Actions and Consequences: Part I - Act 1

Arraignment - December 3rd, 1987

The judge squinted at the defense and then at the prosecution. All new faces today.

"Case number one seven six three — The State of New York versus Niki Valtaine: One count of murder in the first degree, one count of attempted murder."

Niki stood within the surreal haze of the past few days. It seems people were always talking about her, but never to her. Her attorney hadn't said three words to her after looking at her file.

"The State requests remand, Your Honor," Eric Quinlan looked very smart behind the bench of the prosecution, staring confidently ahead without even blinking.

"On what grounds?" the judge frowned and glanced back down at the case file.

"The defendant is unemployed, has no ties to the community and should be considered a flight risk, Your Honor." Quinlan didn't need to look over to see the defense counsel sag.

The judge waited for a moment before looking expectantly to the other bench. "Does the defense have anything to say?"

The young lawyer, even more recently acquired for legal aid than Eric Quinlan, and much less experienced, swallowed and glanced down at his notes. "Uh– Defense submits that the nature of the crime does not indicate the defendant would be a flight risk. As for her unemployment...her only income is from a foreign sponsor and she couldn't support herself even if she did flee. That sponsor has agreed to post bail upwards of fifty thousand dollars, Your Honor."

Addison sat in the front row, a deep furrow on his brow. Niki turned slowly and examined him, but he was not making eye contact with her.

The judge frowned, then after a moment shook his head. "I'm reading here that the charge of attempted murder involves the shooting of an F.B.I. agent." He glanced up with a cold look in his eyes. "No. Bail is denied. Bailiff..." The uniformed officers came and led Niki from the courtroom. "Next case—"

Addison snatched his coat from beside him on the bench and with a deep frown shuffled out of the courtroom.

--

The paper floated down onto Ms. Fischer's desk. She slowly lifted her eyes to see Mr. Kilpatrick. Black suit, black shirt and burgundy tie. Very unhappy. "Yes?"

"You promised me this case," he said rationally. "You said once I was finished with Wehx, I could have this case."

"I meant," she said calmly, returning her eyes to her report, "once you had acquitted Wehx, not once you had liquefied him with your car. You're on probation."

"If I don't get this case, then you can take your probation and shove it up your ass." He stood perfectly still, his tall dark form like an imposing pillar before her mahogany desk. She slowly drew in a breath.

"Don't forget who we are," she glanced up at him momentarily. "Don't forget what we can do."

"Never have," he raised one eyebrow. There was a long moment. "You kept me from jury selection," he said with bitterness. "You got my client remanded—"

"For her own protection," Tawnie muttered, quickly drawing her signature across the page. "And she's not your client unless I say she is."

Logan leaned forward, his hands on her desk, his eyes narrowing. "Don't forget who I am. What I can do."

She leaned back slightly, out of the heat of his glare. She looked at his intensity for several moments, testing his resolve. His determination was unquestionable. "Alright, she's yours." Before he could straighten up, she pulled a sheaf of typed legal paper from under the various papers. "But there's one condition."

Logan folded his hands and cocked his head. He wasn't altogether sure he liked the sounds of this. Tawnie had begun writing in details – dates and names on the legal paper. He recognized his own and that of his new client.

"Condition?"

Tawnie didn't reply for several minutes as she completed the impromptu contract. Finally she scratched her practiced signature over one of the blank lines and spun the page around to face the attorney.

"Wolfram and Hart will take over her case: she'll be lucky if she can recover from that incompetent..." Sigh. "You can represent her on one condition." She shrugged slightly. "You lose."

--

CIFW - 15-15 Hazel Street, East Elmhurst, N.Y., December 4th, 1987

Niki couldn't shake the haze of unreality as she carried her change of clothes into the small cell. Her handcuffs were removed and the door gave a little squeal before it closed with a dull clunk. There was another woman in the cell, laying on one of the bunks, ignoring her.

Niki sat down on the lower bunk and sagged back against the wall. She blinked rapidly, the events from her arrest back at the apartment up until now suddenly solidifying. It was really real. Really happening. The whimsical land of vampires and demons seemed so... irrelevant. Trial. Indictment. Incarceration. These words were her life now.

She slowly looked down at the plain white shirt and grey pants. At least her wardrobe didn't change much. Her beloved jacket had been confiscated and no doubt her apartment had been ransacked. Charges of... what? Murder?

Niki's eyes shifted quickly around as the reality sank it. Megan Brandon. That woman she had... the Deceivers had made her kill.

How had they found out? Harrison. He was awake. Jessica had told her that she would be betrayed. Harrison would – but he didn't know anything. He couldn't. There was nothing to trace her to his shooting. Was there?

She slowly closed her eyes and sank back against the wall behind the bunk. It was real. Somehow. It was all real.

Slayer. The word felt small and inadequate. Not an excuse the Supreme Court would accept. Obviously not something that Addison or the Council could fix. She lifted herself from the wall and stretched out on the bunk, letting sleep take her away.

--

Addison sat in his hotel room fuming, his fingers drumming uncharacteristically on the metal case he had brought. He had secured fifty six thousand dollars American to get Niki out on bail. Out of prison. Back here in private. He slid the briefcase off his lap and onto the bed.

