A/N: This is where the time line gets all screwed up. I know, I know, and I am truly sorry! Post NFA lands us somewhere between 2004-2005, but the episode "Shot at dawn" of MM that I refer to in this chapter didn't happen until 2008. I know this gives us a time gap of three to four years. And I am just insane enough to happily ignore this. The reasons for my disrespectful attitude towards the time line in both series are many, and I won't discuss them here, because frankly, I would probably need an entire page. Sorry! If you would just move the events of BtVS and Angel forward a few years, all in favour of fan fiction creativity. Pretty please? Consider yourselves warned, but feel free to complain anyway. At least now you know.
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She still had it in her, the ability to manipulate people into doing exactly what she needed them to do to fit her own purpose while at the same time managing to convince them that the whole thing had been their own idea. To get the slayer to move from London to the rural English countryside had taken time and power, but had in the end gone a lot smoother than she had originally thought. None of the slayers or watchers had suspected they had been steered by something else other than their own minds, and had simply surrendered to her will. No one had challenged her much.
It was almost a little disappointing.
It had really been quite simple. To convince the idiot watcher that he had seen a skinless demon try to abduct the slayers child had taken enough power to leave her weak and vulnerable for two weeks afterwards, but she had managed to plant the image in his head and convinced him that the deep cut on his neck she had made him inflict upon himself had come from the creatures claws. It had been draining, but not at all difficult. She still had some power left, if only a fraction of what she once had.
She could feel her power slowly but steadily return to her. Only a few weeks left, and after that she could venture outside for the first time in a century. Even for an ancient being as herself, a hundred years had not passed quickly, and the crippling feeling of not being strong enough to even lift her own hands had almost been unbearable. Only the thought of finally escaping to take revenge upon the world that had betrayed her had kept her sane, and now, finally, the time had come.
The child was born and was hers for the taking, and with the power she would gain she would wreak havoc and destruction upon this poor, unsuspecting planet.
Time to take this game up to the next level. If she had been able, she would have clapped her hands in glee. This was the really fun part.
The really fun, bloody part.
***
The 90 year old feud between the Hicks's and the Hammonds had finally ended with the death of Lionel Hicks, only three months after he had confessed to murdering a big portion of Midsummer Parva's population due to the in his mind unjust execution of his father for deserting during the first world war. The younger generations felt that there really was no further need of animosity and hatred any more, and with the upcoming wedding between Sophie Hammond and Will Hicks they had silently agreed to settling on cold indifference, at least on the surface.
Whispers about "the sodding Hammonds" and "the bloody Hicks's" had been rendered down to a few drunken mutterings in the pub on dark, dreary evenings when there was nothing else worth discussing, and even then it was only reminiscing. Nothing new had happened since the vendetta between the families had been put on ice, and Midsomer Parva was getting restless. Would they have to import their gossip from other villages in the parish?
So it was with great enthusiasm and with abnormal speed the rumour about the new addition to the small community was spread. Apparently the empty cottage just south of the village was to be inhabited permanently, after having been used as a summer getaway for some rich family normally residing in London, but no one could remember ever seeing a living soul there. Nevertheless the house had always been kept in a habitable condition, even though the garden had been somewhat neglected. It had been empty now for many years, even in the summertime. Apparently the owners had sold the cottage, or at least rented it out.
The small house had been partly renovated and refurbished, and only contractors from out of town had been used, causing a wave of indignant huffs and mutterings amongst the populace. Did they not trust the local workers to do a proper job?
Despite the fact that the rumour mill had not been still since the first unknown car had been spotted on the small dirt road leading to the cottage, no one seemed to know for sure exactly who or whom would be moving in. There had been talk of an elderly gentleman moving to the quiet village to finish a book, others claimed it was a young newly-wed couple, and some had heard that the new occupant was a young single woman related to the owners in London moving to the area to get inspiration for her artwork.
When the renovation was done, half of the community held their breath in anticipation of the new arrival. The first day there had been no sighting of anyone unknown in the area, but that was to be expected. The new people should be undisturbed their first day in their new home, and was therefore left alone without imposing neighbours with welcoming baskets and home made casseroles and puddings. There had been a silent agreement in the village to wait at least two days before trying to still their collective curiosity.
They didn't need to wait even that long, however. Already on the day after the moving in, the new occupants were spotted on the road on their way from the cottage. A young, blonde woman with a small child, not even a year old, strapped to her back was passed by Mrs Nelly Clarke in her red Citroën round about noon, and before Buffy even had spotted the first house in the outskirts of the village about a third of the villagers (mostly the female ones) knew that their new neighbour was arriving, and almost all of them suddenly remembered that they had a lot of errands to run that required them to leave their homes and venture out to the small shops near the town centre.
When Buffy and Heather so finally entered the square in the middle of the village, there was a mass of people milling around, seemingly without purpose or reason. Right away Buffy noticed the not so discreet glances and outright stares pointed towards her, and was immediately poised to flee if a dangerous situation would occur. Paranoid maybe, but she was not comfortable being the centre of attention when she didn't know exactly why. Alert to any danger in the immediate vicinity, despite the fact that it was in the middle of the day and a scorching sun was shining from a completely cloudless sky, she quickly located the local grocery shop and ventured inside.
However, no amount of vigilance could have prepared her for what she would encounter behind those innocent looking sliding glass doors.
