by Rob Sorenson

Pierre Leveque was suffering. Born and raised in Montreal, he spent the great majority of his time in his home country when not on Council business. This had taken him to all corners of the globe, with climates as diverse as the cultures and personalities of the Council itself.

Of all the places he'd visited he hated Florida in the summertime the most. One couldn't escape the clinging moisture in the air, regardless of whether it was day or night. The heat became simply more oppressive as the day went along, until the land was deluged with the occasionally violent storms that accompanied summertime in the tropics. This had a similar effect to the basting of a turkey; when the rain stopped and the sun came roaring back down to assault your flesh, you just cooked more evenly.

This was slightly alleviated in the late autumn, winter and early spring. November through April made living in Florida worth it to the millions who migrated from the north. For many who lived there full time it was simply an all too brief respite until the suffering reasserted itself.

Pierre didn't live there, nor did he plan to. If he had, though, he'd be firmly in the camp of those who hated the place in the Hellish months of summer. It was warm and humid enough for him when he made his yearly rounds in the spring.

To his dismay on this final visit, it was June.

Still, he'd been given a responsibility, and by no means would he shirk it. He shuddered involuntarily at the realization of just how close he'd come to dying that day, just one short week before. Now, after performing this last task he'd return to Montreal and count his blessings, though there would always be lingering effects of his experiences in Yankee Stadium.

He shuddered again at that thought.

Forcing himself to be patient, he worked his way through the throngs of people on the steaming asphalt, desperately hoping that the threatening afternoon thunderheads would hold their water until he'd successfully made his way underground.

At last he came upon a clear spot and slipped around the corner as furtively as possible. One enormous positive of the Council's secondary headquarters in the U.S. was the sheer variety of entrances and exits; it would require a virtual platoon of soldiers to cover every avenue of escape.

The rain had just begun pelting down as he pushed open the swinging door and made his way down a concrete ramp, carefully avoiding the passing forklifts and clothing hampers on wheels, whisking by with no apparent regard for the posted speed limits.

The entire Council had rarely convened as one even prior to the bombing of their London office at the hands of the First for security reasons. This, however, was termed a Critical A-1 threat in the communiqué that Pierre had sent out using Travers's email account. Those sorts of messages were never sent lightly, and response had been immediate.

Therefore when Pierre walked into the conference room he had in his presence every important member of the Council of Watchers, from every regional office. A rare sight indeed.

Pierre took a deep breath and made his way to the front of the room to speak as idle chatter abruptly ended once his entrance was noticed. He was second only to Travers himself; surely he could provide them with some answers. He began to speak.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I'll be brief. Many of you here are from the Executive Council, and are therefore aware of the operation that took place in New York City last week. For the benefit of those who were not on a need to know basis, I'll give a short summary of the original plan, concluding with the results."

He proceeded to outline everything, sparing nothing.

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

***One Week Earlier***

Spike was exhausted after making the long walk back to the South Bronx. Not from a physical standpoint, though certainly a walk of several miles would tire anyone a little. In his case, though, his exhaustion was emotional. He'd left everything that had happened to them loose when he'd sent Travers over that bridge.

He'd spent most of the lonely walk back hoping he hadn't left a piece of his hard won soul on that bridge while releasing the pain and anger that had assaulted him since seeing the people he loved in torment.

He'd dispatched one of the main sources of the torment into the river. It both comforted and annoyed him that he was troubled by it. On the one hand, the man had done more than his share of Evil. On the other...he was a person. Spike was supposed to feel troubled by such an action, however necessary.

As he entered the hospital, his heart was warmed by the sight of a rapidly healing Buffy at the reception desk. He'd alerted her on the cell that he was nearby, and she had come to meet him. Wordlessly, she moved to the blonde vampire and wrapped her arms around his body, gripping him tightly, speaking softly.

"Where'd you go?"

"Out for a walk."

"Bitch?"

"Excuse me?"

"Something you said to me once."

Spike thought for a moment.

"Oh, right. I remember now."

"You want to go see him?"

"Of course."

They walked to the elevator as Buffy gave him the latest.

"The doctor recommended we transfer him to Bellevue in Manhattan."

"What's wrong with this place?"

