The police were pissed off; they'd lost a burglar (not that Lamb publicized this part), and somehow the serial killer they'd stumbled onto had figured out what they were up to and fled town.

They screamed the part about finding the serial killer and "a long-running investigation" and other assorted ego-puffery, and swore that one day they would find him.

Not unless they spent time at the town dump, they wouldn't; Angel had yanked Ted out of his car at a stop sign a couple of blocks away from Revello Drive, reduced him to his component parts in a fight he'd said was easier than he expected (hey, no one ever said he was the Terminator), and scattered those parts in half a dozen locations across Sunnydale.

No one would be rebuilding Ted.

I always wondered if there was any connection at all between Ted and Warren. They were no relation, and Warren didn't work at Ted's company; maybe Warren had found Ted's parts when they were "left on the scrap heap of life" and used them, or, sadly more likely, probably just a completely independent nut job with a flair for robotics.

Anyway, over wasn't over. The police grilled Joyce, and Buffy, and briefly chatted with me, Xander and Willow, about Ted Buchanan and his disappearance, and whether we knew anything about his various crimes.

I confessed that Buffy had asked me to look into him -- because there was the slim chance he might find out I was doing research -- but that all I'd found was that he'd been married four times.

"Oh, really?" Lamb had asked me. "Why did she ask?"

"I figured it was because no one was good enough for her mother," I said. "I certainly didn't realize he was a serial killer."

This time around, Lamb settled for just giving me a hard time; he had a lot more to deal with, which was not actually limited to "mass murderer discovered."

More on that in a minute.

Joyce Summers was devastated, of course, but grateful that she'd managed to dodge a major bullet. Buffy refrained from telling her anything like "I told you so" and was simply there for her mom over the next few weeks until the tumult died down.

Me, I didn't get off so easily, never mind that I managed to get the bastard taken care of.

I'd spared Joyce and Buffy quite a bit of pain -- Buffy more than Joyce, who was still dealing with the fact that she'd been dating a murderer (but at least she hadn't had the close encounter she'd had in the original timeline). Buffy, of course, didn't have to deal with thinking she'd killed a human being, not even for a minute.

Still, Buffy wanted to have been the one to take Ted down herself.

I understood that. Believe you me, I understood that. The night of graduation -- that night at the Neptune Grand? I found out soon after that someone had done the world a favor and killed Aaron Echolls. I didn't know who, though I had some strong suspicions.

Still, half of me was glad someone had done it, and the other half was upset it hadn't been me.

And Buffy felt the exact same way. Rationally, she knew why things had been arranged that way. Emotionally --

Ah, emotionally.

Anyway -- remember how I told you that Lamb had a lot to deal with?

That dealt with the phone call Dad made to me Monday night . . .

X X X X X

First, though, I had to get to Monday night. Not quite as easy as it sounds, particularly in Sunnydale – even though no vampires were involved.

Sunday night into Monday morning, I got two visits in my dreams.

The earlier, and more pleasant one, was from Lilly. We were sitting on the benches outside Sunnydale High.

"I'm fairly sure this isn't based on a genuine memory," I said.

"Oh, Veronica Mars," Lilly said. "What's real? What's fake?" She pointed down to her chest. "These are real. In case you were wondering."

I laughed. "I wasn't," I said. "And thanks for the image."

"Hey, it's an image a lot of people enjoyed," she said, tossing her hair back.

"Including Aaron Echolls," I said.

"And Xander Harris, and Weevil Navarro," she said, smiling broadly. "What can I say? I'm a giver."

"I think those two are mutually exclusive," I said wryly.

"I transcend all limitations," Lilly said. "I am universal. I am multiversal. Just like you, Veronica Mars."

"Not quite at your level," I said.

She laughed in delight. "No, of course not; but who is? Anyway, I just wanted to let you know you can stop worrying about me; I can take care of myself. You don't need to take care of me any more."

"I screwed this up the first time," I said. "I'm not going to make the same mistakes twice."

"I appreciate it. Really and truly," she said. "But for once, it isn't all about me."

I looked at her oddly. "Are you sure you're Lilly Kane?"

Another laugh. "Just this once. Trust me, Veronica Mars. Would I steer you wrong?"

I woke up, not screaming the way I sometimes did from a Lilly dream, and while I lay there awake made sure I'd give what Lilly said more thought when I was really awake and not lying in bed trying to get back to sleep, because I was fairly sure it meant something, even if I wasn't completely sure what.

