Reckless Season Two Chapter 9: Justice, a buffy: the vampire slayer fanfic

Justice - Act 1

Niki's smile blossomed into a full and musical laugh. Her eyes lit up and she shook her head with amusement. "What's this?"

As Logan led Niki into her apartment, Whistler, Jessica and several people she didn't know all stood and applauded. "It's your party," he said with a grin, "Happy Mistrial." He kissed her on the cheek.

Niki laughed again, slowly entering and looking around. Besides Whistler and Jessica, the seer, there were five others whom she didn't know. They all seemed to be laughing and having a good time, regardless.

Whistler waved them off as Niki approached him. "Demons I know — don't worry, they're all friendly and... only mildly evil."

Niki nodded, the smile still in her eyes. Turning her head from the store bought cake sitting on the kitchen table, she noticed several decorative packages partially concealed on the kitchen chairs under the table.

"What's all this?" she walked into the kitchen and Logan hurried past her.

"Uh, presents," he said quickly, sliding a chair back under the table to conceal its present. "They're for later," he insisted. The Slayer nodded with mock seriousness and glanced at the whiteboard on the fridge.

Happy Mistrial!

Niki's smile was renewed. She turned and grabbed Logan around the waist, pulling him close and hugging him. "Thanks," she said into his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed her tight. The embrace lasted for several seconds until Jessica entered with a quizzical frown.

"Hey, you two going to cuddle all night, or are we going to get this party started?" The instant she finished talking the apartment erupted with sound. Someone had put on a tape of the Ramones in concert and cranked the volume higher than medical professionals recommended.

Niki and Logan entered the small living room and saw everyone crowding around the coffee table. It had been set up as a small bar with various hard drinks and stacks of disposable shot glasses.

"We've brought the kinds of alcohol you like," one of the demons said with a grin. "And we brought some kittens for later." Before Niki could enquire about the kittens, a shot glass was placed in her hand and filled.

"To manifest injustice," one of the demons said with a loud laugh which could just barely be heard over the music, "and many more!" All the heads tipped back and nine shot glasses were emptied.

Later into the night, when the cake was mostly gone and the floor was littered with small plastic cups, Logan and Jessica brought out a stack of presents. He wore a big grin and Niki held his eyes for a long moment as Jessica arranged the packages around the Slayer on the couch. Whistler turned down the music to a more appropriate level.

"First," Logan said, lifting a shiny package and handing it to Niki, "let's get the official stuff out of the way." She tore it open and found inside a large manilla envelope. "Your personal effects from Riker's," Logan said with a smile. Everyone laughed and Niki thanked him with a light punch to the knee.

"Next," Whistler handed over a small box with a red plastic bow on it. She opened it and found it filled with mail. "All your bills for the last two months." Several of the demons laughed and poured some more drinks.

"You know how to make a girl feel welcome," Niki said with a friendly glare at the demon in the plum jacket. He shrugged with a grin.

"You might want to open the next few in private," Logan advised with a glint in his eye. "The contents of your closet seized as evidence," he handed her several packages which were obviously bundles of clothes wrapped in shiny paper.

"Give her the next one!" Jessica called out. Whistler agreed, raising his shot glass. Logan acquiesced and reached beside the couch for the last present.

"What is it?" Niki frowned, trying to look around him.

"Stand up," he told her, hiding what it was with his body. She flashed him a skeptical look, and finally stood up. "Turn around," he said with a grin. With a raised eyebrow, she did.

It was like slipping into a warm bath. Logan draped the worn, black leather over her shoulders. He gently took her shoulders and turned her around again. Swallowing, she looked at each of them in turn, wondering how much of what she wanted to say had survived the dozen shots.

"I don't know some of you," she said bluntly. Some of the demons grinned even wider. "Some of you I know, but have never really appreciated," she looked from Jessica to Whistler. "And some of you I just want to throw on the floor and fuck all night long," she didn't make eye contact with Logan, but she felt his nearness like a warm glow. She looked from the grinning demons to Whistler and Jessica. "I guess what I'm trying to say is thanks. Something it's taken me a long time to learn... is this..." she blinked and swayed a little, feeling dizzy all of a sudden. "Good friends... are the difference between a conviction and a mistrial."

"Hear, hear," one of the demons raised his shot glass and all five of the demons drank.

Jessica slowly turned to look at Whistler. "That... was so beautiful." She leaned in and planted a kiss on the demon's lips. Several of the other demons roared in laughter and the music was turned up again.

With a steady arm, Logan guided Niki into her room and closed the door. He sat her on her bed and knelt before her. "Niki, we have to talk. Seriously."

Niki nodded. "Sure. What is it?" She was still a little unstable, but sitting and listening to the sobriety of Logan's voice had exactly the effect he intended.

"The mistrial changes some things," he said, keeping his eyes locked with hers. "The State has dropped the charges against you, and my firm, which wanted to see you get locked up for life, is now back to trying to kill you."

Niki nodded with a smile. "Back to old times, then, is it?"

Logan shook his head. "The thing is, the Council was trying to kill you. They're pretty dead set against aiding my firm, but I don't know what they want any more."

Niki's eyes narrowed. "I have a feeling they're going to want me dead even more pretty soon." She squinted with sudden confusion. "Don't you have to work tomorrow? What is this, Wednesday?"

