The announcement of the demise of the Vampire Council went about as expected. 

A loud and long roar of support for the Family was heard for miles and a jeering sound of contempt for the Vampire Council was still heard whenever someone mentioned that former body. News of the final death of the council spread about as fast as word of Angelus and Buffy’s reign. New cameras were invented to capture the images of vampires, though only a few knew that the old cameras were perfectly functional, it created a new market, after all, and that was always something. 

Photos of the Family, Angelus and Buffy in the front, circulated widely and quickly. The Royal Couple were the most popular creatures in the world – ever – and set the trend everyone followed. Whenever the reporters chanced to get near them, every aspect of their appearance was studied and scrutinized for later duplication. Even at something as morbid as the announcement that the former Vampire Council was incorporated into Family holdings, the couple was treated as if they were at the social event of the year.

Which they were, and it was just as well that everyone recognized that. 

The traces of the press that still tried to report whatever they could, quickly jotted their notes at the press conference. They asked for quotes from all of the Family and scurried back to their relatively safe offices to type their stories. Nighttime was dangerous for everyone, it didn’t matter if there was a shiny little press-badge pinned to your coat or not. 

Radio was making a comeback the likes of which hadn’t been seen since World War II, though none of the Family was disposed to talk to the masses ala FDR’s Fireside Chats. Television reporting was a distant third, electricity not being anywhere near what it used to be, with newspaper circulation running somewhere in the middle. 

It was just the way the Family wanted it, terror spread fastest was the best way to go. And just because there were still small pockets of freedom mean next to nothing for those who lived there. Resources were scarce, camps crowded, and it was only a matter of time before those pockets of freedom became just another piece of land that the Family owned, controlled, and dominated. But without the spread of their name, their deeds, their fear, it was all for naught. 

Therefore, anyone with a radio was bound to spread the news fastest, and farthest. 

Like, say, to the distant reaches of Free-Africa. 

Scenting the air, something that came as naturally now as breathing, Daniel Osborn continued towards the east and the camp he’d been searching for, for a while now. He’d managed to avoid any major patrol parties, demonic and human collaborators alike, and was now trekking through a thick jungle. No matter how long he’d been away from civilization or how well he’d learned to take care of himself, Oz still preferred the city – moderate or sprawling – to…this. 

Still, all he knew was gone, destroyed in one way or another. His home, friends, family – he hadn’t talked with his parents since he’d left Sunnydale the first time, didn’t know how the rest of his family was and had no idea if any of his other friends lived. He hoped his family and…remaining friends weren’t alive, horrible though that may have sounded; times were unbearably hard and he didn’t want to think of his friends and family having to exist in what passed for the world today. 

Who did he blame for that? The list was long and varied, but mostly Oz blamed himself. It was his own fault, and Oz readily admitted this; but he’d always thought he had time…he should have remembered that there really was never enough of that elusive thing and that seize the day was a saying for a very good reason. He was the one to leave, he was the one to not keep in touch, he was the one who needed to find himself and in order to do that had wandered over the world. 

If he’d stay could he have made a difference? Probably not but that didn’t stop him from his mental self-flagellation. And what ifs. The what ifs were worst, however, the second and third guessing, the nightmares that refused to be shut away in a neat closet during his increasingly longer waking hours. But the absolute worst thing about it was…no matter what he dreamt, how atrocious his imagination made things out to be, reality was so much worse. 

Willow was a vampire and if the rumors were to be believed, the most powerful witch the world had seen since Merlin. She was also with some vampire who owned half of LA before this occupation and was now close up there on the list of Angelus’ and Buffy’s most trusted. That rumor was fuzzier, stories of the Family were difficult to come by, everyone spoke of them, but perversely, everyone was afraid to talk about them in anything approaching a negative light. 

Bad press was always…eaten. 

