Disclaimer: Joss & Co. owns all these people, demons, creatures, tax collectors, etc. I'm only playing with them.

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WATCHER'S COUNCIL, LONDON

Quentin Travers sat in his office ignoring the daily requisition and assignment forms he was supposed to be perusing. Instead he found himself staring once again at the photograph of Alan and Lydia. He had snapped it himself years ago, a rare enough occasion in itself to make the picture remarkable. But what drew him to it most was the carefree happiness he saw on Alan's face. The occasion had been Alan's official welcoming as a full Watcher, a graduation of sorts, and he had been relaxed and content throughout. Lydia was looking at him with genuine affection, so unlike the guarded looks she had taken to giving him towards the end. Quentin was not a fool. He knew that his nephew had changed in many ways, grown cold and calculating at the very least. But this smiling boy was the nephew Quentin chose to remember.

A tentative knock at the door forced him from his reverie. Quentin sighed heavily.

"Come," he barked without looking up from the picture. After a moment where the unwanted visitor stood in front of his desk without speaking, he looked up in annoyance.

"Davis. What is it?"

"I've come for the reports, sir. And the signoff on Faith."

"Faith?" Quentin grunted absently. "What about Faith?" Davis sighed heavily.

"New Watcher assignment?" he prompted, speaking with exaggerated patience. "The papers for the American authorities securing her release to our custody. She and her new Watcher should be returning within a fortnight."

"Ah, yes," Quentin said, signing the documents Davis held out absently. In truth he remembered none of what Davis was talking about, but he wanted the bothersome man out of his office posthaste. Davis indicated a few more places needing signatures, then stood back, satisfied.

"Thank you, sir," he said primly, turning to leave.

"Davis?" Quentin's voice surprised the man, and he looked back.

"About Faith. If there's a problem..."

"We're prepared to deal with it, sir," Davis assured him. Quentin nodded vaguely, that brief moment of attention already fading. Davis watched him pick up the picture and saw himself out, smiling. *The Slayer's death, signed, sealed and ordered by Quentin Travers himself. The Dark Council will be most pleased with my service indeed.*

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OUTSIDE LOS ANGELES, CA

"Hortensia, huh? Can I call you Hor for short?"

"I would prefer it if you didn't, dear."

"Plan on watching me rot in prison? Cause that's pretty much all I'm doing here. It's very exciting."

"The Council has no intention of allowing the world to be unprotected, Faith. Your imprisonment will be dealt with shortly. It is important that you resume training."

"You guys want me back out slaying? Just like that?"

"We need a Slayer. Until another one is called, you're all we've got. So we mean to make use of what we've got," Hortensia said coolly, her face impassive but her eyes glittering with something Faith knew well. Contempt.

"I can't take the praise and affection. Please," Faith replied. Contempt was something she could dish out as well as take.

"I'll return another day, Faith. Be prepared." The Watcher stood and left without awaiting Faith's reply. The Slayer shivered.

"Don't sweat it, Hor," Faith snarled. "I will be." Faith was relieved to see that the guard bringing her back was Wayne Gibbons, one of the five guards Faith had rescued from an erstwhile inmate who had in fact been a Sukora Demon. Fearful of losing their jobs, the guards had kept quiet and Faith had spent some time in solitary for the violence, but their debt of gratitude had afforded her some extra measure of comfort and the occasional otherwise impossible favor. She touched his arm beseechingly. "Gib, I need to make a phone call." The guard nodded nervously.

"Sure thing, Faith. It's not long distance, is it?"

"Nah. Los Angeles."

************

DREAMING PLANES, LOCATION UNKNOWN

"You know me? You know where we are? This place is so strange, I'm totally confused. Do I know you?" Buffy's soul asked earnestly.

"No, we've never met, but I do know you. My name is Aldric. Aldric Stokes-Martin. I'm sure this is rather alarming, but I can assure you you're perfectly safe, Miss Summers."