"Tuesday," Logan corrected distantly. He'd been dreading going back to Wolfram and Hart. He knew eventually he'd have to face what he'd done. He had no doubt that there would be consequences, but technically, he had promised not to get a verdict of Not Guilty. And there had been no such verdict. He doubted that would satisfy Fischer, however. "You're right, I do have to get to sleep." He gave her a gentle shove in the center of her chest. "And so do you."

She grinned and let the force of his shove carry her over backwards onto the bed. With her eyes closed and a smile on her face, she slipped into unconsciousness wrapped in the warm embrace of her beloved jacket.

Waking up late the next morning, she found her apartment still littered with small cups and open bottles. Fortunately, none of her guests had decided to stay the night. Niki began making her way through the party rubble when, with a frown, she heard something mewing behind her couch.

She reached back and retrieved a small squirming ball of fuzz. As she looked at the kitten, she realized something which nearly made her drop the poor thing. Last night... no vision. She shook her head once to clear her thoughts and realized what she had to do. It was certainly a sobering thought.

Coffee first, her brain demanded. Mess later. She was about to set the kitten down when she realized the environment into which she'd be setting it. There was that mess to clean up too.

She carried the little fuzz-ball into the kitchen and glanced casually at the whiteboard, drawing a smile back from last night's party.

Happy Mistrial!

call me -L

Logan waited at his desk for Niki to call. He knew that while his cycle had returned to that of a normal human this past year, Niki remained a nocturnal animal. A few months in prison couldn't change that. He expected the call sometime around noon, factoring in the coffee element.

His eyes lifted every few seconds now from his desk to the door where he expected to see a fuming Fischer carrying a sword or torch or goat's head or something. Logan had been going through his arsenal of spells and invocations, tallying up exactly the amount of power he had if something big were to come after him or his family — he had decided on a nice broad-based Sumerian protection spell. Tawnie had threatened Rachel so he'd enchanted his wife's wedding ring while she was sleeping. One item he knew she never took off. Tawnie wouldn't be able to touch her without going through him. Which, of course, was always an option.

So Logan sat uneasily at his desk, glancing up every time someone walked by, waiting for the inevitable.

Occasionally, though, he did glance down at the case he was building. Burned in his memory was the image of the demon bar he had visited when he had been looking for a mercenary to kill the demon Wehx. Five innocent people strung up from the ceiling, eaten alive in the middle of a human / vampire heroine orgy. Wolfram and Hart had the power to shut them down. They wouldn't, of course — they'd likely do all they could to keep it up and running. But then, they wouldn't know.

The case itself was just a cover. His contract with Wolfram and Hart stipulated that he needed to give six weeks notice before pulling out. Because he had overestimated the length of Niki's trial, Logan now had one week left with this firm. And he certainly didn't want to be assigned any more cases — he'd be fine never seeing Tawnie again for as long as he lived.

So he glanced occasionally at the case on his desk. Finally, someone did step into his office and Logan nearly jumped out of his skin. Michael gave an odd frown, then looked behind him to check what Logan was so anxious about.

"No, it's fine. Come in, Mike." Logan closed the file and stood.

"It's Michael, actually. Never cared for the diminutive." The tall dark man in the white silk shirt and blue silk tie sat down across from Logan, setting a small duffle bag next to his chair. Logan nodded and sat.

"Right, sorry. Didn't mean to presume–"

"I'm here in my official capacity as your liaison to Tawnie Fischer." Michael cut straight to business, folding his hands and cocking his head. "I regret to inform you Ms. Fischer has been let go."

Logan blinked. Luck? Me? "The Senior Partner's fired her?" he asked with incredulity.

Michael considered this. "In a manner of speaking. It would be more accurate to say she was let go."

Logan frowned, giving an uncertain little chuckle. "Let go how?"

The other man shrugged. "From fifteen storey's up." He caught Logan's surprise and held up a hand, "oh, don't worry — she was given a very generous severance package."

Logan breathed slowly inward. He breathed slowly outward. He didn't want to know what very generous meant. "Because of the mistrial?"

Michael shrugged. "You're asking the wrong person. I'm just here to tell you that since my volunteer work was exclusively between you and Ms. Fischer, I'll be leaving and resuming my day jobs."

"Right," Logan nodded. "At the ICU and all that." Michael nodded in response but was otherwise silent. "Well, thanks for the heads up—"

Michael snapped his fingers. "I almost forgot." He reached down beside his chair into his duffle bag. "This had a post-it on it with your name on it." He set the thing down on Logan's desk.

Logan nearly gagged. Now he knew what very generous severance package meant. He swallowed. Tawnie Fischer's head did not. His eyes rose to meet Michael's. "Thanks," he said weakly.

Michael nodded and stood to leave.

Justice - Act 2

Rachel slowly set the patient's chart down. The electrocardiogram blipped steadily. Dr. Iverson would be in to see his patient any minute now. For the time being, Rachel was this unconscious man's only company.

"Peaceful, isn't it?" a gentle voice said from behind her.

Rachel turned to see a tall dark man in dark green scrubs. His clip said Visitor and Rachel remembered seeing him before on this floor. She looked back to the patient. "With the amount of morphine in him, he better be."

"I don't mean him," the man said with a smile, stepping up beside her. "I love the ICU. No one ever complains."

