anya was in charge of the Magic Box. She was taking advantage of this to try out some novel ideas to sell some of the less popular items. She had sent Andrew to pick up some supplies; and with no customers or Scoobies in the store at the moment, right now she was all alone with the money.

Resisting the urge to check the day's takings again, Anya reached under the counter and took out the remote for the TV located at the end of the counter. She pushed the Play button and the tape started running.

Anya watched Willow's videotape, staring at the screen. This Xander Harris person definitely intrigued her. The stories she had heard about his tongue ever since last Christmas certainly made her want to know more about him, anyway.

{After all,} she thought to herself as the TV screen flickered in front of her, {I might want to try this thing I heard some customers talking about recently, trading up I think they called it?}

"I wonder what his earning potential is. And Harris must know something about the stock market." Anya mused to herself, watching the tape closely. If only she knew the truth, though.

Sunnydale, California. 3:19 PM local time, 6:19 PM EDT

Cassie Newton came through the front door of her house. "Mom, Dad?"

"We're in here!" her mother called out from the kitchen.

"I'll be there in a second!" Cassie walked into the nearest bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet. For the last few days, her headaches had varied in pain and intensity. The last few hours, they had been letting up, but she still wanted to take an aspirin.

She grabbed a bottle and took two tablets, washing them down with water. The girl then headed down to the hallway to the kitchen, with a new spring to her step. As her head had cleared up, Cassie had liked what she had seen more and more.

Wolfram & Hart building, Los Angeles California. 3:36 PM local time, 6:36 PM EDT

"Well, I'd say that now we know why they were so protective of our dear acquaintance, Mr. Alexander Harris," Linwood Murrow snarled to the room full of lawyers. There was a video screen on the wall behind the conference table, and on it was the frozen image of Xander exiting from the airliner in Baltimore.

"We've been trying to find out whatever we can, sir. However, the cover story about it being FBI agents on the planes is being totally bought by the media. If our people ask much beyond that, they risk attracting too much attention to themselves," one of the junior lawyers said.

"And we certainly don't want that, they've only just finished repairing the lobby and cleaning the carpets around here," Lilah Morgan interjected, referring to the visit by the government earlier in the year. She had fully recovered by now from the First Evil's little visit the previous night, as the liaison to the Senior Partners had taken over the matter and relayed the orders for her to cooperate fully with the First. Given how the most ancient form of Evil was quite capable of exterminating the Wolf, Ram and Hart if it so chose.

"Bathory is also asking questions. Her people have been in contact with our Washington branch," Gavin Park said, looking towards the head of the Special Projects division. "I'll contact them to coordinate with her."

Lilah shook her head at once. "No, I'll contact her people. I'm more familiar with that account." Also, she did not want Park and his ambition anywhere near that particular client.

Park nodded with a smirk on his face. "Of course. Just trying to help."

Lilah smiled back. "Of course. However, I'm sure there are other ways for you to contribute Gavin. Perhaps you could talk to our contacts within the LAPD and see if there's some connection with that explosion they've been talking about on the news?" The smirk quickly left the Asian attorney's face.

"What about Mr. Harris? What do we do next there?" The associate named Angela, who had fixed Lilah up on a date a few days previously, asked. "Concentrate our resources elsewhere?"

"No, we still want to avail ourselves of whatever Mr. Harris can offer us. Besides, he is leading us to that *extremely* well-hidden department of the government that's proving to be of concern to so many of our clients." Linwood picked up the remote from the table in front of him and pressed the Play button. He then paused it a few seconds later.

Images of the Siberian agents played on the screen for everyone in the room to see, especially the face of the one and only Joshua Cleburne.

"After all, our problem with them goes way beyond Mr. Harris now."

1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale, California. 4:11 PM local time, 7:11 PM EDT

Joyce made her way from the kitchen to the living room. Buffy and the others had gotten back from LA a short while ago, and they were now in the living room. Dawn was there as well, trying to get information about what had happened during the meeting with Angel.

Joyce made her way to the living room as Dawn said loudly, "Come on, he must have given you some idea on how to get in touch with Xander! He admitted to knowing all about what happened back then and the whole future knowledge stuff, so he has to have *some* way to get in contact with him!"

Willow was the one answered, shaking her head. "He does, but he wouldn't tell us any details apart from the occasional letter thing. Believe me, Dawnie, we tried everything we could think of - short of trying to torture the information out of him!"