Still, it was good to see Lilly again.

The later, and less pleasant one, was from no one's favorite uber-powerful supernatural being, back in his basement office in my apartment building.

At least this time The Adversary wasn't having us meet on the lip of a volcano this time. With this one, you had to be grateful for any crumbs he tossed.

"Ah," I said. "And what have I done to earn a visit this time?"

He said, "Something right."

I blinked. "Really?"

"Really," he said. "I do not lie. I have never once lied to you, Miss Mars. So when I say you've done something right, something that redounds quite heavily in your favor, you can believe me."

"Okay," I said. "I believe you. I assume you're talking about Ted Buchanan?"

"I am indeed," he said. "You've done more than you know, there, and it's all good. But sparing Buffy and Joyce Summers the pain of the original timeline is to your credit."

"Good," I said. "Still – I'm still here."

"No, the bet isn't over," he said. "No, you haven't won yet; you could definitely still lose, and very easily. But less easily, now."

"You're actually keeping score?" I said.

He seemed offended. "Of course I am. How would I know who won the wager otherwise?"

"I'd assumed you'd just swoop down and tell me one day, and then that would be the end of it."

"No," he said. "Nothing of the sort."

After a second, I said, "That's good to know."

"Can I see the score sheet?"

He laughed. "Of course not."

"So, are we done?" I said. "Because I'd like to try to get some sleep tonight, and between you and Lilly, I'm not getting a lot of relaxation done."

"Ah yes. Miss Kane."

Irritably, I said, "I told you to leave her out of it."

"I had nothing to do with the content of that dream," the Adversary said. "I am aware of it, but that's another matter entirely. And," he said mildly, "You're the one who brought her up."

"Is there a point to all of this?"

"Of course," he said imperturbably. "Listen to her."

"I always do," I said.

"No. You're not. Listen to what she's telling you."

After a few more seconds, when he didn't say anything else, I said, "Are you done?"

"I'm done," he said. "Enjoy the rest of your night."

He snapped his fingers, and I woke up. I didn't scream, but my pulse was racing like I'd just sprinted three miles.

I looked at the clock. 4:46 AM.

Lilly was right? I didn't need to take care of her?

Well, hell. Time to see what was on late-night TV in Sunnydale, because there was no way I was getting back to sleep now.

X X X X X

And I didn't. And late-night TV, Sunnydale style? Infomercials and sitcom reruns. So I watched a couple of episodes of MASH, because my only other choice was Three's Company, and I think you'll understand that I was kind of off that for a while.

Eventually, it rolled around to wakeup time. I took Backup for a nice, long walk; took a nice, long bath, had an extra-strong coffee from The Espresso Pump, and was still one of the first people to walk into Sunnydale High.

So, I wandered over to the school newspaper offices – Duncan trusted me with a key – and, before the final edition went to press later in the morning, proofread the final layout.

Found seven mistakes, left Duncan a note letting him know what I'd changed, and headed back out into the halls.

Where I promptly ran into Logan Echolls. He made a production of tapping his watch and said, "You're late, Mars."

"In what universe? We've still got fifteen minutes before I even have to be in class."

"For the lesson," he said irritably. "About seventeen hours late."

Well, poop.

That had completely slipped my mind, given what I was caught up in at the time. I'd make the same choice again, no matter how many times you offered it, but I should have taken a couple of minutes to clue Sheila and Logan in to what was going on.

I needed to apologize, first to Logan, and then to Sheila.

"You're right, Logan," I said. "I'm sorry. I was caught up in something else and completely forgot."

"What?" he said. "Another case? Someone lose their lunch money? Maybe misplace a pencil or two?"

Okay, he was entitled to be irritated, but still. "Actually, no. I was looking up information on a man named Ted Buchanan."

He stiffened. "The one who made papers from here to New York? The serial killer? That one?"

"It's not like there were two of them," I said.

"What the hell were you doing that for?"

"Because a client asked me to," I said. I wasn't going to say who without permission. But – "And it turned into a case that was beyond my capabilities."

"So you called in the Sunnydale Police Department?"

I sighed, gestured for him to step closer – "We don't have that kind of relationship, Mars," he murmured, but did as he was told; then I said, quietly, "Serial killer? On Lamb's radar. But no. It wasn't that kind of case."