"You come here often?" Rachel asked innocently. Personally, she hated the ICU. When people weren't complaining, somehow they seemed farther away from life.

The man nodded. "The name's Michael. I don't actually work here," he indicated his ID tag. "I volunteer with a charitable organization which visits critical patients. I volunteer a lot."

"Noble," Rachel said dryly, not taken in by his smile and gentle demeanor. "In my experience it's easy to visit patients when they don't expect anything of you. Or when they're unconscious."

Michael laughed. It was a deep and warm laugh and Rachel found herself involuntarily lowering her shields against him. "True enough," he said with a gracious bow. "I concede; your job is much harder than mine."

"I didn't say that," she argued, turning to him as he stepped away. "I just..." She dropped her gaze. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—" She extended a hand. "I'm Rachel. It's good to meet you, Michael."

The bleeping of the ECG quickened as Michael took Rachel's hand. Instead of the friendly shake she expected, he brought her hand to his mouth and gently placed a kiss between her knuckles. She blushed.

"Come for dinner," she said suddenly, unaware of what she had said until it was already out. He lowered her hand, a bit surprised. "At my house — I'd love it if you came for dinner and met my husband and daughter."

Michael dropped her hand and glanced back at the patient behind her. "I think your patient—" His words were cut off by the sustained tone of the ECG. Rachel jumped and called a crash cart. In the bustle, Michael faded into the background and by the time the man was pronounced dead, he was gone.

Logan glanced up at the unlit sign painted in black onto the cement wall above the door. Malleus it said. He took a breath, knowing what he would find, and entered.

He stepped over the patchy cement floor and moved directly for the bar. The place was more crowded than when last he had visited. Almost all of the tables were full and the there were only a few stools empty at the bar. From beyond the curtain leading to the 'party' room in the back, the pounding base of music could be heard. Logan considered what else was back there and shuddered. He would only go back there as a last resort.

"What?" the barkeep demanded with irritation. He looked busy, twisting his cloth inside a glass and setting it aside. Logan glanced up at the drinks scrawled on the little chalkboard.

"Uh, smyte," he said, trying to resurrect a little authority. He was, after all, no stranger to demon bars. The glass came back to him filled with rye and holy water: A strong drink for a vampire, but the only thing served which was palatable to Logan.

Logan took a sip and glanced to his left to the vampire who sat there. The tall mug of blood had left the creature's lips and teeth red.

"Tough night?" Logan asked casually. The vamp didn't even turn to acknowledge the words. The lawyer shrugged and turned back to the busy bartender. No time like the present.

Reaching into his khaki jacket, he pulled his business card, proudly displaying the Wolfram & Hart logo.

"Hey," he called to the barkeep. "I'm afraid I have some bad news."

The muscle with the dishrag squinted at the card and stepped closer. "Oh yeah? What's that?"

"You're going out of business." He stood from the stool, setting the glass of smyte down next to his threatening business card. "Tonight. Right now. Party's over." He craned his neck to look at the curtain. "So why don't you tell everyone to get lost."

The barkeep glared at Logan for a long moment, then his expression softened. "You've got a fucked up sense of humor," he said, pointing a finger at Logan's chest. "And don't think that card gets you a free drink. Six fifty."

Logan forced a little chuckle, as if insulted. "I don't think you understand. This is no joke. Pack up your filthy business and get the fuck out of New York. You don't want to find out what my firm can—"

Logan's sentence was finished when he was flat on his stomach on the pavement outside the bar. His skin tingled with the electricity of the counter spell. Without it, he would have been dust. A counter spell didn't stop three thugs from pounding his face black and blue and dropping him unceremoniously into the parking lot.

He groaned and touched a gash on his forehead. Slowly he got to his feet. "Okay, ow." He brought his hand away from his head and found blood on his fingers. "So asking politely isn't the solution. Imagine that."

Addison glanced around the apartment. "Are you alone?"

Crowley followed the old man's stare and cocked his head. "Worried about someone finding you?" he asked smugly.

Addison pushed past the other former Watcher and set his suitcases near the couch. "The Council has cut me off. I have no access to our New York accounts and no way of buying a plane ticket back to London."

Crowley, still standing by the door, raised an eyebrow. "What do you expect me to do about it?" He closed the door and stood with his arms crossed. "Can you really blame them? You failed. Miserably. Twice."

Addison turned fiercely. "The girl can't be controlled! It's not my fault she went out of control — and certainly not my fault she survived the trial." He scoffed, sitting himself down heavily on the couch. "The Council agents were nearly all killed and the Slayer lives. This is Travers' failure, not mine."

Crowley shrugged. "It doesn't really matter. We've lost all semblance of control when it comes to Niki Valtaine. She'll never trust another Watcher again for as long as she lives."

"She's become a rogue element," Addison said bitterly.

"And the Council doesn't tolerate rogue elements," the other answered. "I expect they'll do everything in their considerable power to apprehend her — or worse."

"Apprehend who?" a voice said from the hallway. Both Addison and Crowley turned to see a young boy standing with his arms crossed near the end of the couch.

Crowley scowled. "Never mind. Return to your room. I have a visitor."

The boy rolled his eyes and turned to go. Addison looked after him with awe. "That's Robin?" he asked with a quiet tone.