"Bellevue specializes in...psychiatric problems."

"Can he be moved at this point? I mean, with his injuries?"

"They say he'll be ok to move by tomorrow. Physically he looks awful, but it's just a matter of time until he recovers completely. He's going to be sore, but Xander's pretty tough." She looked at Spike. "I know he doesn't act like it all the time with the silly jokes and everything, but--"

"I know."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I know I still make fun of him, but...Xander just hangs in there somehow. I don't think I've ever seen a human quite like him."

"Me neither. On a lot of levels. Xander's toughness is on the inside. That's where his strength is. He's built it up a lot over the years holding things in. Right now, that strength is hurting him as much as it's helping."

Spike nodded in understanding. "He's shut himself down."

"Pretty much. It's pretty creepy, honey. I just wanted to give you a heads up."

The elevator arrived at the 4th floor and Buffy led him to the room.

He entered, greeted with the sight of Faith holding one of Xander's hands, while Willow held the other. Dawn sat at the foot of his bed.

Xander himself had a badly swollen face, swaddled in bandages. His broken leg was now set in a cast, accompanied by heavy tape over his broken ribs. Most disconcerting was the wide-eyed stare off into space that gave the vampire an involuntary chill.

Faith looked up to him and offered a half smile that broke Spike's lifeless heart. The pain behind that brave effort gave him a sudden surge of affection for the supposedly rough tough Slayer as she began to speak.

"Everything taken care of?"

He looked at the wall. "Yes."

She simply nodded as the Willow and Dawn looked questioningly from Spike to Faith...then back.

Buffy, on the other hand, was staring directly at William, causing him to be distinctly uncomfortable.

Faith didn't even notice the tension in the room as she turned back to Xander. She took a deep breath and addressed Spike once more.

"He's gonna heal up ok. He's beat up pretty bad, but he'll be fine." She turned and looked pleadingly into his eyes, practically begging for reinforcement.

"Of course he will. Harris is far too annoying to go out like this."

Faith managed another grateful half smile, tearing up slightly at Spike's grin. William looked to Xander, finally refocusing on his eyes.

Xander was staring out at nothing...at all. It was as if the world had been switched off, as Spike had mentioned to Buffy before. He'd never understood the accuracy of that statement until he saw this shell of Xander for himself.

Spike had gone through too much this night to be able to bear any more. Abruptly, he turned to meet Buffy's eyes, still boring into him.

"Is there anywhere I can grab some scraps or something? I'm a bit hungry."

Buffy simply nodded and motioned for him to follow as she walked out of the room. He sighed and went along for the inevitable confrontation.

Dawn and Willow shared a concerned glance at the obvious tension between their friends.

Faith had noticed nothing. She was lost in Xander's dark, vacant eyes.

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

The cafeteria was dimly lit in the dark of night, and generally closed to all, but Buffy and Spike easily avoided security and made their way into the kitchen, searching for something raw so that Spike could sate his hunger.

Buffy had often amused herself with the notion that Spike would be the perfect mate for her. She'd never have to learn how to cook.

Right now those lighter thoughts were pushed aside, replaced with deeply conflicted ones. Finally, unable to bear the silence, Spike turned to the woman who owned his heart.

"You were right. It was creepy."

"We'll get him back."

"I think so. Eventually. Buffy, I think it might be wise to let nature takes it's course with Xander. Willow might try to do something dangerous, and that could affect them both negatively."

She turned to him abruptly. "So your basically telling me that we shouldn't do anything rash without everyone's thoughts and input?"

"I...didn't exactly say that. I was just giving mine."

"Ah. So the rest of ours don't matter?"

"This advice coming from you?"

She raised a finger in warning.

"Don't. Don't turn this around. This isn't about me."

"What is it about exactly?"

"Where is Travers?"

Spike said nothing, Buffy's voice softened as she repeated the question.

"Spike....where is Travers?"

"Hopefully, rotting in a Hell dimension."

Spike picked up his pace and opened a refrigerator door, unwilling to look in his lover's eyes at that moment.

"Ok."

He turned in surprise to focus on her sad eyes.

"Did you say ok? You're ok with this?"