"Ah. The mysterious Slayer."

"Yup. And no, I'm still not going to tell you who she is."

"Wasn't going to ask," he said unconvincingly. "So. What was he?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," I said.

"Try me. I think I know enough by this point not to be surprised."

"Robot," I said quietly.

He smirked and said, "Okay, that surprised me. When did robots become part of the equation?"

"Beats the hell out of me," I said. "Seems like it's the wrong genre, somehow. You know?"

"Indeed," he said. "We're in a western, and a dinosaur just rounded the mesa ahead."

"What can I say?" I said. "This is the real world. It transcends genre." Quietly, though, the Buffyverse had quite a bit from the sci-fi corner of things: Ted, Warren and his robots and his other inventions, the alien who'd stalked Joyce, the Initiative's taser rifles, and hell, the Initiative itself. It didn't exactly advertise the fact, but it was definitely there.

"Something to remember. But if we reach musical, I'm leaving town."

Flashforwarding to Sweet and OMWF, I said, "Me too." I'm not a bad singer. But I'm not going to stick around being forced to reveal my secrets.

Assuming I'm still around, then, of course.

"So, good enough excuse?" I said.

He sighed exaggeratedly and said, "I suppose so. And Rae was nice enough to answer questions, though I'm sure your tour would have been better."

"Flattery?" I wasn't sure I got where Logan was going, here. Rae knew that store better than anyone, up to and including Pete. I said as much to Logan

"You know me better than that, Mars," he said. "She knew more; yours, as always, would have been more interesting. And on that note? Homeroom isn't that far off."

"Yes, you don't want to miss your grand entrance three seconds before the bell rings," I said. "Glad you're not mortally offended."

"I think we're past that by now," he said seriously.

"Good to know," I said.

He smiled, nodded, and walked off.

Somewhere in the back of my mind I could hear Spike saying, "You're not friends. You'll never be friends." Why I was hearing this now, I had no clue.

My rapprochement with Sheila was briefer but more painful. I apologized profusely.

"Look. I know neither one of us is cute and fuzzy," I said. "But still. I really don't want to hurt your feelings. And I'm one of the few people who know you actually have them."

"Yeah. 'sokay, Veronica. Really."

"Really?" I said.

She dropped every trace of attitude she could and said, "Yes. Really."

"Good."

Then she hit me in the arm again, hard, and we moved on. Not one for hugs, our Sheila; she's as cuddly as a vampire porcupine.

"Got a new spell to show you."

It was witchfire, reversed: A little ball of darkness. She could only expand it to about five feet or so, but still, pretty cool. I told her as much.

"Damn right," was her response.

X X X X X

So. I made my way through the rest of my Monday without being punched in the arm or questioned by the police – always a plus in my book. The Scooby gang, plus me, all met in the library after the day was over so we could make sure everyone knew the full story of Ted and his end, and why yes, it was a mortal lock we'd never see him again.

Still, homework and paperwork at Dad's office (I opened mail and returned calls until well past dark) kept me busy until around 7:30. (Yes; I'd been home already to feed and walk Backup; I just hadn't been able to stay there long.

And that's when Dad called.

"Guess where I am," he said.

"The Baseball Hall of Fame!"

"Try a little closer to home, sweetie."

"The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame?"

"Closer . . ."

"The Fly Fishing Hall of Fame?"

"Nope! Give up?"

I sighed and said, "I guess I have to."

"Your old man is standing in the editorial room of the Los Angeles Times."

"What?" That was a shock. In the original run-through he'd used Neptune's daily paper, not the San Diego Union-Tribune.

But then, this was Sunnydale, not Neptune, and the local paper here was both corrupt and about a step above the Weekly World News in terms of credibility. The LA Times, on the other hand.

I added, "I told you, Dad, I cancelled the subscription." Had to keep this light.

"Nothing to do with that." Oh, he was going to make me jump every hurdle on this one, I could tell.

"Dad –"

"Okay, sweetie," he said. "You suck all the joy out of my life, you know that?"

"That's what daughters do. Now spill."

"I have the witness."

"Abel Koontz's hooker friend?"

"The one and only. The story's going in tomorrow!"

"And then?" I asked.

"And then," Dad said.

And then, we can take care of Aaron Echolls the way . . .

Take care.

Take care of herself.

Oh, shit.