Willow was evil and it was Buffy’s fault. Literally. Buffy was Willow’s sire, and Buffy’s sire was…someone who was now dead. No one really knew; Oz suspected Angelus – it made the most sense, after all – but there was a particularly gruesome tale going around involving magicks and Angelus and something about him wanting her. Oz had laughed outright at that one – he couldn’t help himself – and the villagers in the small Hong Kong restaurant all turned to stare at him as if he’d gone mad. 

Well, he had, but that wasn’t the point. Being crazy as a loon – Oz hadn’t dealt with the news of the situation he’d reemerged into at all well – was something he dealt with on a day-to-day basis and had absolutely no bearing on what he knew to be true. He’d told the gathered humans that if Angelus wanted Buffy – and the vampire always had, it was a well-established fact. And even if Oz hadn’t really understood all the dynamics during that time so many years ago, he knew enough – then there wasn’t anything that was going to stop Angelus and he certainly didn’t need magicks of any kind to get the slayer. 

For as long as Buffy was slayer, Oz said in a haunting voice that had the patrons of the eatery slowly backing away from him, Angelus wanted her and, really, something as silly as death wasn’t going to stand in his way. Obsession was thrown around, but the word didn’t begin to describe the depth of emotion the demon felt for the blonde. That, too, was obvious to everyone who had seen the two interact even once. 

This new news set off another round of gossip but Oz ignored the questions, retreated back into his stoic shell, and moved onto another town. Left alone with his thoughts, they invariably turned to the people he once knew. Now was no exception as he continued to slowly make his way through the underbrush of the sweltering jungle someplace in the middle of nowhere Africa. 

Dawn was a mystery he didn’t want to solve, afraid to discover what happened to the girl; again, there was a rumor about her being mystical in origins, but no proof. Then again, the ones who could provide that proof probably weren’t about to tell him – unless it was right before they killed him. It was a mystery he could live without solving, quite frankly. And maybe Angel’s group knew something along those lines. 

Faith was another rumor he hoped wasn’t true; the virtual enslavement of the only slayer left was hard to believe, but who better to know how to do so than those who fought so long with her? And the only one who could beat her? Buffy held a lot of resentment towards the other slayer and Oz doubted her forgiveness even with a soul. The demon wasn’t about to let bygones be bygones, he was sure. Feeling a moment’s sympathy for the only slayer left, Oz tried to put her out of his mind. Melodramatic as it seemed, “Their last best hope for victory” was just about right. 

Now Giles…Giles had also been turned and ranked second only to Willow in the powerful dark arts. It came as no surprise to Oz that either of them were turned, with the proper motivation and persuasion, they’d make powerful allies. Together, they could successfully open the Hellmouth, control its powers, or just about whatever else they pleased. And with an entire world to rule, it wasn’t a question of finding enough pieces of the pie to go around. Add in Spike and Drusilla and The Family was a formidable team to be sure. 

Still, there was something the Family was hiding and Oz had no idea what it was. 

Power was something they obviously wanted, and most certainly had, but there were nine of them. Not pausing in his movements, Oz recounted. Yes, nine when you counted the paramours of Giles and Willow, though he knew little about the boy. Connor, Angel’s son – Angelus’ son? The rumor that Darla was his mother was generally laughed at, as everyone knew that vampires couldn’t have children and while Oz was inclined to agree, he’d seen way too many things in his life to totally dismiss it. 

After all, vampires couldn’t have souls either and look at that statistic. 

There were two things stopping him from believing the story that Angel had a child with Darla. One being that he vaguely remembered Willow telling him that Angel had killed his Sire – Darla – during the first months Buffy’d been in Sunnydale. Now, while he knew it was possible to come back from the dead, again look at the statistics on that, was it possible to come back from ash and dust that was a vampire’s final death? 

The second reason he found that rumor to be that side of bizarre, was that Oz knew how jealous Buffy was with anything to do with Angel and well, now Angelus. Him having a child with another woman, even if it was before Buffy knew him, if Connor’s age was to be believed, was one thing, Buffy accepting him as her own and turning him as her own? Quite another. 