"Yes," Crowley said with a troubled look in his eyes. "It would obviously be best to keep him out of this matter. His opinion on Slayers isn't exactly objective."

Addison nodded. "He's taller than when last I saw him," he shook the thought from his head. "Crowley, you must get me a plane ticket. I can't remain in New York any longer."

The other man shrugged, positive this old man's problems were not his concern. Besides, the Council's directive was clear. "I'll see what I can do," he lied.

Niki muscled her way between two hulking creatures. Now she was seated on a tall stool at one of her least favorite bars. She knew what was behind the curtain in the back, but she got along by not thinking about it.

When the barkeep came along, she knew enough not to order any of the drinks here. There was nothing which looked less than poisonous to a human stomach. Besides, she hadn't come here for drinks.

"I'm looking for someone who can help me with a problem," she said over the clink of drinks and the solemn conversation.

"What kinda problem," the barkeep asked, looking her over and baring his teeth. Niki suppressed a shudder.

"The kind that needs to be killed," she answered boldly.

The patron nodded and turned from the customers to a small chalkboard by the old cash register. There were several names scrawled there of demons who had come tonight and considered themselves open for business.

"We got a Glarghk Guhl Kashmas'nik," he squinted at the other names, "a couple of Fyarls, a visiting Mok'tagar, a Werlech and some girls from Arashmahaar. Take your pick and I'll point em' out."

"The person I need dead is a Slayer's Watcher. Which do you recommend?" Niki kept all the heavy bitterness from her voice, but it was clear to the barkeep that this was personal.

The muscle sighed. "Well, unless this Watcher is your estranged boyfriend, the gals from Arashmahaar can't help you." He thought, and then laughed out loud. "And good luck controlling the Glarghk Guhl Kashmas'nik."

"What about the Werlech guy?" Niki glanced impatiently around, searching for a likely candidate.

The barkeep looked Niki up and down, then shook his head gravely. "You couldn't afford him." He took a deep breath and glanced around. "And the Mok'tagar is in the back—" he indicated the curtain from behind which certain hellish noises were coming.

"All right, the Fyarls, where are they?" Niki stood from the stool. Following the barkeep's finger, she found her way to a table in the deepest, darkest corner of the entire place.

Two massive demons sat across from each other at the small round table, their long re-curved horns looking quite superfluous. But Niki had very little choice. She was not going to the 'party' behind the curtain just to find some Mok'tagar.

"Good evening," she began, approaching the Fyarls' table. "I was told you might be able to help me with a human problem I have."

Neither of the great horned heads turned in her direction. The two great demons continued eating what looked like uncooked flesh. Blood from their plates dribbled onto the patchy cement floor where it mingled with untold other dried fluid.

"Hey!" Niki slammed her fist onto the table, making their plates jump. "I'm fucking talking to you!"

As one, both great heads turned in the near darkness to appraise her. As one, they both turned back and continued eating.

"I need someone killed," she said firmly, looking from one to the other. "And I can pay."

One of the horned heads turned back again while the other continued to ignore her. "What can you pay?" it asked with slow words.

"What do you want?" Niki prompted. "Whatever it is, I can get it."

The second head turned and bowed down to get closer to the Slayer. He inhaled long and deep, then a smile spread across his face. "You smell like kittens."

The other head nodded as it tore some flesh between its teeth and set the pink bone back on the plate. "We like kittens."

Logan slowly got out of his car. The gash on his forehead had stopped bleeding, but not hurting. It was on these rare occasions that he wished his showy magic included basic healing techniques. Unfortunately, his eagerness to increase his power had led him exclusively in the direction of attack and defense. His skin still tingled.

The warmth of the house —his house— was a welcome haven from tonight's adventure. He opened the door and stepped inside, peeling off his coat with a wince at the pain in his arm. He rehearsed his cover story for Rachel and Hanna: he had been mugged outside the office. He knew Hanna probably wouldn't believe him, having seen his powers before, but Rachel would and that was what was important.

As he walked towards the kitchen, he heard the unfamiliar sound of three sets of laughter. Something turned in his stomach and his skin began to tingle again. He walked carefully towards the sound of the voices, his hands behind his back, concealing his glowing fingernails.

"Honey, you're late," Rachel had the bright look in her eyes from a long bout of laughter. "Logan, this is Michael, from the ICU at the hospital."

Logan froze. His eyes fixed on the man sitting at his table, eating with his family. His heart pounded in his chest.

"We've met," he said, not more than a hoarse whisper.

"Michael volunteers at my school too," Hanna piped up. "He's in the guidance office," she beamed, obviously enjoying dinner immensely.

"A grief counselor," Logan said quietly.

A little frown creased Rachel's brow. "Yes — how did you—?"

"We've met," Logan repeated, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. He could almost hear the hum of electricity in his tight fists.

Michael wiped his mouth politely with a napkin and stood. "Yes, I did some volunteer work at Wolfram and Hart, Logan's law firm," he addressed Rachel, then let out a little laugh. "I didn't realize he was your husband." Michael's smile was broad and sincere. In everyone's eyes but Logan's.

Still, the man forced a pleasant smile onto his face. "Honey, could I talk to you for a moment?"