"Indeed, uh, Angel did provide us with some information. However, none of it told us how we can contact Xander ourselves," Rupert told the youngest Summers female.

Buffy was off to the side, looking out the window. "Yeah, my ex was more interested in telling us the theme of his kid's first birthday party instead."

Joyce winced at that, Giles had already filled her in on Darla being pregnant by Angel. Joyce knew that it had to be hard on her little girl to have learned that, even though Buffy claimed to have moved on from her first love after the past 2 1/2 years.

"Yes, well, um, th-there have been quite a few...revelations over the last two days, I must admit," Giles responded uncomfortably.

"I could try talking to him. Appeal to his ego with that hurt little schoolgirl act Buffy used to be able to do," Dawn said, ignoring the brief glare from her big sister. "Besides, Angel always liked me, it's probably our best chance to get him to open up!"

Buffy shook her head as she moved away from the window. "No, Dawn. Angel was...pretty determined not to answer our questions, and emotional appeals aren't gonna cut it, not from you or anyone else. It's part of why I'm sure he knows some way to get in touch with Xander if he absolutely has to."

"How do you figure that?" Dawn asked.

"Well, Angel told us about the whole headache issue for Xander and the whole government secret agent thing, so, so, the two together act like a really big stop sign for telling us some way to talk to him," Willow replied. "I mean, I've never seen Angel so determined to say no about something. And his friends were no help either, apart from Cordy. Y'know, it was almost like the civil war between the North and the South, we practically had all the Sunnydale and Los Angeles people on opposite sides today."

Buffy stiffened at Willow's words. "Civil War!" She stood up and went to the TV.

"Buffy?" Joyce asked in confusion as her daughter turned on the VCR and started rewinding the videotape that had been the center of their universe during the last 24 hours.

Willow saw what was playing on the TV. "Buffy, what are you doing? I mean, we musta looked at that tape hundreds of times already!"

"Willow, do you remember that guy we met in the Lemke's bookstore once, the one who really started to go on and on about the Civil War?" Buffy said, folding her arms as she watched the screen, the remote in her right hand.

Willow nodded, scrunching her forehead. "Yeah, uh, he was a Colonel something-or-other. I remember it was really nice of him paying for those books, but what does that have to do with anything?"

Buffy fast forwarded a little bit more and then froze the picture. She stared for a few seconds. "Look familiar?"

Willow looked at the screen. "All I see are Xander and the others are carrying that woman to the ambulance."

"No! Look at the top of the stairs," Buffy said impatiently.

Willow stared at the location Buffy had indicated. After a few seconds, her eyes widened. "Oh my God, that's him! That's the man who kept talking about the Civil War, isn't it?"

"I think so. And he was visiting the bookstore where you work. Mom, your friend's husband, Josef Lemke, he owns it." Buffy said. She turned and looked at the screen. "I'd say we now have somewhere to start looking."

Richmond, Virginia. 7:42 PM local time, 7:42 PM EDT

Fred was sitting on the couch facing the TV. She looked up as Xander walked into the living room. "Hello, Marine." The young woman was definitely getting a kick out of Xander now officially being in the service. "Glad to see you up and about. Your nap went on a lot longer than you thought it would, huh?"

Xander nodded and sat down at the other end of the couch. "Guess I was a lot more beat than I thought. Mother Hen's cure for last night apparently only goes so far."

"Speaking of the good colonel, he left this for you before he left." Fred held up a DVD case from the coffee table in front of her. Xander took it. He looked at the sticky note on the front. It read "You should watch this." He pulled the note off and saw the title of the movie; Tombstone.

{ I shoulda known, the old man gets an idea in his head - he never lets up on it. } Harris looked up when Fred cleared her throat. She was holding up a bowl.

"I made popcorn. And Oz has gone to get some soft drinks."

Xander smiled and scooted over to her, grabbing some of the popcorn. "Then let the movie night begin!"

White House, Washington D.C. 8:17 PM local time, 8:17 PM EDT

"I don't like you, you know. So tell me, why am I here again?"

Richard Clarke looked up from his desk. Standing in the doorway of his office was Joshua Cleburne. "You seen this?" Clarke responded, as he handed over a memorandum.