His senses told him he was nearer the camp now, and noted that the trees thinned only marginally, no magicks were in the air and there were no sentinels in the area. Oz didn’t think his directions were wrong and he knew there was a human camp beyond that ridge. Maybe it was simply a village? Only one way to find out wasn’t there. Clearing the brush, Oz found himself at the pointy end of a spear. 

“Hi,” he said and looked into the face of a haggard looking man. How’d he miss the scent of the human? The spear didn’t so much as waver. Going for the truth, Oz said, “I’m looking for the resistance camp.” 

“There is no resistance to the Family,” spear-man said and the spear did move now and it was closer to Oz. 

“Right.” Oops, had he made a wrong turn? It was easy to get lost in the jungle and hard to know who to trust. “Um, okay then, I’m looking for…Wesley?”

The spear inched forward again. “There are no Wesley’s here,” spear-man said and when Oz looked into his eyes he saw that they were as dead as his voice. Another surge of anger moved through him but the werewolf successfully blocked it; there were so many things to be angry over, this man’s obvious loss of hope just another. “And this is a human sanctuary, beast.” That spear moved again. “We eat creatures like you for dinner.” 

“Oh, right, yeah, that whole werewolf thing? Totally under control.” Oz said but he still hadn’t moved. His face remained impassive and his voice calm and neutral – it didn’t look like it was getting him anywhere, however and now instead of just spear-man, there were two of them. 

The one holding the spear didn’t acknowledge the man behind him but Oz flickered his eyes to the intruder. Just the man he was looking for. What were the odds? “Wes, good to see you, man.” 

“Oz,” Wesley said in a cool voice. He looked older than the last time Oz saw him, more in control with absolutely no sign that he was ever anything other than the hardened leader he appeared to be now. His clothes were torn and hadn’t been washed in ages, and his hands were thick with grime, the kind it took years to get out. “What are you doing here?” 

The just happened to be in the neighborhood story didn’t seem appropriate at the moment, so Oz shrugged instead. “Been looking for you.” 

“Cooper, put the spear down and find Gunn, please.” Wesley instructed and nodded when spear-man-Cooper looked back at him. Once Cooper was out of sight, Wesley returned his gaze to Oz. “Last I’d heard you were in…Tibet I believe.” 

Nodding once, Oz continued to stay where he was. “Yeah, a hidden monastery there; the monks, among others, helped me control the wolf.” 

“So you found what you were looking for then?” Another man appeared next to Wesley but said nothing. He looked just as battle weary as the ex-watcher. 

“Depends. I found how to control the beast, if that’s what you mean, but I lost…a lot.” It was again the guilt that colored his voice, guilt that he wasn’t there to fight with Willow and Buffy, guilt that began with If Only I Had… 

“Yes,” Wes admitted wryly, “Things…changed.” 

The man behind Wes folded his arms across his chest, a wicked looking machete grasped firmly in one hand. “I guess you missed the memo that stated all werewolf packs were joining up, huh?” 

Oz noticeably paled, the first sign he was anything but an old friend out to renew acquaintances. “No, no I hadn’t heard that.” His eyes flew from the man with the machete to Wes. “Is that true? Are the packs turning to Buffy and Angelus?” 

Slowly nodding, looking even more weary than a moment ago, Wes admitted, “Yes, I’m afraid so. All demonic beings, evil, neutral, or even good, were given shelter under the banner of Angelus and Buffy. Werewolves, often viewed as outcasts, joined almost eagerly. They were embraced, such as it were, and allowed to hunt as they saw fit. There are always a few instances where they kill the wrong being, but vengeance is usually swift and not allowed to escalate beyond the beings involved.” 

“I…I didn’t know.” Oz said in a low voice. “I had no idea, I wasn’t aware of a lot of this until…recently.” 