The Council had seen this coming for weeks. Throughout the centuries, they had managed to make charges like these disappear, but ever since Potentials had begun being chosen in America, the collection of influential European elders had found itself without power. But obviously the darker powers had planned ahead. Addison now knew without a doubt that Wolfram and Hart were behind this. The cleverest scheme he had ever seen. And it could not be allowed to be fulfilled. As much as it pained him, Addison had to agree with the Council. Niki was like a daughter to him... but she was the Slayer first and foremost. The only Slayer.

"Your mini-fridge is criminally understocked."

Addison's head snapped around to see Whistler crouching on the far side of the room, peering into the small refrigerator unit. "What are you doing here?"

The demon looked up with a mask of innocence. "Who, me?"

The old Watcher stood, his briefcase clutched in a white knuckled fist. "What are you doing here?" he demanded again, fiercely.

Whistler shrugged and returned to his investigation of the mini-fridge. "Think what you like, you and the Council aren't the last word on authority when it comes to the well-being of the Slayer."

Addison pointed a rigid finger at the crouching demon. "You stay out of this," he hissed. "You're not permitted to get involved in human affairs."

"There's very little going on here in accord with the human order," the demon answered, squinting to see into the back of the small unit. Finally he let the door swing closed and he stood, tugging on his plum jacket to straighten it. "I suggest you back off – let these human games play out. Keep your nose clean."

Addison's frown deepened. "Don't you understand what's at stake here? The entire line of Slayers—"

"I understand perfectly," Whistler said with a sly shrug. "But you've miscalculated the Slayer's assets. She's got more going for her than you know. Have faith."

The Watcher's grip tightened on the metal briefcase. His glare narrowed at the demon in the jacket and fedora. "I'm sorry, Whistler. Faith is something I simply cannot afford. And faith in Niki has historically been a disaster."

Whistler raised one eyebrow in exasperation and he drew in a breath. "You'll regret it."

Addison's glare softened. "I know."

--

Actions and Consequences: Part I - Act 2

Trial - Part 1, December 6th, 1987

Recycled air. The highest quality recycled air. Somewhere a very expensive heating system was sucking the frigid December air into its heart, filtering it, heating it, filtering it again and blowing it into the courtroom. Logan inhaled deeply, his chest filling the black suit nicely.

"All rise." All rose. "The Honorable Judge Ortega presiding." The solid looking man entered cloaked in his long robes. He stepped up to the bench and sat down. At his beckon, those in the

court room sat. Judge Ortega reached into his robes and drew out a pair of bifocals. He slid them onto the bridge of his nose and looked down at the case file.

"Good morning, all. I see we have some new faces – enter your appearances please, starting with the counsel for the State."

Eric Quinlan stood, his chair screeching as he pushed it out behind him. "Good morning, Your Honor. Eric Quinlan, newly appointed assistant district attorney. Not appearing today are my co-counselors William Mason, Samuel Tythe and Richard Forster."

The judge nodded. "Thank you. Defense?"

As Eric sat down, Logan lifted his chair slightly off the floor so it would not screech. "Good morning, Your Honor."

Judge Ortega nodded. "Good morning."

"Counsel for the defense, Logan Kilpatrick of Wolfram and Hart, attorneys at law." Logan sat down.

The judge scribbled on his private note pad. "Thank you. We will hear the opening arguments."

Niki glanced past Logan to Quinlan who stood and stepped from behind his bench. He turned from the defense bench and faced the jury. Twelve random people. Twelve people to decide her fate.

"Good morning," Eric smiled at the jury. They said nothing. Eric's smile was undimmed. "It seems like we're saying 'good morning' a lot, doesn't it?" He turned on Niki, his eyes staring straight at her. "Niki Valtaine is more of a night person, though, isn't she?" He spoke to the twelve jurors behind him but kept his gaze for another moment on the Slayer, sitting with her hands folded next to Logan Kilpatrick who was calmly filling his lungs with recycled air.

"In the coming weeks, we will show that in the dark of night Niki Valtaine stalked the victim, a young woman named Megan, through the street at night — hid in an alley, waiting for her, then stabbed her through the heart with a sharpened piece of wood. Weeks later, the F.B.I. agent who was investigating this very murder, and who suspected Niki Valtaine of being guilty, followed her to an abandoned shop, where she shot him six times."

Niki swallowed, she shifted subconsciously in her seat.

"Six times. Now he's paralyzed from the waist down and has a metal plate in his head. You'll hear his testimony: all the evidence he'd collected up until then which implicated her. To protect herself, she had to shoot him." Eric reinforced his smiled. "But we won't let her get away with it." He made a respectful little nod. "So let's make it a good morning."

Logan's expression was totally passive. His hands were folded and he watched the judge as Quinlan strode confidently back to his bench. Once seated, the A.D.A. turned to glance at him, but Logan continued to ignore him.

"Does defense have an opening statement prepared?" the judge asked, raising an eyebrow at Logan's bench.

Logan stood. "The defense is prepared, Your Honor, but we ask that we be allowed to deliver a statement after the evidence is presented."

Ortega shrugged, removing his glasses. "Your decision." He lifted the gavel and let it fall with a soft bang. "Court is adjourned until this afternoon."

Niki turned and watched Logan's calm and collected gaze sweep around the room to her. He leaned in and spoke directly into her ear. "We need to talk."

--

Logan sat on the edge of the table, looking significantly less collected than he did in court. Niki sat in the cold metal chair, grateful not to be in cuffs.