Cleburne took it and read for a minute. Then he said, "Looks like someone ate their Wheaties this morning but no, I've not seen this paper. It seems that someone is making plans. Damn, I wish we could have gotten through this little episode before we start planning next year's trip."

Clarke got up. "Well, quite frankly, I don't like you either. But I think we can work together on this, at least for as long as it takes to solve this particular problem."

Cleveland, Ohio. 8:47 PM local time, 8:47 PM EDT

Inspector Kate Lockley flipped on the light switch as she walked into her apartment. Somewhat tired, she tossed her keys in the bowl on the table next to the door. The blonde police detective then thumbed through her mail as she sat down on the couch in the living room.

She reached onto the coffee table and turned on the TV. The voice of Dan Rather filled the room and Kate sighed in dismay, as work had already given her all she wanted to know about the events of the last day or so. The Feds had been running her ragged all day with the special detail they wanted her helping out on. So she started flipping through the channels. The young woman finally found what she wanted, a comic doing a stand-up act on Comedy Central.

"There we go. Thank you Lord, I'm sure You of all people know how I need a good laugh right now," Kate muttered. She leaned back and continued going through her mail, only vaguely paying attention to the idiot box.

Hyperion Hotel, Los Angeles, California. 6:12 PM local time, 9:12 PM EDT

Angel stared at the wall of his office from his desk chair. The lights were off and the blinds were drawn, which suited his current mood perfectly. He had tried to resume reading "The Count of Monte Cristo", but that was pointless; too much had happened today for him to get any pleasure out of that timeless piece of literature.

"Well, well. Really getting into the brooding thing tonight, are we?"

Angel looked up and saw Darla standing in the doorway. "I, uh, needed some alone time," the male vampire replied.

"Sweetheart, you've been alone ever since Little Miss Blonde Concepts and her friends left hours ago. So I thought it was about time I should come on in here."

"And do what?"

Darla more or less waddled into the office. "Don't know, really. Cheer you up a bit, maybe? Warn you that Cordelia left muttering about buying some very sharp implements to shove up your ass?" She saw his look and smirked, "I see that got your attention, good. And I have to say, I'm kind of surprised how you're taking the appearance of the Slayer and her groupies. Come on, you had to know that this would happen someday!"

Angel shook his head. "Sure, but I had hoped to not have to deal with it until another two years down the road."

"Two years?" Darla cocked her head slightly.

"Yeah, Xander once said he thinks the headaches will finally go away during May 2003. Y'know, since that's as far as his future memories extend."

"Remind me to get the Kentucky Derby winners off of him before then," Darla smirked. "Oh, lighten up lover!" she said in response to the new look Angel sent her. "What say we turn in early tonight? Maybe things will look better in the morning, somehow."

Angel was silent for a few seconds. "Darla, this whole thing is...difficult."

"Well, of course it is. Everything with you is difficult these days, you and your sense of duty and that whole Champion thing. Sometimes it's so depressing, I wonder whether you'd be happier if someone unleashed an apocalypse to make you snap out of it! Is being a good guy always like this?"

Angel raised an eyebrow. "Not thinking of switching sides, are you? 'Cause I got to tell you, the bad guys pretty much took a beating today."

Darla laughed. "You did too, dear boy. Your ex-girlfriend really laid the smack-down on you, and in a way...it was sheer poetry to witness."

Angel turned back to looking at the wall. "Buffy was just angry, hopefully she'll get over it soon."

"I wouldn't bet on it. That girl has a whole lot of angry to work through, the rest of them as well." Darla carefully sat down in one of the chairs in front of the desk. "I can't help wondering. Were you *trying* to make them angry?"

"What? No, why would you think that?" Angel stared at his sire.

"Well, in the past, you must admit - your mind games always were a piece of art to admire."

Angel frowned. "That wasn't me, Darla."

"I know, and I of all people should know that. The others however, well, they just don't have the history with you that I do. And sometimes you all forget that. Anyway, I think you should talk to Cordelia tomorrow, get her to calm down enough to listen to reason."

"And how do I do that?"

Darla smiled. "You'll think of something, you're crafty that way. Maybe you could simply threaten to fire her? Gwen gets nearly all the visions these days, after all."