“Why have you come, Oz?” Wesley asked. 

“I’ve been out of the fight for too long,” the werewolf admitted, “I wasn’t there for…for them and I need to somehow help now.” 

The other man snorted. “One more person isn’t likely to help, English,” he said and Oz almost smiled. Maybe things hadn’t changed as much as he originally thought and waited, almost subconsciously, for Wesley to take his smeared glasses off and polish their lenses. Wes didn’t but it looked like he desperately wanted to and even that brought some small measure of calm to Oz. 

“Things are…?” 

“That bad, Oz, yes,” Wesley admitted and pressed a thumb to his forehead in an attempt to alleviate some of the pain there, pain that was a constant companion anymore. “Still, Gunn, we can’t turn him away, no matter how stretched we are. And we do need all the help we can get.” And Wes admitted if only to himself, it would be nice to have one more person who remembered the good their friends once were. With only the three of them now, he, Gunn, and Fred, it was almost easy to forget… 

Forget that once upon a time, Buffy had been the greatest slayer to ever live and Angel had been the champion warrior to fight at her side. That Giles and Willow were feared practitioners of magick who used their powers to battle the evil that infected the world and that Cordelia, Xander, too many others, were still alive, helping in their own ways. That even Spike was on their side. 

Gunn nodded once and turned to tell Fred that a werewolf would be joining them. This was in addition to the three Creere Healer Demons who showed up a month ago and the pack of Gorsh that arrived a month before that. It was somewhat gratifying to see that not all demons flocked to the Family’s banner, but it was getting harder and harder to provide basic things like food, water, and shelter for their camp. 

“Tell me what I can do,” Oz said and again cursed himself for being sequestered in his own world for entirely too long. 

“First you can eat, I imagine you’re hungry?” At Oz’s reluctant nod, Wes finished, “Then you can tell me how you found our camp.” 