"Okay," the lawyer in black said reasonably. "Let's pretend for a minute that I'm not your lawyer..." he looked at her and his professionalism dropped away. "Niki, what the hell!?"

The Slayer shrugged her shoulders. "What? I... kinda accidentally killed the girl. The Deceivers made me think I was stalking a vampire. They even made me think she dusted!"

Logan scratched his eyebrow absently with his pinkie finger as he concentrated on something else. "Uh huh. And the F.B.I. agent? You shot him six times?"

Niki held up a challenging hand. "No — that's a lie. I lured him to the building to finish the Goths and they shot him." She shrugged helplessly. "I don't know why they think I did it, except obviously Harrison thinks he can get me put away for that, since he can't actually prove I killed vampires."

"He knows about vampires?" Logan squinted unsure of where the Wolfram and Hart circle ended.

"No... I don't think so." She frowned and thought about it. "No, he just thinks I'm a serial killer who... Uh... incinerates her victims. He's got some quaint name for me, apparently been chasing the Slayer line for years."

Logan took a deep breath and stood. "Okay. We can work with that. The other witness they're calling is some guy..." Logan flipped through the file on the table. "Uh... Guy named Jesse Trent." He looked up and saw Niki's shocked expression. "Which... I'm guessing is a surprise to you."

"Jesse?" Niki slumped deeper into her seat. "What... why is he testifying?"

Logan's eyes shifted uncomfortably and finally settled on the page. "Um. Well, his deposition states that he discovered one of the key pieces of evidence... the blood-stained stake." His eyes lifted to meet hers. "Do you know where he might have found it?" The answer was staring at him from the file. He wanted to hear it from her.

Niki was breathing fast, her eyes flitting back and forth as she tried to recall where she might have left the incriminating piece of wood. She would never have left it out...? Would she? Be so stupid like that? She scoffed at herself: That question easily answered itself.

Logan swallowed. "He said you two were... intimately involved and you went out one morning and he found it in a drawer." The question remained unspoken. Were you intimately involved? "He didn't just break in, did he?"

Niki slowly shook her head. How could she have been so stupid! He will betray you. Her parents had warned her. She shouldn't have trusted Jesse to be alone in her apartment. She glanced up to her ex-lover. "I guess you're the one I trust now." Logan frowned. "So what do we do now?"

Logan cocked his head and stood from the table, pacing with his hands clasped behind his back. "Well, Eric —the prosecutor— he a good lawyer. He's going to vilify you and I bet he's going to succeed. I don't expect anybody on the jury to have a lot of sympathy for you... no offence."

Niki dismissed it. "Can't you just... you know..." she aimed her finger like a gun. "Pshew: Not Guilty?"

Logan was shaking his head. "No... See, my law firm has this thing about me using magic to affect the outcome of a trial. Big magical contracts supported by, like, a zillion shamans and witches. I can't touch the jury or the judge... or even Eric for that matter." He raised his eyebrows. "On the plus side, as my client you're also protected from magical interference."

Niki rolled her eyes. "Great."

--

Addison slowly pushed the needle through the membrane at the opening of the small vial of amanitin. As he drew the plunger back and filled the syringe with the clear yellow liquid, he considered, yet again, what he was doing. One poke with this and she'd have ten days. Terrible agony, then death. No treatment. Nothing the doctors could do. By the time she began to feel symptoms, he would be out of the country. That was how the Council wanted it. No international incident. Just one more death and it was done; the line was secure.

The old Watcher slid the plastic guard back over the needle, then set the syringe down on the night table. He carefully placed the empty vial of amanitin back in the metal briefcase and closed it.

The hotel room door exploded inward with such a force that the old man was thrown back onto the bed. Through the rubble of the entire doorway and surrounding wall, three large, fearsome looking demons strode in, their bodies bristling with tufts of fur and knobby horns. They hissed when they saw the Watcher and charged at him.

With the deadly efficiency of a former British military operative, Addison pulled the gun from beneath his pillow and shot two silenced bullets into the first demon's face. It dropped dead at his feet.

The second demon took a shot in the shoulder and roared, launching himself at the old man, getting as far as raking its claws across his face before taking another three bullets in the chest.

Addison could not prevent the gun from being knocked from his hand, however, by the swift paw of the third demon, which wrapped its fingers around his throat and began choking.

Addison clawed at the demon's face, digging his thumbs into the thing's beady eyes until it released him. Then with a sharp backhand, he sent it stumbling sideways where it collapsed into the night table. The Watcher went for his gun and the demon lifted the lamp, hurtling it at the old man who ducked just in time. With three muffled pops, the demon fell, leaving Addison holding the gun tightly in his right hand.

Panting and struggling to regain his composure, Addison straightened his waistcoat and stepped over the corpses of the demons. Sent by Fischer, no doubt. She obviously had a lot to learn about subtlety. He looked down with dismay at the remains of the night table and the shattered syringe letting its poisonous contents soak into the thick hotel carpet. Coniine it was, then.

--

Trial - Part 4, December 9th, 1987

Logan licked his lips. Harrison had been sworn in and was sitting at the witness stand in his wheelchair, Quinlan having made a spectacle of subtlety to have him wheeled up, establishing pathos with the jury. Logan certainly wasn't going to be popular discrediting him.

"Mr. Harrison, good morning." Eric strode from his bench, his tone renewed with courtesy and gentleness. The former F.B.I. agent nodded slightly in response. "Could you please tell the court what occurred the night of November the eighth?"