Rachel looked from her husband, a brooding shadow in the darkness of the hall, to Michael, a smiling, charming man with an endless supply of stories from his various volunteer jobs. She, too, forced a smile onto her face and stood. "Sure, honey."

Logan took her arm and pulled her into the far corner of the living room. "Get rid of him," he said in a harsh whisper.

Rachel frowned. "What?"

"He's not someone I want you and Hanna spending time with," Logan's tone was hard but edged with worry. It couldn't be a coincidence that Tawnie had threatened Logan and Rachel and now someone from Wolfram and Hart was showing up at her work and in his own house.

"Excuse me, but since when do you get to dictate who I spend time with?" she demanded with a cold glare. "You don't have the right to judge my friends—"

"Listen to me," Logan hissed, bringing her closer to look hard into her eyes. "This man is dangerous. I don't want him around you or Hanna."

She scoffed. "What do you want me to do? Just find another hospital? Find Hanna another school?"

Logan's eyes blazed. There was laughter from the kitchen. Hanna's laughter. "If that's what it takes," he said through clenched teeth.

Rachel pulled her arm from her husband's grasp with a look of contempt. "You know what? Screw you. You don't get to fuck around behind my back then judge my friends." She turned and stormed back to the kitchen.

Logan fumed. The electricity arced and sputtered between his fingers. Suddenly the lights in the whole house dimmed for a moment. In the unlit corner of the living room, out of sight of the kitchen, Logan disappeared in a twist of light. Soon, the laughter started up again.

Justice - Act 3

Michael lifted his jacket from the coat rack and flashed a grateful smile to Rachel. "Thank you very much for this evening. It was a delicious meal and I always enjoy the company of new friends."

Rachel smiled back. "Our home is your home. We were glad to have you over..." her smile dwindled. "I'm sorry about my husband— he's been having a tough time at work lately and..."

Michael held up a hand. "No need to explain. We all get stressed out sometimes." He bowed graciously. "Some jobs are harder than others."

Rachel's smile resurfaced as Michael opened the door to leave. "You have a good night," she said sincerely. "And safe drive home." The door closed.

In the cold starlight, Michael glanced up with a little grin. His breath fogged up in a cloud before him. "I don't drive." And he was gone with the sound of great beating wings.

With a furious twist of light, Logan appeared again in the parking lot of Malleus, near the blood stain left by his forehead earlier this evening. No chance of that now.

Looking around, Logan, his hands glowing yellow and followed always by the buzz of electricity, searched his surroundings for the smell he was looking for. A very pungent smell which any sleuth could identify.

With a determined and unstoppable glare in his eyes, Logan jumped the chain link fence between the parking lot and the yard next door. He stalked through the thin dusting of snow, his footprints leaving black ice behind him.

With a vicious kick, he forced open the door to the small shed in the back corner of the yard. Looking around, he found the source of the faint smell. Heedless of the heat coming off his hands, he snatched the red gas can and leapt back over the fence.

Niki shifted uncomfortably in her leather jacket. She had met some odd demons in her time, but this...

The Fyarl demons had left a while ago, their price set at twelve kittens each and Niki now sat with the Glarghk Guhl Kashmas'nik, discussing the refinement process of the drug he produced. Surprising articulate after a few drinks, the demon, who called himself Karl, showed her the needle-like quill which he used to inject and incapacitate his prey.

Niki nodded with feigned interest, wondering how the conversation had ended up where it was, until Karl began to describe the process by which his venom was distilled and collected in powder form for use as narcotic. Karl described how pleased he was at the amount of money he was bringing in and recounted his own initial doubt about the forecasted popularity of the stuff, wondering why anyone in their right mind would intentionally ingest poison.

Niki swallowed, not about to reveal her past addiction to the performance-enhancing Stuff, glad she was finished her business and could technically leave, though not sure exactly where she was going to get twenty four kittens on such short notice. Then she noticed something very odd. One of the vampires from the bar had left his empty glass and money and was standing at the door, pushing the handle. The door refused to open.

Icy footprints made a circle around the entire building in which the Malleus was located. Dousing the walls and ground liberally, Logan then stood back, the smell of gasoline all over his hands.

Michael's smile flashed into his memory. Rachel's voice. Screw you. His jaw tightened. All he wanted was to protect them. Protect them in ways they couldn't imagine from threats they couldn't conceive. He, himself, wasn't anything they could conceive. Even Hanna had no idea who he was or what he had become capable of. He fought evil, dammit: He was one of the good guys and where was it getting him?

Very slowly, as Logan Kilpatrick stood outside the barricaded door to the horrible little hell, he lifted his eyes above its rooftop to the cold winter sky above. The stars were tiny and distant, like Logan himself tonight.

"Is this what you call justice?" he asked, his eyes narrowing. He didn't know who he was talking to, but he knew how to get their attention.

Raising his hands, he released the voltage between his fingers and was immediately engulfed in a ball of fire. Instead of being incinerated, the frost on his boots melted and trickled down like sweat to the scorched ground beneath him.

With a roar, the nearby gas can exploded. The fire from the living torch soon found the trail of fumes to the Malleus and spread like a fluid around the base of the building, roaring up higher and higher.

Despite her acute Slayer senses, Niki was not the first to smell the smoke. Many tried to ignore it but when the white streams of it began to pour in from cracks in the walls on all sides, pandemonium broke out.