"Okay, Aldric," Buffy said, trying the name on for size and almost giggling, mostly from hysteria. "Do you know where I am? Or who's in charge here? Cause I've been hanging around here long enough. If this is Heaven, it looked a lot nicer in the brochure."

"You're on the Dreaming Planes. Normally souls travel here while they're asleep, in dreams they very rarely remember."

"So I'm asleep?" Buffy asked in confusion. *Could have sworn I was dead.*

"I don't believe so. No."

"Oh. But you're asleep."

"Not exactly," Aldric vacillated. Buffy sighed.

"Why is it every helpful guy I meet graduated from Cryptic Academy?" she asked rhetorically, her eyes cast upward.

"Yes, ummm, the thing is, the Dreaming Planes should seem somewhat familiar to you. You've had prophetic dreams, as a Slayer, yes?" Buffy nodded, frowning in suspicion.

"You know I'm the Slayer? Okay, that's it. Who are you, buddy?"

"I'm a friend, I assure you. I know about you because I was once part of the Council of Watchers. It's a long story, but suffice to say I'm being held by a group of Watchers that have turned to evil." He watched her expression change from concern to cynical disgust. "I've been trying to communicate with someone, but without any success."

"Until now," Buffy said, and Aldric gave her a surprised smile, which after a moment she tentatively returned. "So tell me something, Aldric. Why am I here?" Aldric sighed heavily. This was going to be complicated.

"Afraid I can't be exactly sure. I do have a theory, though."

"Of course you do. You're a Giles-type, always making with the theories," Buffy said lightly, but her eyes were sad. She missed her Watcher terribly. And Dawn, and Willow, and Xander...Buffy shook herself from her gloomy thoughts. Aldric nodded and continued.

"Can you tell me the last thing you remember before being here?"

"I jumped from the tower. To save my sister. And..." Buffy frowned, trying to remember.

"Yes?" Aldric prompted.

"And I...well, I thought I died. There was something...pulling me. Pulling me out of my body. It wasn't right, though. It's not like I knew what was supposed to happen, but I knew that was wrong, you know?"

"Yes, I'm fairly certain I do," Aldric mused. "And I think I know what might have caused your...situation. The trouble is I haven't the faintest idea what's to be done about it."

"What are you trying to say? I'm stuck here forever?" Buffy asked quietly.

"Not if I have anything to say about it, Miss Summers. I give you my word."

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SUNNYDALE, CA

Xander and Dawn tensed, straining to hear the whispered voices as they grew closer. Xander's eyes darted about, searching for something he could use to protect Dawn and Giles, but finding nothing. He resolved that he wouldn't let her be taken, no matter what, when he almost fainted from relief seeing who had come to them. Dawn gave a soft cry of joy.

"Spike! Tara! I knew you'd find us!" she said, holding up her manacled arms for Spike to work on. "They took Anya, and Giles is still out cold and...where's Willow?" She threw her arms around Spike as soon as he'd freed her, and Xander noticed how the vampire returned the embrace before setting her lightly down and moving on to free Xander. The dark-haired youth eyed the door nervously as the vampire worked his bonds free. It also hadn't escaped his notice that neither the vampire nor the witch had answered Dawn's question, and a cold hand wrapped around his heart

"Do you know where the Jan'esha took Anya, Dawnie? You, Xander?" Tara asked softly. Both shook their heads, and Spike and Tara exchanged meaningful looks. Spike finished freeing Giles from his chains and laid him down with surprising gentleness. "Okay, we need to do this ritual fast, before someone comes. Dawn, you help me and Spike. Xander, can you stand guard?"

"What about Anya? We have to find her!" Xander asked, wincing when he heard his own voice crack. He was beside himself with worry, about all of them. Even in the dim light he could see that Tara was hurt, perhaps badly, and he felt that icy hand begin to squeeze. Spike shoved an axe into his hands, meeting his gaze grimly.