Harrison nodded and began his practiced testimony. Niki kept her eyes on him, seeing his eyes open for once and seeing the suppressed hate which resided there. His voice was thinner, no longer amused at anything. When he spoke he looked only at Quinlan, avoiding Niki completely.

"I was on a stake-out outside her apartment and when the sun went down, she left. That was usually her routine." Harrison blinked, his face expressionless but his eyes revealing everything to the Slayer listening. "She was on foot and I followed her at a distance in my car."

Quinlan nodded. "Can you tell us what happened once you reached the address of 122, 37th Avenue East?"

Harrison nodded wearily. "She descended the stairwell and after a few moments, I followed."

"You were armed?" Quinlan said it mostly as precaution, to get it out of the way so Logan couldn't exploit it.

Harrison nodded again. "Of course."

"Did you have your weapon drawn at that time?"

The former agent shook his head. "No. I followed her to a dark, abandoned room. She was ...waiting for me there." He glanced down as, no doubt, he had rehearsed. "The next thing I remember I woke up in the hospital and they told me I would never walk again."

"Prosecution enters as evidence Exhibit B—" Quinlan lifted the gun in the plastic bag and set it before Harrison. "This is the gun identified as having fired the bullets which crippled you that night, isn't that right?"

Harrison nodded. "That's it."

"This gun," Quinlan lifted it up and walked towards the jury to show them, "has Niki Valtaine's fingerprints on it." There was a subtle change in the mood of the jury as several of them looked to Niki sitting at the defense bench. She stared straight ahead, her jaw tight. Quinlan permitted himself a little smile. "No further questions, Your Honor."

The prosecuting attorney flashed Logan a challenging glance as he went to sit down. Logan wasn't paying attention. He took on a classically puzzled expression as he stood. He glanced down at his file as if it was troubling. Taking it with him, he approached the witness stand.

"Mr. Harrison," Logan said with a frown, "you said you were on a 'stake-out' outside of Niki's apartment."

Harrison nodded. "Yes." He said no more than necessary, as he had been instructed.

Logan's frown deepened. "So you were under orders— you were assigned to watch Niki by the F.B.I.?"

Harrison swallowed. "Not exactly."

Logan blinked very noticeably. "I'm sorry? Not exactly?" He flipped through a few pages very deliberately. "It says here that you were actually on sabbatical. So exactly what were you doing outside of Ms. Valtaine's apartment that night?"

Harrison clenched his jaw. "Niki Valtaine was a suspect in a classified F.B.I. case concerning a series of murders. I was spending some of my leave investigating her."

Logan nodded for a moment, then stopped. "A series of murders?" Harrison nodded. "How many? That is, how many victims was Ms. Valtaine suspected of killing the night you waited outside her apartment?"

Harrison was silent for a moment. "We're not sure."

Logan, who had already known the answer, cocked his head in surprise nonetheless. "You're not sure?"

"It could be as many as several dozen," the agent said defensively.

"But you're not sure," Logan replied. A statement, not a question. "Could you tell me the names, then, of some of the apparently numerous victims this serial killer has killed which led you to New York?"

Harrison's jaw was working in frustration. "No," he said quietly.

"Not one name?" Logan reapplied the puzzled look. "You're telling me you can't name one victim of this supposed serial killer?"

"The F.B.I. was never able to recover the bodies of the victims," Harrison defended hotly. "Most of the murders were reported to us by third parties—"

"Most," Logan held up a finger. "So you've seen some of these murders taking place yourself?"

Harrison nodded harshly. "Yes. I personally witnessed Niki Valtaine killing at least ten people."

Logan nodded in appreciation. "Well," he said as if impressed, "I'm sure their families will be glad to hear their murderer has been caught. Were you the one to tell them their loved ones were murdered?"

Harrison's jaw was clenching again. "No," he said bitterly.

Logan frowned. "Oh, why not? Since apparently no one else witnessed this terrible event."

"There was no way to identify who was murdered — as I said there were no bodies to examine." Harrison was defensive as if he sensed where this was going. He was fairly sure the sympathy the jury had for him was evaporating as his anger grew.

"No bodies?" Logan said with a frown. "Where did they go?"

"She incinerated them," Harrison said with clenched teeth.

Logan nodded, as if in understanding. "Oh, I see. She... killed them, then... what? Dragged more than ten people, on foot, to a furnace and incinerated them?" He shrugged. "Or did she just pile them up in the middle of the street and doused them with gasoline?" His tone had what he judged to be the right about of cynicism.

Harrison was smoldering, his eyes burning hot coals. "No," he said hotly. "She had a sword. When she cut off their heads, they were instantly incinerated."

Logan smiled a pitying smile. He didn't need to say anything. It was clear Harrison's credibility was shot. After a long moment, Logan turned another page in his file. "You were shot in the head, correct?"

Eric Quinlan shot out of his seat. "Objection, Your Honor! Relevance?"

Judge Ortega rolled his eyes and looked from Logan to Harrison. "Overruled. I think we can all see the relevance Mr. Quinlan." He turned to Logan who was innocently reading the report. "But get on with it Mr. Kilpatrick — you've made your point."

Logan nodded. "One more thing." He walked to his bench and lifted the gun in the plastic bag and brought it to the witness stand. "Did you see Niki Valtaine carrying this the night of November eighth?"

Harrison shook his head sullenly. "No."