"I can't do that to Cordelia," Angel shook his head, briefly wondering when his other seer would return back into the fold. "Besides, she's too stubborn for her own good. I know her, Cordy would make too many waves trying to find Xander on her own. The odds are she'd end up dead thanks to one faction or another! You're right, I'll talk to her tomorrow."

Darla got up, as Angel swiftly came around to help the mother of his son do so. "Well, then I'd say that's enough for one day. Let's just go to bed, and deal with everything else after the sun comes up."

Somewhere in Liberia. 1:40 AM September 13, 2001 local time, 9:40 PM September 12, 2001 EDT

The young child nervously held the AK-47 in his hands as he looked out into the darkness. Behind him, he could hear the sounds of the camp. Even at this late hour, there was still plenty of activity.

Some of the activity was quite scary for the little boy. He had been scared when the soldiers had come for him and the other male children in the village. The wars of Africa always demanded soldiers, and the younger the better. Being torn from his family had been the scariest day of his life.

Until now.

The creatures he had seen come into the camp during the last few days had been far more terrifying.

Some had looked human, but he only saw those at night, and sometimes their faces got incredibly twisted. Others did not look human at all. Some looked like something from out of the stories his mother used to tell him.

Then he had seen what the monsters had done to some nearby villagers. In the time he had been with Charles Taylor's forces, the boy had seen some horrifying things. But they *paled* to what he had seen over the past few days.

He still didn't know what was going on, but he was scared and if he ever got the chance he was going to run away the moment he could.

For now though, the boy just nervously clutched the AK-47 close to him at all times.

University of Georgia, Athens, Georgia. 10:11 PM local time, 10:11 PM EDT

Within the Tate Student Center, Monica Carter made her way from the TV lounge with a book bag slung over her shoulder. She could hear the voice of Peter Jennings on the TV saying, "…the act named the Patriot Act was based on studies undertaken by the Department of Justice in the months leading up to the attacks."

She dodged through the crowd of students, still present even at this late hour, as she took a cell phone out of her book bag. Monica then dialed a number and waited a few seconds for an answer.

"Vic, what have you been able to find out?" she said in a sweet voice, doing what young women have done all over the world since time immemorial; sweet-talking young men for a favor.

"Monica, I've made some phone calls about those people at the game on Saturday. But the names don't match."

Monica frowned. "What do you mean?"

"The names you gave me aren't on any lists for passes to the game."

"How can that be?" Monica muttered.

"Well, for one thing I'd imagine secret agents don't use their real names."

"What?" Monica snapped.

Vic started stuttering, "Uh, what I mean is that if they *were* government agents, well - they probably used fake names, SOP and all that. I looked through the lists of everyone who had field passes, Monica. I've eliminated all of those from UG. However, there is one group of field passes for the alumni office of the University of South Carolina that matches what you described, so it looks like they weren't lying about being from South Carolina anyway."

Monica smiled. "South Carolina, huh? Hmmm. I think a road trip is in order."

Guantanamo Bay United States Naval Base, Cuba. 10:45 PM local time, 10:45 PM EDT

The Marine officer checked his clipboard as he walked down the corridor with doors in the cells along both sides. He was making the rounds, as he did every hour of his shift.

He wanted to make sure all of the 'guests' were nicely settled in for the evening.

Wolfram & Hart Branch Office, World Trade Center, New York City. 11:57 PM local time, 11:57 PM EDT

"Excuse me, Baron Roja, but if you will follow me please?" the secretary asked respectfully.

The aristocratic vampire known as Ivan Roja got up from the couch in the office lobby and followed her down the corridor to a corner office. As he entered, the lawyer in the office stood up from behind the desk. He bowed and indicated the chair set aside for the one-time Hungarian nobleman. "Baron Roja, welcome to the New York branch of the firm. We here at Wolfram & Hart are honored to be able to serve you."

Roja smiled arrogantly and sat down in the chair. "Good, now do you have what I asked for regarding this so-called Timetripper?"

The attorney nodded. "Yes sir, the Los Angeles branch sent us the information you requested."

"With some things left out, no doubt."

The attorney frowned. "Sir, I assure you..."

Ivan Roja waved a hand. "Please, I have dealt with your firm and its Senior Partners before. And I'm sure that once I arrive in California, I can find out for myself the information you and your people conveniently omitted to include. So for now, just tell me all you know about Alexander Harris and his friends." Behind him, the clock on the wall clicked over to show that it was now midnight.

TBC...