Some demons, obviously immune to smoke and fire, took the opportunity to rob the place blind, finding themselves in contention with the fiercely defensive barkeep who would rather die than let a customer behind the bar.

Some demons fought with each other simply because the screams and terror got them in the mood. The vampires, Niki noted, were the first to rush to the door, throwing their weight at it in desperation. Niki wasn't quite sure herself what would happen if a vampire was incinerated, but she expected they themselves didn't want to find out and she certainly didn't want to be around to either.

Shoving her way through the gathering crowd, she came to the heavy metal door and gave it a ferocious kick. A large dent appeared in its center and a sharp pain stabbed up the Slayer's leg. Rather than cursing or holding her injured limp, Niki switched legs and gave it another powerful kick. The door opened a crack but it was clear there was something heavy holding it closed.

With a yelp, Niki was thrown aside by massive hands. The troll lifted its great hammer and smashed the door until it was a rent piece of debris on the threshold. Behind it was a car, which, under the troll's hammer, became another beaten piece of metal.

Screams of terror were now filling the small bar as flames were spreading out of the back room into the bar proper. The opening of the narrow space in the doorway added oxygen to the fire inside the building and once the flames reached the bar itself, a blue ball of flame and tiny bits of glass washed over everything.

From outside, Logan listened impassively to the tortured screams and wails coming from the inferno he had created. Certainly some of them were the innocent humans who had been dragged in there against their will, but being eaten alive was no better a fate.

The sphere of flame surrounding Logan shifted and rippled as vampires and demons clawed their way out of the obstructed doorway. With the sound of tearing metal, the car he had placed there went flying away and a great troll emerged from the Malleus, his hair and beard crackling red with heat. The furs with which he had adorned himself were burnt, wilted and smoking and when he emerged finally from the column of smoke which rose into the air, his smoldering clothes found fresh air and burst anew into flame.

Several figures similarly clothed in fire ran screaming from the fire storm, paying little or no attention to the coherent sphere in the center of the parking lot in which the arsonist stood.

"This is what I call justice," Logan shouted to whoever might now notice him. The sound of the raging fire overwhelmed his words. Suddenly a jet of blue flame shot out of every window and out the doorway of the building. The windows shattered outwards and the fire redoubled in intensity.

"Am I weak?" Logan shouted as loud as he could, the stars now concealed by the tower of smoke. "Should I be afraid?" he said the last with a grin, laughing with delight as the building began to collapse.

Niki held the back of her leather coat over her head as the blue flame subsided. The pain in her legs long forgotten, she clung to her precious jacket with blistering fingers, using it to shield her sweating body and head from the hottest flames. It was incredibly difficult to breath. Her eyes felt like they were watering acid and her lungs refused to accept the air she managed to force into them.

Finally she hauled herself from the furnace, first realizing she was out when her lungs filled with icy cold air. Coughing and gasping, she forced herself to her feet and moved toward the light. Was she dead? Dying? The light seemed to be at the end of a dark tunnel. But it wasn't a pure light. It was red and ugly. It was undulating and changing... Niki blinked through stinging eyes and finally focused on the light which was not the end of a tunnel but in fact a distinct object.

Logan felt the first bead of sweat on his brow when he saw a figure crawl from the flames holding a jacket before her. The flames which had encased him were beginning to take their toll. No, it was more than that. A sudden doubt had entered into his mind.

The girl he saw stood and, unlike anyone else emerging from the inferno, began to make her way towards him, dragging her jacket behind her. A sick feeling churned in Logan's gut as the light thrown by his cocoon illuminated her face.

Then Logan looked down in horror as he realized the soles of his boots were melting. He released his hold on the flames around him and they dropped away to nothingness... just as the building collapsed.

With a blast of smoke and flaming debris, Logan and Niki were thrown away from the Malleus, landing hard on the pavement. Logan groaned and wished he had the strength to pull his scorched boots from his throbbing feet. He felt movement near him and in the warmth and glow of the nearby fire, he saw Niki crawling toward him on her belly.

"What are you doing here?" he asked with chagrin.

"What am I doing here?" Niki repeated angrily. "I'm the fucking Slayer! What the hell are you doing here!?"

Logan grunted as he sat up. He winced as his feet continued to remind him of their plight. "Being a good guy," he said weakly. "I didn't think there'd be anybody in there worth saving."

Niki glared at him. She didn't know why she was madder at him: because he'd come to a place like this after he'd managed to extricate himself from her lifestyle or because he'd nearly burned her lifestyle to cinders.

She looked at his face, glistening with sweat, marred with dirt, ash and blood from a reopened gash on his brow. His eyes were worried. Worried for her. His breath was ragged and he was obviously in pain. Her glare continued.

He blinked, looking from her to the almost comically abused black leather jacket she dragged behind her. His worry remained as he looked back to her face, similarly coated with sweat, ash and the redness of the smoke.

"I think I ruined your jacket—" he began apologetically but was cut off when she pulled herself against him and kissed him fiercely. Caught off guard, he took a moment to respond, but soon he had rolled her underneath him and was kissing her in return. His skin tingled.

The remains of the demon bar crackled and snapped behind them, sending hot sparks on a column of smoke into a field of cold and distant stars.

Addison moved from shadow to shadow, now positive he was being followed. He didn't know who it was, but he was about twenty or so feet behind the Watcher and gaining.