Logan raised an eyebrow. "Are Niki Valtaine's fingerprints the only fingerprints on this weapon?"

Harrison shrugged. "I don't know."

Logan again took on a pitying expression. "For the record: the answer is No."

Quinlan scribbled some notes down and looked up to see Logan flashing him a knowing look. Eric kept his cool. This might be more difficult than he had thought.

"No further questions," Logan said as he sat down. The witness was excused and he was wheeled bitterly from the witness stand. He threw a hateful glare towards the defense table as he passed but both Niki and Logan avoided looking at him. Logan leaned over and whispered into the Slayer's ear, the euphoria of triumph still present. "See: piece of cake."

--

Actions and Consequences: Part I - Act 3

CIFW - 15-15 Hazel Street, East Elmhurst, N.Y., December 11th, 1987

Niki sat up in her bunk in her cell. Some sort of hazy yellowness had filled the small space. She looked around with the confusion which always preceded the realization that this was a vision. But the visions of late all told her one thing.

She started when a hand touched her shoulder. Turning she saw her mother and father lying on her bunk which was suddenly large enough to accommodate them all. Her father had his arms wrapped around her mother and they were looking at each other very fondly.

Niki felt a pang of sadness. Then the queasy feeling overrode it as her parents' expressions became blank and they both turned to face her.

"He will betray us," they said in unison.

Niki's eyes opened and she found herself staring at the wall. She frowned with fatigue, rolling onto her back. She wasn't used to a bed this small. Or to being around so many other women. Or to seeing Logan so often.

She groaned as she sat up, touching a tender spot on her forehead. She must have rolled into the wall while she was sleeping. What was with the vision? He will betray us? Yeah... thanks for the heads up! He already did betray us. Whichever he it was: either Jesse or Harrison, though Jesse's betrayal cut a bit deeper seeing as how she never slept with Harrison and never tried to have Jesse killed. She groaned and rubbed her head. It was all so weird. The only normal thing about the situation was Logan. He was the rock she could count on — the person Jessica had said she should trust. Well... she was trusting him.

--

Rachel sat patiently, waiting for her husband to explain. He had called her to the table and had met her curious gaze with something which could only lead to trouble.

He took a measured breath. He wasn't afraid to tell her. He was a big boy. "My new client is Niki Valtaine." He waited patiently for her to respond, expecting shock, anger, something. Instead she frowned a little.

"...So?" She raised an eyebrow. "Who's Niki Valtaine?"

He lowered his gaze. Hadn't expected that. He swallowed, hoping the silence would explain. Obviously not. Finally he looked up again to her confused frown. He took a deeper breath this time. "You remember when I slept on the couch...?"

Slowly the confusion lifted and coldness replaced it. Her eyes narrowed. Her anger towards him for having cheated on her had begun to fade, but now it was dredged up anew. "You're seeing that... that woman again?"

Logan was shaking his head. "I'm not seeing her." He bit his lip. "I do remember what you said. I was just assigned the case and I couldn't refuse it— I wanted to tell you as soon as possible."

"What did she do?" Rachel inquired, subconsciously crossing her arms and leaning away from the table.

"I can't really go into–" then he met her glaring eyes. "Murder one and attempted murder," he said quickly. There was always marital privilege which covered for his breach of client privilege. Besides, Niki would understand, and never ever meet Rachel, so it was fine.

Rachel sighed deeply and shrugged. "I don't see why I should be happy you're telling me this. I would be satisfied if you lost the case."

"You're not the only one," Logan muttered.

"So... what? Now I know for sure that even when you are working late you're out seeing her. Am I supposed to thank you for bringing this to me? Do you expect me to trust you now?"

Logan swallowed. That hurt. "That's not all I had to tell you," he said, sitting slightly taller across from her. "I have the resources of my firm to work with. Even though I'm working the case by myself, I don't ever actually have to see her outside of the courtroom. I can arrange for an assistant to conduct the interviews and do the prep work with her, if that will give you some peace of mind."

Rachel was slow to respond. "Well it wouldn't hurt," she said at last. Her expression softened. "Look, it's not that I don't trust you..." then she found a new reserve of resentment. "You know, it is actually that I don't trust you. I'm sorry —this says a lot about me, I know— but I would feel better if you didn't see her." Her expression was clouded but no longer precisely on his account.

After a long moment, Logan nodded and took a deep breath as he stood. "Okay, I'll have that all arranged by tomorrow. I'm glad that's out in the open." Wrong thing to say, he winced.

Rachel was nodding, very slightly, in bitterness again. "I'll bet you are," she said under her breath. As long as you're feeling better. As he walked quietly from the kitchen she suddenly stood from the chair, her troubled expression gone. "Logan—"

He turned around. "What?" he said with concern.

"Why?" she asked in earnest.

Logan blinked and considered it. "Why did I take the case...?"

She shook her head once, sharply. Her words were sharp and clear as crystals. "Why did you have sex with Niki Valtaine?" Her eyes were angry and worried at the same time.

Logan dropped his gaze and shook his head bitterly. "Because I'm a fucking idiot. A child... and an idiot." He looked back up and met her gaze.

"Don't give me the bullshit answer," she said quietly. "Tell me why. Why her?"

Logan worked his jaw and brought a hand up to scratch his eyebrow with his pinkie finger as he always did. He blinked, staring at the linoleum floor for a long time. Finally he looked up again at his waiting wife.