"No one can come in here, mate. If we're interrupted, we're all dead, understand?" Spike said gruffly, then added softly. "This is the only way to save your girl." Xander nodded, his face growing impassive as it often did when his emotions were too strong. He turned his back on them all and faced the door, saying a silent prayer that Anya could hang on, that Willow and Giles would be all right, and strangely but not without precedent, his mind filled with thoughts of Buffy. Whether he was praying to her or for her he couldn't have said, but he knew what the gist of it was.

"Miss you Buffy. So much. God, I wish you were here," he whispered. He heard Spike and Tara begin chanting behind him, and a moan that he believed came from Giles. He glanced back, amazed to see the vampire, eyes closed, sitting crosslegged across from Tara and tracing glowing sigils in the air. He was relieved to also see Giles sitting up, albeit supported heavily by Dawn. Hearing sounds from down the hall, he whipped his head back around and gulped hard. There was no doubt who or what was coming this time.

"Guys," he warned the others quietly, "Brace yourselves, we're about to have company."

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DESTINY, MAINE

Not much surprised Lydia anymore, but the underground facility Trisha led her through was not at all expected. Monitors showed that the entire town was under constant surveillance, and there were more than a few glowing crystals holding magickal wards lying about. Trisha stopped at a door and punched a complicated code into the alpha-numeric keypad, then traced a symbol on the door as she chanted a couple of words in what sounded to Lydia to be Middle Irish. The door opened of its own accord and stood back, waiting for Lydia to pass through ahead of her. As the former Watcher did she felt a rather unpleasant tingling sensation. She looked back sharply at Tricia, who was eyeing her with astonished amusement.

"Oh my, Lydia, you have been through something, haven't you?" she asked.

"What was that?"

"A very nasty final ward, I'm afraid. That you felt it at all is an indication that you've been touched by something very dark. But at least we can be sure you have nothing but good intentions towards me and mine."

"How?"

"If not, you'd be dead," Tricia said blithely, seating herself on the sofa and gesturing for Lydia to do the same. Lydia took a moment to take in their surroundings, finding them sparse but surprisingly homey. The colors were muted with bright primary accents, mostly blue. Lydia smiled, knowing that was her friend's favorite color. Looking closer at her friend, she could see worry lines around her eyes, and fingernails that had been bitten to the quick. Tricia was obviously troubled by something; given her friend's naturally cheerful nature, Lydia had no doubt that if it was making her this anxious, she had a right to be.

"Trish, what is going on?" Lydia asked finally.

"I think that's fairly obvious. We're hiding."

"Yes, but why? And from what?"

"This might come as something of a shock, but it's the Council we're hiding from. Have been for years now. I thought they would just let him go...I was so naïve. Shameful, really. We weren't in America a month before they tried to capture us," she said ruefully.

"Capture you? I don't understand," Lydia said.

"I didn't either, at first. There was something about Koy I didn't know when I fell in love with him. It was the true reason he left London. It's the reason they won't let either of us go." Trish's eyes darted nervously about the room, and Lydia put a reassuring hand on top of her friend's.

"I can understand if you don't trust me, Trish. I can assure you I knew nothing about it...you're not the only one who's been naïve when it comes to Council matters." The last was said with such bitterness that Trish drew her friend into a quick hug.

"I do know that. You've never been anything less than a friend...it's why I sent you the postcard from here. You were the only one I felt I could trust. You'll probably be shocked, but I need you to know everything. It's the only way you can understand, and maybe even help."

"Anything," Lydia swore sincerely. "What is it about Koy that I don't know?" Tricia focused on a spot beyond Lydia's shoulder, her eyes pleading, and Lydia turned her head to see the man in question had entered the room. After a long moment of silent communication with his wife, Koy sighed in resignation. He looked Lydia in the eye and shrugged, his expression carefully neutral.

"Simply put, I'm not human."

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