Maybe, just maybe afterwards, they could remember. Happier and simpler times.
~~~~~~~~~~
Buffy sipped her wine, smiling at their butler, George, as he served them. George, for his part, merely inclined his head and left with barely a sound. Finally, Buffy thought, good help. 

“I think the press conference was the perfect touch,” Anya said when she, Buffy, and Willow sat together two weeks after the, ah, takeover of the council. “It’s good to show the aftereffects, that whole preventive-measure thing. I still hear humans talking about it on the streets.” 

It was always good to know their exploits were such public news; Buffy smirked and sipped again at her drink. It wasn’t a matter of caring, it was simply of ensuring that the population knew who was in charge at all times. Wouldn’t do for one of them to get it in their little minds that the Family was getting weak, would it? 

But there was something more important for her to discuss with Anya and this seemed to be the perfect time. 

The weeks since the council was disbanded had been hectic at best: the alliance with D’Hoffryn was solidified and Anya had become an almost permanent fixture in the palace. Incorporating the council’s business, clans and orders, flunkies and minions into the network took time and effort. More than a few minions were killed – some as an example some because they refused the new order – and several childer were likewise dealt with. 

Connor and Spike enjoyed that past time and, through some weird bonding between the two, let Faith carry out that task. After all, despite her mind – or lack thereof – a cranky slayer wasn’t a good one. So, one set to destroy those she was made to destroy was perfect, and made for a happy Faith. Buffy watched her (former) sister slayer in action the first day after the Council party and was suitably impressed. 

Faith carried herself with a graceful wildness that she was lacking during her non-crazed stage. Fluid and refined, her style was pure hunter with nothing to get in the way; no emotions of any kind blocked her need to do her job. When she was finished, Buffy noted with a smirk, Spike was often her outlet for any sexual release she craved – and she seemed to still have those cravings. 

Buffy knew Spike and Dru were talking about a suitable playmate for Faith, one to deal with her…needs when neither of them were around, but so far none had passed the test – lasting an entire night with the slayer and walking away come morning. She always ended up killing them after she was finished – whether they were or not, finished that was. Still, while the two older vampires were around, and Lilah, occasionally, Faith was content enough. 

Since there was a slight overabundance of human blood-drinkers around, it wasn’t a problem for them to find one-night stands for Faith. Kept their pet happy, and helped to whittle down the populace, cull the weak from the herd. Besides, it wasn’t as if they needed an overabundance of fledglings and somewhat mutinous childer; though it did make for some interesting parties. 

But now, it was Connor Buffy wanted to talk about now. 

Actually, it was the time he was spending with Anya she wanted to discuss. It wasn’t that Buffy objected to the fact that her childe was spending time with Anya, but she did worry about him, far more than anyone else – excepting Angelus – in their family. He was the youngest in terms of years as both a human and a demon and while his experience fighting demonic forces was to be envied, Holtz hardly did any kind of job raising him to be a well-balanced man. 

If Holtz wasn’t already dead, Buffy knew she’d have killed the human herself; for the way he raised Connor, true, but also because he took Angel’s son away from him. In the end, it didn’t matter who his mother was, Connor was Angel’s, by extension Angelus’, and again, by extension, Buffy’s. 

So she worried. 

“Anya, dear,” Buffy started with a look at the vengeance demon. “I understand you and Connor have been spending time together.” 

Oh, boy, Anya thought, here it is. She wasn’t surprised; it was obvious Buffy felt protective towards the lad. “Yes, he’s a strong fighter, and an amazing lover.” 

“Is that all?” Buffy asked, suddenly pleased with Anya’s forth rightfulness. 

“You mean is there any possibility for a long term relationship?” When Buffy merely tilted her head to the side, Anya sighed. “Not at the moment. I’m not into long term – been there, tried that, look what it got me. Then again, I am back where I belong. Besides, I don’t think a vampire and vengeance demon match would work. I curse people with what they really want, not what they think they do. I don’t eat them.” 

Buffy chuckled, accepting the answer for now. She wouldn’t warn Anya off Connor, nor would she say anything to her childe. It wasn’t her concern and she didn’t think that Connor was going to form some kind of attachment to the demon before her. It seemed to be exactly what Buffy suspected: Connor, as they all did, wanted someone to help him forget their lives before and to pass the time with their lives now. 

The past haunted each of them, soulless or not, and it was something that even the Family couldn’t forget, couldn’t make disappear. Buffy had it with her father; Hank had suffered long and hard for his treatment of his children, his abandonment. Willow had her parents and their mostly unrealistic expectations for their only child. Giles had his submission to his own family demands, his father’s disappointment in him, his rebellion, his acceptance into the Watcher’s Council only because he’d repressed who he truly was. 

Even Angelus, who had over two hundred years to work his anger and frustration for his family out of his system and new familial issues in Connor and what he had and hadn’t with the boy, souled or not. A son was a son, and one who had the potential that Connor did made both soul and demon proud. Granted, there were different reasons, but pride in one’s offspring was pride. 

Connor…kidnapped and raised in a demonic dimension – Angelus and Giles were trying to figure out how to destroy Quar-toth for the simple reason that it was where Holtz took Connor. The boy was raised by a madman who wanted revenge and cared nothing for a small helpless child. Buffy didn’t care about small helpless children, but this was Connor they were talking about, and she did care for him. Immensely. 

Revenge cost Holtz his life, which he seemed to care nothing for in his quest to destroy Angel. Revenge that even cost him his son; Steven was as dead as the innocent baby Holtz took from his father. But the ultimate revenge was Buffy’s, on behalf of herself and her mate. 

Connor was now as much hers as he was Angelus’. He was her childe, Angelus’ son, and there was nothing left of the boy Holtz raised. Just as it should be, Buffy thought as Anya convinced Willow to spend the night shopping with her while Paul was at meetings. 

Buffy was a very possessive woman, her vampiric state had done nothing to alter it so much as enhance it.

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