"Part of her reminded me of who you used to be." He held her gaze, letting her examine him for deceit. She would find none. "She was vulnerable. She... needed me."

Rachel shrugged her shoulders. "What changed in me?"

Logan frowned and shook his head helplessly. Don't be like that. "No, it's not—" he scoffed at the cliché. He shook his head with bitter self-loathing. "I slept with another woman because I'm a fucking idiot. I hope it's me who's changed." He turned and stepped from the kitchen. "I'll go arrange that thing now."

Rachel swallowed and sat back down. "For what it's worth," she called out after him, partly hoping he wouldn't hear, "I hope you win."

--

Niki frowned with dismay. "You don't understand — I need to talk to Logan."

Aaron shrugged helplessly. "All I know is what Mr. Kilpatrick tells me. He said he wasn't going to be able to meet with you out of session any more. Anything you have to say to him you're going to have to say through me."

Aaron Shields was a slight young man, looking like he was fresh out of grad school. He barely knew his way around a clipboard, let alone a courtroom. That was why Wolfram and Hart had assigned him to assist Logan: to ensure the job was done to the letter of the rule book, but as inefficiently and clumsily as possible.

With Aaron had come three large men who, if they hadn't been stuffed into uniforms, would have looked much more at home in a pro wrestling match. Niki could tell they weren't vampires, just goons, and by the looks of Aaron Shields... well, the only thing that made sense was that someone didn't want her to get physical with him.

Niki groaned. What did Logan expect she was going to say to this kid? I've been having visions about betrayal: I think someone else is going to turn on me. Hardly. Then a thought occurred to her which hadn't all the time she had been here. What if it was Logan himself?

She had dumped Logan, after all. She had thought they were over that —it was years ago now— but maybe... Maybe he had changed. Why was he taking her case? He wasn't the best at his firm; he was new. If he wanted her to get acquitted, why didn't he pass her case on to the most senior, most competent lawyer of this firm of his? He was a small claims lawyer as far as she was concerned...

The Slayer shook her head. No, you're just being paranoid, she told herself. He's doing fine. He's going to win. If he isn't coming to see me, it's because he can't, not because he doesn't want to. Better just sit on this betrayal thing for now.

"Fine," she said, hanging on to her annoyance at the peon sitting before her. "If I can't talk to Logan directly, I want to go back to my cell."

Immediately, the three goons stepped forward. Aaron tensed but they advanced no further than the table. Aaron looked at the three large men as if suddenly realizing they existed. Finally he stood, knocking on the door behind him. The door unlocked and a guard in uniform stepped in.

"She wants to go back to her cell," he said pointing at Niki but eyeing the muscle.

The guard shook his head, lifting a piece of paper from the inside of his uniform's breast pocket. "W.P.," he said challengingly. "She goes in solitary. Court order."

"W.P.?" The Aaron snatched the paper from the burly guard. "What the heck is W.P.?"

"Witness Protection," the man said resentfully, snatching the order back. "The judge agrees that she's in danger in the prison population – she's a key witness in a case they're building."

"What?" Niki stood, her gaze moving quickly from the guard to the young man. "What case— A case against whom?"

"That's privileged information," the guard assured her with a trace of contempt. The three goons stepped forward to surround the Slayer. "It's safer if you know as little as possible."

Three pairs of rough hands shuffled the Slayer from the small room towards solitary confinement. The safest place for a prisoner in the entire prison.

--

Logan set the phone down, his gaze narrowing. Fischer. He stormed into Tawnie Fischer's outer office, marching straight past the protesting secretary and into the inner sanctum. Someone was sitting across from her, but he didn't care.

"What's this I hear about you sticking my client in Witness Protection?" he demanded, slamming his hands down on her desk.

Patiently, she closed the file for the man sitting across from her. "Would you excuse me a moment, Michael?"

The man in the white shirt and blue tie nodded in understanding. Tawnie stood and walked stiffly to the other end of the room. Logan followed.

"Logan," she said through a tight smile. "What are you doing in my office during a meeting?"

"You got a court order placing my client in solitary confinement?" he hissed, trying to keep his voice low enough that the man in the silk shirt couldn't hear the words, but could catch the anger.

"For her own protection," Tawnie said calmly, trying not to sound as angry at the intrusion as Logan did at her presumption. "What's the difference, you're not seeing her anymore anyway. She's a witness in a case—"

"A case against whom?" Logan snapped back.

"Maybe if you started showing a little respect for this firm, you might find yourself in the know more often," she offered, raising an eyebrow. Her smile disappeared in an instant and she lifted an accusing finger. "And don't forget your goal here. You're going to lose this case. Niki Valtaine is going to spend the rest of her life in prison—"

"What is so damn fascinating about this case!?" Logan exploded, no longer concerned with the volume of his voice. "I already know you manipulated the prosecution to get the death penalty off the table— now you've got the judge to stick her in protective custody— What's your obsession with her?"

Tawnie dropped her gaze, as if embarrassed for him. "Logan." She patted him gently on the shoulder. "Logan, my bosses would like nothing more right now than to have the one and only Vampire Slayer locked away for the rest of her natural life." She smiled at his ghost-white face. "And the natural life-span of a Slayer? Who knows... Another eighty, ninety years even. That's eighty or ninety years without a Slayer to pick off our clients or attack our employees." She took him by the shoulder and turned him towards her desk, leading him to the mess of paper there.