The old Watcher came to the entrance of a dark alley, the shadow making it as hospitable looking as the maw of a shark. Addison rounded the corner and stood just within the cloak of the shadow, reaching into his heavy coat for his pistol. The comforting feel of the cold metal in his fingers turned the wide-eyed worry on his face to a hard determination. Fischer wouldn't get him. Not if he had to kill every one of her demon lackeys.

As he strained to hear the footsteps from the deep black, his other senses calmed and became aware of something else. Breathing. Close.

His gun went off as two pairs of demon hands snatched him from behind and dragged him deeper into the blackness.

The follower continued to stroll along the street, finally catching up to where Addison had disappeared. He looked into the shadow, seeing through it as clearly as if it were day. There was a hoarse shout and the sound of the gun hitting the pavement, then a gurgling cry of pain and finally the thud.

Michael stood at the entrance to the alley, watching the entire ordeal. He frowned a little, allowing this once his disappointment to show. Who said humans could take justice into their own hands? Michael knew to whom justice belonged. He shook his head sadly, turning and continuing his stroll.

Moments later, two great horned figures emerged from the darkness, licking their lips and thinking of kittens.

Justice – Act 4

Niki and Logan sat on the Slayer's couch, their feet among the many tiny plastic cups which still littered the floor. The kitten which Niki had affectionately named Felix clambered over her lap, making tiny swipes at her teasing hands with its tiny paws. It mewed constantly.

Logan was in shock. His khaki jacket, seared at the edges, lay soaked with water from his cold shower over the liquor bottles on the coffee table. Niki's own decimated leather jacket was in a heap on the kitchen table not far away. None of this mattered to Logan, however, who had just learned of the reason the Slayer had been visiting a place like the Malleus - and it wasn't to be a good guy.

Logan had always said Addison was no help to Niki. A rule-bound buzz-kill who had disapproved of Logan and Niki's illicit romance from the beginning, Addison had made Logan happy when he had left, only to return, the same as always. But dead?

"Because he tried to kill you?" Logan prompted, unsatisfied with the Slayer's report. He searched her face as she played with tiny Felix on her lap. "We've all tried to kill you at one point or another. There was no real harm done, was there?" She looked up at him and he held up his hands defensively. "I'm not condoning what he did- he poisoned you and if it hadn't been for Michael"

"Who?" Niki frowned, the kitten's mew soon drawing her attention back.

"Never mind," Logan dismissed. "I'm just saying I never thought you had it in you. I mean He was like a father to you, wasn't he?"

Niki considered his words, slowly turning to look into his eyes. "I had a real father once. You wanna know what happened to him?"

Logan's brow furrowed. "He died in a car accident. Along with your mom, right?"

Niki slowly looked back down at the kitten. Felix hopped over her knee and landed in the palm of her hand. It scrambled up her wrist then toppled off into her other hand, mewing again.

"When I was sixteen a man came to our house in Queens. He said he was from a special private school and that I had been considered for a scholarship. My parents let him in and he wanted to talk to me in private." Niki swallowed. "When we were alone, he took a big book from his briefcase and told me to read it."

"Vampyre," Logan guessed.

Niki nodded. "I thought he was crazy. He told me to meet him just down the street after sunset and he handed me my first stake."

"Did you?" Logan asked with raised eyebrows. "Did you meet him?"

Niki shrugged. "I didn't know any better. If I had known who and what he was I would have never gone. But it was exciting and mysterious I think I was attracted to the danger. I knew he was no private school rep." She shrugged. "Who knows, maybe I was just acting out."

"So you went to meet him" Logan prompted.

"I brought the book and the stake, not knowing what to expect." She dropped her gaze. "It was" She stopped, recalling with bitterness the memory. "Not what I expected," she finished at last.

"Did you know you were the Slayer before that night?" Logan asked softly, clearly seeing how difficult it was to recall this.

Niki shook her head. "I wasn't. I wasn't the Slayer until four days later. Some seer had apparently told the council I was going to be called, but was a little fuzzy on the date." She smiled at the irony of it. "I killed my first vampire that night, by pure luck, and I never forgave Addison for it."

The Slayer lifted the little kitten in both hands and looked it in the eyes. It mewed pitifully. "Then Addison made a mistake." Logan frowned and waited for more. "See, apparently, in England, when the Council comes to you and tells you they're going to take your daughter away, you just stand there and nod. Addison did his whole routine about destiny and duty and The One in Every Generation and my parents flipped."

Logan choked back a laugh of surprise.

"They had the police come and escort him out of our house. They were about to get a restraining order against him when he came to me one night – one night after I was called after I realized what I was, and he told me that if I cared at all about the world and the safety of innocents, that I would leave with him to fight against evil." The Slayer paused and shrugged a little. "Those weren't his exact words: I'm paraphrasing a little. It was eight years ago and I was kinda scared out of my mind that whole month." She licked her lips and continued. "Anyway, I basically told him to fuck off and leave me alone."

Logan nodded. "Proving you were still sane."

Niki answered with a little smile. Through it she finished the tale. "Three days later my parents were both killed in a car accident. Somehow Addison had provided documents stating he was my legal guardian and I lived with him ever since. Just the way he wanted."