She shook her head. "I'll never be ok with having to do something like that. Thing is, I was ready to do it myself. William, this scares me. I might have done it if not for Faith holding me back. Actually, I thought she was going to do it...and I was going to let her. God help me, I'd rather she have to bear the burden of this than you, but....I don't regret it. Looking at Xander, with all he went through, it feels like justice. Honestly, I don't know it that's the right way to feel."

Spike ran his fingers through his hair.

"I don't know either, luv. I got myself all fired up all day sitting in that stadium with that bastard. Thinking about what he'd done to you over the years. Thinking about what he would continue to do if he wasn't stopped. He was as demonic as any beasties we've run into. That's what I keep telling myself, at least."

"You should have talked to all of us. Not just Faith."

He raised his eyebrows. "What makes you think---"

"You may not have specifically told her about it, but she knew. I knew from the moment she spoke to you in Xander's room. That kind of decision needs to go through all of us from now on. Ok?"

He looked down. "It felt like my responsibility."

"I know. It isn't. This is all our responsibilities...together. The only way we can move on from this is as a group. It took me far too long to figure this out, but I'm sticking to it now. Whatever we do, we do it as a unit."

She took him in her arms. "I love you so much. You know that, right?"

"You too, pet."

"We have to focus on Xander now, 'kay? Then we can figure out our next move."

"Of course. I meant what I said before. It's best that Xander come out of this naturally."

"What if he doesn't?"

Spike said nothing. In truth, there was no real answer to that question, and he knew it. He found a sirloin, quickly vamped out and suckled on it, and just as quickly disposed of the bloodless husk and smoothed his features. He quickly cleaned up and took Buffy's hand as she spoke to him.

"Feel better?"

"If you mean my stomach, yes. If you mean---"

"I don't want you to feel better about that. I don't think you're supposed to."

"Yeah."

Buffy realized she'd forgotten a few things.

"We need to send Clem and Andrew home. Assuming Clem hasn't killed him yet, of course."

"Can't make any promises there, pet."

"Remind me to ask Will to set them up?"

"Sure."

"What about the other guys?"

Spike had been hoping she wouldn't ask.

"You mean the ones that actually did this to him?"

She merely looked at him.

"Buffy, let's sit down for a moment."

Knitting her eyebrows in confusion and worry, she complied without argument.

There was no other way to tell her than flat out. He simply laid it out there.

"No. No no no no."

Buffy had her head in her hands.

"Are you sure?"

Spike looked ay her strangely.

"Buffy, there's no one else who could have done that. I know I didn't. I know Faith didn't. Xander was physically incapable of that kind of action, and I'm not entirely sure he could do a move that skillfully if he were healthy."

"God."

Buffy was whispering now.

"I didn't want this. I wanted to keep her away from all this. This is our destiny, Spike, not hers."

"She did what she had to do. What other choice did she have? She was put in a position to save Xander's life. This stuff isn't multiple choice. You have seconds, and you act. You know this."

"Yes. Exactly. WE know this. She wasn't supposed to. Dammit!"

Buffy slammed her fist through the wall.

Spike looked quickly from left to right.

"Buffy, I understand you're upset, but you need to--"

She ripped her plaster covered hand out of the wall and spun on him.

"Need to what? Calm down? Act like it's no big deal that my sister killed a man last night?"

He took her hand and gently brushed the plaster clean from her knuckles and spoke in hushed tones.

"It is a big deal. It is a huge deal. It's also the middle of the night and sick people are trying to sleep."

Buffy's head fell and she began to cry softly.

"Do I tell her?"

"That's up to you. Faith and I had the same conversation, and we decided that was your decision to make. If my opinion matters, I think you should. She's an adult who deserves to know."

He put his arms around her as she cried softly. At last, she firmly pulled away, a look of resolve on her face that rivaled Willow's more famous one.

"I can't deal with this right now. One problem at a time. First, we get Xander back."

"If that's what you want."

"None of this is about what I want. If it had to do with that I'd be in Sunnydale in bed with you."

"Let me be more precise then, luv. If that's what you think we need to do, then I'm with you. This is not a team decision as far as I'm concerned."

"Either way, after Xander comes back we have some hard choices ahead."

"That we do."

"Ok, I know what Dawn did. What happened to the other one?"