Michael was sitting patiently, ignoring the exchange, pretending he was alone in the room. Logan had not the slightest interest in him. Instead, Logan was looking down at a sheet of paper Tawnie was unfolding.

"This," she said, as if speaking to a child, "is what's going to keep Niki alive until she can be indicted." Logan took the document and Tawnie read it for him just to assuage his disbelief. "It's an arrest warrant for Richard J. Addison."

--

Actions and Consequences: Part 1 - Act 4

"What the hell is the charge?" Logan frowned at the arrest warrant, trying to think of anything Addison had done which was actually criminal. As far as the lawyer knew, he was just monumentally useless and occasionally degrading and annoying.

"Some random charges we pulled out of a hat," Tawnie shrugged. "Mob connections, money laundering, drug smuggling — whatever was needed to get the judge to agree. We're not above making 'mistakes' to serve our ends..."

"Mistakes like 'Oops, I thought this was real evidence. Oh well.' Those kinds of mistakes? Good to know," Logan said suspiciously.

"Not for an actual trial," Fischer dismissed with irritation. "We'll have Addison killed as soon as we take him into custody—"

"What is going on!?" Logan threw the warrant onto her desk. Michael, who was sitting patiently, pretending not to hear, glanced at the document with distant interest. But Logan was busy shouting at Fischer. "Why do you care about the Watcher?"

"We care about the Slayer," Fischer argued. "We care that she gets through this trial alive: to remain alive for a very long time. Obviously there are those —like yourself— who are interested in keeping that from happening." She took his arm and led him away from the desk again to stand near a floor to ceiling bookshelf.

"Listen, Logan," she said gently, as if all of a sudden privacy was again an issue. "I know you and Niki were involved. I know you don't want her to go to prison, but I also know you don't want her killed."

"Are you threatening her?" Logan frowned, pulling his shoulder from Tawnie's grasp.

She squinted at his ignorance and scowled. "Of course not!" She shook her head. "You don't get it, do you? We're powerful. If you weren't so deep in this organization to begin with, I'm sure you'd be quick to toss around the word evil. It is in our best interests to see the Slayer contained: removed from the world where she can do no damage to us. Sending her to jail does that for us. If we just killed her another Slayer would pop right up — like goddamn whack-a-mole. It's not the Slayer we're concerned with, it's the Slayer line. If we can get Niki indicted, the first time this has ever happened in the history of the Slayer, we'll have put the Slayer line on hold — in stasis. Do you understand how much more powerful we'll become in her absence?"

"So what does Addison have to do with all this?" Logan asked, feeling a nervous tension building in his gut. If she was telling him this, it was because she was confident of success.

"The entire point of the Council of Watchers is to safeguard the line of Slayers. It's their duty to make sure there's always a Slayer out there doing her job." Fischer slowly drew out a random book from the shelf and opened it to its inside cover, examining it as she spoke. "But just like us, they don't give a crap about the actual Slayer — only the line matters."

Logan was gazing into the distance. "They won't allow her to be incarcerated." He locked eyes with her again. "They'd kill her first, wouldn't they?"

Tawnie nodded as if congratulating a child. "Well done," she said sarcastically. "We've tried to kill Addison, but he's going to stop at nothing to keep Niki from prison." She closed the volume and placed it back on the shelf. "So we'll do what we do best. Use the system—"

"He wouldn't kill her if he did think I was going to lose the case," Logan said distantly. This caught Tawnie's attention and she grabbed him roughly by the arm again.

"You are going to lose," she hissed, her eyes narrowing. "You may have fucked her years ago, but don't forget who you're fucking with now. You are solidly in bed with us now. And you're not the only one we can hurt—"

"I know" Logan frowned, pulling his arm away again and smoothing the creases there. "You don't have to remind me: hostages to fortune... I get it."

"I hope so," Fischer forced a smile onto her face as she turned and started back towards her desk. "We'll be watching this case, Logan, and we'll be watching you." She sat down across from the man in the white shirt and the blue tie. "Now, where were we?"

Logan left her office and marched straight to his own, lifting the receiver of his phone and dialing the number. After five rings, he stabbed the hook switch and disconnected. After the dial tone began again, he punched in the number for the Correctional Institute for Women on Riker's Island.

"Aaron Shields," he said after the woman on the other end was done speaking. There was a pause as she checked something and informed him of the results. "Then find him!"

--

Niki sat very quietly on the metal chair at the metal table in the small room. She was glad to be out of solitary and would just let Aaron talk.

He had a list of things to talk about, skipping through them uncertainly since most of them were odd and didn't seem to have anything to do with the case. The more the young man read Mr. Kilpatrick's notes, the more he began to suspect there was more going on between the two of them than a lawyer client professional relationship should allow.

He glanced up at Niki who was sitting very quietly in her chair. She was attractive enough, he decided. Most of the women here looked a lot alike in their white shirts and grey pants. They were usually a lot more sullen and unhappy to see him than he would like, but such is life. He returned his gaze to the notebook.

"He says here that the next court session is two days from now — uh, I guess he means tomorrow, since this was written yesterday — what's today, the sixteenth?" She met his gaze with a blank stare. "...And the prosecution will be calling their star witness..." he flipped the page and frowned. "It... it doesn't say here who that is. I guess he knows." He looked up to her again, lowering the page. "I'm sure he's ready. He's a really great guy — one of the best lawyers I've worked with."