***
Walking quickly down the road, she cursed her stupidity in forgoing her bike in favour of a "nice walk in the sunshine". She also cursed her own restlessness and inability to stay at home and just take it easy for One. Single. Day! She just had to get out of the house, didn't she?
She had faced vampires, giant snake demons, demon-human hybrid cyborgs and the source of all evil, but nothing in her colourful slaying career could have prepared her for the horrors of a community starved of gossip. As soon as she had stepped inside the grocery store, they had pounced on her. Her new, well meaning neighbours.
All pleasant and polite, but even so ruthless with questions disguised as helpful concern, and determined to pry as much information from her about herself and her reason for moving to Midsomer Parva as possible. And it all had escalated when she opened her mouth and outed herself as an American. The false identity and background provided by the council was now out in the open, and her new neighbours now knew her as Anne Sinclair, a single mother from California with English grandparents who recently left her with a if not big, then at least a very respectable inheritance, and she had relocated to the countryside because of her job as a freelance photographer, looking for inspiration.
At least Heather had behaved perfectly, not uttering a single word of complaint at being crowded by a hoard of strange, unknown people who had fawned and cooed over her. She had just looked around with huge eyes and a fascinated expression on her face, much to the annoyance of Buffy who would have welcomed the excuse of an uncomfortable child to leave.
In the end she had managed to escape without being too impolite, managed to buy the wretched bag of flour she really didn't need anyway, and was now hurrying home as quickly as she could. When she could finally see the rooftop of the cottage at the end of the road, she hastened her step even more.
That's when she heard the scream.
***
Miss Sarah Garrison had not been in the village when the news that the new inhabitants of the neighbourhood had been spotted by Mrs. Clarke, and did therefore not know that Buffy and Heather wasn't at home when she decided to drive out to the cottage with a basket full of her freshly home baked walnut scones and her prizewinning home-made strawberry and rhubarb jam.
Living at the north end of the village, it had taken her about ten minutes to drive her barely functional ancient car to her destination, and had parked just outside the gate to the garden. Stepping out of the car with the basket firmly grasped in her hand, she felt rather pleased with herself. She would be the first one to meet and greet the mysterious new residents. As far as she knew, anyway.
It turned out she was wrong. She literally stumbled on someone who appeared to have beaten her to it. A young man she didn't recognise was laying across the gravel path to the front door. Granted, it would have been difficult for her to recognise him anyway, without a head on his shoulders.
She dropped the basket and screamed.
***
It was really embarrassing. It had taken the wankers less than an hour to find him and bring him in to headquarters, no doubt by the help of magic. No less than four slayers had cornered him in the pub he had taken refuge in, and no one he recognised. They had barely said a word to him, just calmly asked him if he could come with them with as little fuss as possible. When he had bolted for the back door he had run into four more of them. They were like ants on a picknick, they were everywhere!
They had sent eight slayers after him. Spike couldn't help but feel a little bit proud. They knew he wouldn't be easy to catch and had sent some serious manpower to get him. He almost felt like the Big Bad again.
Sure, he was a little bit proud, but mostly he was just annoyed with himself. Less than seventy minutes after getting off the sodding plane he was in the hands of the council of watchers. Caught like a fly in the spiders web. He had hoped to hold out at least for a couple of days, but of course not. Why would anything go his way in this world, ever? Seemed like he was destined to bloody fail at everything he put his mind to.
Now he sat here, bound to a chair in a room full of books, being watched by two slayers that refused to talk to him no matter how much he tried to goad and annoy them to at least snark at him.
It was extremely boring.
The door finally opened, and someone he had hoped never to see again entered. Giles stared at him with an unreadable look on his face. Spike couldn't decide whether he was relieved or disappointed that he was alone. Somewhere deep inside him he had actually wanted it to be Buffy on the other side of the table, just to see her again. In stead he got the man who had tried to end his existence not long before he had saved the world. He smirked at that thought. That was an opportunity for gloating he didn't plan to pass up.
They stared at each other for a few moments across the table. Neither said a word. It took about two minutes until Giles relaxed fractionally and dismissed the girls. Now they were alone in the room, and Giles finally spoke to him, and actually managed to surprise him with his words.
"Tell me exactly the events that led you to be sitting across from this table, and not being dust at the bottom of the Sunnydale crater."
Spike looked at him incredulously. Huh! Andrew actually hadn't snitched on him! That, he didn't see coming.
"You really didn't know I was back watcher?". He couldn't help the smirk on his face. It seemed like the almighty watchers council wasn't as allknowing as they would like to be.
An annoyed frown settled on Giles brows. "Would I ask if I knew?" He really hadn't missed the vampires attitude.
"So the wonder boy actually kept his mouth shut! Ha! Who would've thought it?"
Giles frown deepened and he looked puzzled. "The wonder boy? Someone knew you were back? Who?"
Spike sighed and looked out the window. He decided that the quickest and easiest way of getting out of there and to get on with his existence as far away from watchers and slayers as possible was to tell the entire story. He turned back to Giles and looked him straight in the eyes.
"Fine watcher. I'll tell you the tale. But I want no interruptions until I'm finished. No questions or comments at all. Is that clear?"
The head of the watchers council looked in the eyes of the vampire who not three hours earlier had been dust in the wind as far as he knew. Not breaking eye contact he uttered just one word.
"Agreed."