"Faith and I decided he might be of use."

"Is this something else you did without discussing it with us?"

He sighed heavily.

"Yes."

"He's alive then?"

He nodded.

"And?"

"And what, luv?"

"After seeing what he did to Xander, the only use I can come up with for him is using his face to clean my toilet."

"That's not a bad alternative. We had something more constructive in mind."

"Such as?"

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

Pierre stood silently after his long summation of the events that would known hereafter in Council files as the Clone Affair.

Finally, after allowing them a few moments to gather their thoughts, he spoke.

"Are there any questions?"

He scanned the room as a few hands raised. He recognized their Russian station chief.

"Ursula?"

"You say Huddleston is dead?"

"Yes. I have visual confirmation of this. I was in the room when Miss Summers administered the killing blow."

"If I may ask you to repeat yourself, you said this was not Buffy Summers, but the Key?"

"Yes. Dawn Summers performed the rescue operation. I'm not aware of how she penetrated security, but I'd hypothesize that she had magical help of some sort."

An angry hand raised from the rear.

"Colonel Martineau, you have a question?"

The soldier stood stiffly. "I was never necessarily in favor of this plan--"

This brought an amused smile to Pierre's face. He hadn't recalled any verbal opposition other than the late Robson.

"--but regardless of this fact, it cannot go unavenged. Huddleston was one of my best men. I personally don't give a damn about the Slayer line, but Dawn Summers must pay."

Pierre shook his head and held up a hand.

"If you wish to target Dawn Summers...well, I think I should impart some experienced advice. She is very nearly as dangerous to you as our primary enemies. Our single biggest failing was our gross underestimation of their entire team. Take it from me--even the Harris boy is no ordinary human."

"You cannot attack the younger sister of the Slayer without in effect attacking them all. If you take their current state of mind into account, that is suicide."

Martineau's face was red with rage.

"How can you say these things, Leveque? Did you lose your courage along with the opportunity to eliminate the Slayers? When is Travers going to be here? I imagine he won't be amused at your cowardice."

Pierre simply shook his head. "I have no confirmation of this, but there is little doubt in my mind that we won't see Travers any more."

This bombshell reverberated around the room like a bunker buster.

Pierre held up his hand for quiet; eventually things died down.

"It's been a week. We would have heard from him by now. I'm assuming here, of course. Ask yourselves this question: has Quentin Travers ever remained silent for more than two days?"

The realization was beginning to set in. Their leader for over two decades was very likely no more. This made an especially strong impression on two steel blue-eyed young men in the room, but they wisely kept their own counsel as Pierre forged on.

"As you well know, this puts me in charge of the Council of Watchers. I hereby officially reject the post. I will now explain why. You are all in grave danger. This most recent attack has pushed the Slayers and their fellow soldiers to the brink. I'm uncertain as to what you should do. Frankly, I don't care to know. I'm going home to Canada."

The Council exchanged confused glances.

"Next in succession to the Chairmanship is Hans Katzenbach. Once my statement is concluded, I will then turn the meeting over to him. I've said most everything there is to say, but I feel a certain sense of loyalty to the Council; therefore let me reemphasize: this body is in jeopardy of being utterly destroyed if drastic action is not taken. If you were ever going to listen to me, do it now."

"Lay down your responsibilities and go home. Contact the Slayers and let them now that this Council has disbanded. It is the only chance you have of surviving the full wrath of their team."

"I can just hear you saying to yourselves that I've lost my mind. There are seven of them as opposed to the thousands of resources at the Council's command. Be assured that I am of sound mind when I say this. All your resources when put up against this group is useless. The power rests in their hands now."

He turned his back to them, still speaking.

"If you need further confirmation of this, I can only do one more thing. I was sent here by Faith the Vampire Slayer and William the Bloody. They have a message for you."

He slowly removed his shirt, wincing as the back stuck to his still sensitive wounds.

The Council gasped in shock.

Carefully carved into his flesh, in bloody detail, were two simple words:

WE'RE COMING

Pierre turned to face them one last time.

"I trust you understand...though truthfully I don't care any more. Good luck."

He strode slowly out of the room, gingerly replacing his shirt as he walked.

- End Chapter One-

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