Niki met his gaze and raised a skeptical eyebrow. "How many lawyers have you worked with?"

Aaron suddenly felt very uncomfortable. "Uh, a few — He says here that he thinks the prosecution is going to try and work in an expert witness to follow up their star witness. He's got the name of someone... a medical examiner. Probably the one who did the autopsy on the Megan Brandon woman. He's got an expert of his own—" Aaron frowned. "Uh... a cultural expert, it looks like. Weird." He immediately glanced up, fearfully. "Uh, I mean, I'm sure Mr. Kilpatrick knows what he's doing. He's a really great guy—"

Niki looked down at the handcuffs which were hanging from her wrists. Solitary confinement was bad, but if this guy went on for much longer, she was going to have to—

The door opened and a guard came in, looking annoyed to have been drafted as the messenger boy. "There's a call for you at the front desk," he said to Shields, taking a deep breath. "And the man outside is getting really anxious to see her—" he indicated Niki who perked up with interest.

Aaron nodded. "Okay, I'll take the call. Who's it from, by the way?" The guard shrugged as they left the small meeting room.

Niki looked up at the three goons who were her protective detail assigned to protect her from something they wouldn't disclose. She had questioned them constantly when she had first been placed in solitary but had begun to think even they didn't know why she needed protecting. They were staring blanking at the rear wall as they stood like big cuts of beef by the door.

Then the door opened. Niki's eyes widened with delight. "Addison!" she stood and raised her hands, which she suddenly realized were still cuffed.

"It's all right," he said, gesturing with an open hand, "don't get up on my account." He stopped just short of sitting down, seeing the three goons who were standing guard. "Do you think we could have a moment, please?"

The head goon gave his two subordinates a skeptical glance, then shrugged his shoulders and moved towards the door. "Two minutes," he said gruffly. "We'll just be outside."

Niki nodded her appreciation and sat back down as Addison found his seat. "It's good to see you," Niki said warmly, looking forward to at the very least a lecture. She hadn't been alone with him since this had all started and if anything deserved a lecture, then being on trial for murder certainly did. She could only imagine the squirming going on among the Council. This brought a smile to her face.

"Niki," Addison began, folding his hands on the table. "I have a confession to make." The smile slowly fell from the Slayer's face. Addison looked at her solemnly for a long moment. "I was going to bake you a pie with a file in it." He reached into his waistcoat and drew out a long glass syringe. "But then I realized, I can't bake."

There was silence for a long time as Niki's eyes slowly moved from the syringe of fluid to its holder. With a very slow, disarming motion, Addison slipped the cover from the needle's length, lifting it up to examine it in the light of the single barred window.

Very carefully, he tapped the bubbles from the end and depressed the plunger slightly, letting a small jet of fluid squirt out onto the table.

"What are you doing?" Niki said in a hoarse whisper.

Addison stood from his seat and held a hand out, as if he wanted her to feel at ease. "It's okay, Knicks—"

She jumped out of her seat and backed away from Addison and the table. Her cuffed hands were raised in front of her as her father figure advanced on her. "Addison, what are you doing?" she repeated, her muscles coiling, getting ready for a fight she had never imagined would happen.

The old Watcher slowly came around the table, the needle held back, out of her reach, but ready to strike out like a snake if the opportunity arose. His other hand was outstretched, as if he were offering to help her from the edge of the cliff. The sight made her sick. She backed as far from the advancing menace as she could, closing her fists as tight as she could.

In one quiet instant, she closed her eyes and pulled her wrists apart, feeling the burning pain of the cuffs digging in but also feeling the chain between them give. Her eyes snapped open and she assumed a defensive crouch. "Don't come any closer," she advised, the feeling of betrayal replaced by growing anger. Of all the people in whom she had trusted... "Don't you dare take another step, you son of a bitch—"

"Knicks," he said gently, slowly inching forward, as if herding a dangerous animal into a cage.

"Don't call me that, you fuck," she spat back, smacking his outstretched hand away from her. He paused for an instant, then continued forward. Bit by bit, Niki was backing away. She didn't know what the hell was in the syringe, but this was beyond any doubt the betrayal her parents had warned her of. Her blindness to it made her all the more angry.

"Niki," he said a little more sternly. "This is for the best. You hold the power of the Slayer. If you go to prison, that power is locked away with you. We can't afford to let that happen."

Niki's eyes were now fixed solidly on the advancing syringe. "So you're going to bust me out of here?"

Addison shook his head once. "We can't do that. You're in too deep. This is the only way. I'm sorry."

Niki's face twisted in disgust. "You're sorry?" She demanded, straightening a little. "You're not fucking sorry—" her eyes widened as she realized how much money he had offered to get her out on bail. "You've been planning this since the beginning!" She glanced around the room as if the answer had been there the whole time, staring her in the face. She turned back to him with a new look of betrayal in her eyes. "How long?"

Addison was still approaching, much more cautiously as her anger grew. "That meeting in England," he said matter-of-factly. "They had become aware that you were being investigated and that charges were imminent."

Niki glared with cold hatred. "So instead of attacking the system you attack me? One of your own?"

Addison made a little shrug. "You were the weakest link. The Council has unfortunately had to do this on more than one occasion," he admitted. "For the good of the line."

"For the good of the fucking line," she repeated with contempt. Just then the door opened and Addison's eyes flitted for an instant away from the Slayer. Niki gritted her teeth and lunged...