Logan's jaw dropped a little. "What are you saying?"

Niki looked back down at the kitten. Innocent, playful, completely helpless. "For the last few months I'd been having visions. In them, my parents had been telling me that we were going to be betrayed." She looked up at the lawyer. "I thought they meant Harrison, Trent or Addison. I was even worried that it might be you" She laughed at the irony. "But the whole time, they meant they were going to be betrayed. Then I saw them at the funeral. They looked at me, then they looked at Addison who was with me. They said they had been betrayed."

"You think Addison killed your parents?" Logan said softly. As he thought about it, he certainly didn't think the old Brit incapable of murder. Especially if he thought the Slayer line was in jeopardy, or if the Council had ordered it. He shook his head in amazement.

"I know he did it," she answered, her voice cold and hard. "And now he's paid for it. He'll never hurt anyone again."

Logan slowly let out a breath. His own immorality struck him just then. Not only had he gotten Niki off for a murder she had, in fact, committed, but he had got her set free and the first thing she had done was kill someone else. A terrifying though forced its way into his mind. Maybe she would have been better off in prison? Life without parole? She could certainly take care of herself in a maximum security facility, and she'd never have to worry about vampires or demons again – a job which she hated anyway. Maybe Fischer had been right all along, if even for the wrong reasons Maybe Niki was dangerous.

Seeing her sitting there playing with the kitten he thought about all the things he had done in his life since he met her. He had killed demons and vampires and saved New York, possibly the world, from a terrible war. But how many good people had died? How many laws had been broken? He shook his head. Human justice couldn't apply to them. Niki couldn't be held responsible for Megan's death. As callous or manicheistic as it sounded, maybe Niki was above the law. Maybe being the Slayer, fighting evil by nature, placed her above morality. Maybe Logan was too. Was Addison's death a kind of justice their own little world could accept? Was it just?

Niki lifted the kitten from her lap and placed it in the large cardboard box with twenty three other kittens at the end of the coffee table. With infinite surety she turned to Logan, placing a gentle hand on the side of his cheek and they began to kiss. Was any of it just?

Rachel sat very still with her hands folded in her lap. This wasn't something she relished doing, but it was clear Logan Kilpatrick was not the man she had married. Something had happened to him. Something, she now knew, named Niki Valtaine.

When Ms. Fischer, claiming to be Logan's supervisor, had written the letter describing Logan's continued infidelity, Rachel had just begun to forget about her husband's affair. Not to say she had ever truly forgotten it, but their daily routine had begun to return to what had seemed to be normal. Hanna, at least, had noticed nothing different, spending much of her time these days at her boyfriend's parents' house.

For several days after receiving the letter, Rachel had been in denial. There had obviously been some mistake on the part of Ms. Fischer, or else she had uncovered the old affair, now long over, when Logan had taken Niki on as a client. She had been sure that was the explanation, since Logan had not returned to his habits of staying out all night or leaving on mysterious business trips without any notice.

But the incident with Michael had shown her something. No matter how much he apologized, no matter how many times he said he was a fucking idiot for having cheated on her, no matter how many weekends he spent at home, laughing and smiling as if nothing had happened he was not the same man she had married. He didn't trust her with another man – he had proved that with Michael. Rachel was no idiot herself. She knew enough about psychology to know the anger and distrust Logan had for her relationship with Michael was just transference from his own guilt of having kept her trust while betraying her. Possibly continuing to betray her. That was why she was here, now. Back at the source.

"I'm afraid that Ms. Fischer is no longer with us," the man in the very expensive suit said from behind the desk which, until recently, belonged to Tawnie Fischer. "I am her temporary replacement until the Senior Partners select a more permanent liaison." The man was tall and his suit looked as though it concealed strong muscles. He had short brown hair and was clean shaven. Despite his pleasant demeanor, his features were severe and Rachel could sense he could order someone's death with the same smile on his face. His eyes, as they looked at her, were clear and intense. "My name is Marcus Hamilton. I have personally reviewed your situation and have hired for you a private investigator; he has worked with this firm before and I trust him completely. He'll get to the bottom of this, whatever it is."

Rachel swallowed and stood, extending her hand. "Thank you Mr. Hamilton." She pulled her proffered hand back when he didn't take it. "I'd like to be able to say I'm grateful, but this is all sort of a painful business."

Hamilton nodded as he glanced at her hand and blinked. "I imagine it is. But don't you worry about a thing. We'll have the truth before too long. You can bet on it."

Quentin Travers slowly sipped the tea, closing his eyes and savoring the taste of being back in Britain again. The breath of air and the light touch on his wrist told him something new and likely uninvited had just landed on his desk. Opening his eyes and setting down the Earl Grey, he frowned at the new document.

"What's this?" he asked picking it up and scanning the letterhead. It was an order signed by the rest of the Council of Watchers, a space left only above his typed name and the word Chairman.

"An order to all our units around the world," the man replied rigidly. "It declares her a rogue element and sanctions her termination."

Travers' chair creaked slowly as he leaned back, his expression troubled. He looked at the Senior Watcher standing before him who held a pen out, waiting for Travers to take it and sign. Travers' frown grew and he snatched the pen from the other's hand.

"What took so bloody long?" He scribbled his signature over the line and dropped the pen back on the desk, finding his teacup again. It was good to be home again.