by Rob Sorenson

Xander was surprised-and more than a little afraid-that he hadn't been blindfolded. He'd always thought that to be kidnappers' standard operating procedure. He remained tightly cuffed to the inside of a cargo van, complete with tinted windows to prevent unwanted spies to the activities within. He'd had no chance to attempt to free himself, as he was closely watched by the guard he'd decided to call Jeeves. <Would've been pointless anyway. These cuffs and metal bar they're attached to are designed to hold creatures about 100 times stronger than me.> He had plenty of time, therefore, to think.

From what he'd seen he had the distinct impression that the Watcher's Council had no need for money. This led him to a pretty obvious conclusion: he was being used as bait for the Slayers, and he'd die once that was accomplished. Why blindfold a dead man? <Good on you, Xand. You figured out the ingenious evil plan. Now, all you gotta do is come up with a brilliant counter-thrust to said plan. Come on man, channel Buff and Will.....what would Buffy and Willow do?> He sighed ruefully. <Well, for one thing, they wouldn't have allowed themselves to be caught by these goons. Willow would've disintegrated them, and Buffy would've shoved the hanky down Jeeves's throat.>

He shook his head, trying to will away long held feelings of inadequacy....and with some success. <Ok, enough whining. Looks like I'm in Times Square. Damn, is this cool or what?> He'd been to LA, but the skyline of Manhattan was something special even in the dark of night, and the cascading neon murals along 42nd Street were an amazing sight for anyone who hadn't had the opportunity. The van continued, making it's way north. Xander wondered for about the hundredth time where he was to be taken. His knowledge of New York was limited to TV (in truth, most of his knowledge about anything was gleaned from television and Willow) so he resigned himself to lean back into his seat and wait. <At least the headache from the chloroform has eased somewhat. Maybe I can get Jeeves to give me a clue.>

"So....where we headed? I hear The Producers is sold out for the next couple of years, but I delivered a pizza to Sarah Jessica Parker's hairdresser once, and she's married to Matthew Broderick, you know. We're practically brothers now. I bet I could scam you guys some tickets, too." He looked hopefully to his captors, but got stonefaced stares in response. "Ok, I admit that's a little weak. Matthew's no Kevin Bacon, but still you guys have to admit that we have a connection..." he stopped as a pistol was pointed at his chest. Jeeves spoke up.

"We've been instructed to let you live until we reach our destination, but my patience with your insolence is running thin. No one said anything about me wounding you in a painful, non-lethal place. You understanding me, you stupid git?" Xander swallowed hard and nodded. "Good. Now shut your gob." Xander shrank back into his seat. <Ok, phase one complete: annoy the psycho killers. If only I had a phase two...>

An hour later the van finally came to a stop. Xander craned his neck to look out the window; first light was beginning to appear over the concrete edifice that towered over them. He had a vague idea what this was, but it was hard to tell in the dimness. The side door was whipped open and Xander was again staring into the business end of Jeeves's pistol as the other three members of the extraction team climbed into the van to temporarily release him to be moved. Xander made the wise decision and didn't resist as he was hustled out of the van and into the gradually increasing Bronx daylight. Now with a full view he looked straight up, and indeed his suspicions were confirmed. They were at Yankee Stadium. <Now I know I'd better be careful. The British tend to get a little cranky at sports events.>

He was half carried into a side door near the main box office and proceeded to make a dizzying number of twists and turns, winding through dark corridors. At last he entered a large, brightly lit room that made Xander squint and blink in comparison to the darkness of the journey. Once his pupils adjusted he focused on what appeared to be his final destination. The room was a spartan atmosphere if there ever was one: smooth white concrete walls with several powerful bare light bulbs burning down onto a pristine black marble floor. It was a striking combination.

Xander looked along the walls and was at last able to discern some slight imperfections in the smooth veneer of the room. Unfortunately those blemishes appeared in the form of metal shackles hanging loosely from the corner furthest from the door. He was forced into the corner of the room and bound by the wrists and ankles to the hanging chains. He was just tall enough to where he wasn't uncomfortably stretched by them, giving him the distinct impression that they'd designed this liitle setup just for him. He made a snap decision to not be flattered by this realization. <I think terrified is a much more apt description. I need my girls. I need them badly.>

At that moment Quentin Travers walked into the room, in an all black suit with a white tie. Xander raised his eyebrow and the strange combination when he realized that ALL his captors were wearing black and white....it was as if the color button on the TV had been turned off. He refocused on Travers' limping form, and his anger flashed. This was the son of a bitch that was pulling the strings.

"Hey, I remember you. You're Giles' old boss. I thought you guys were all...well you know...toast? Though by the look of your face, it looks like someone pulled you out of the oven before you were done. Guess you should've rented Backdraft a couple of times to learn how to deal with those pesky fire emergencies." Travers' stiffened; his face twitched with rage. He forced himself to remember who was in control of the situation, and proceeded to speak.

"Boy, it would be in your best interest to remain quiet. I have no use for you once the Slayers and Wicca are removed. Arrangements have been made to bring them to this city, and I will see them dead. If you continue to resist, or annoy me further, I'll do two things: I'll arrange for you to watch them die, and I'll kill the youngest Summers just for the pleasure of seeing the look on your face...coincidentally, it's probably similar to the one you're giving me now. I will then allow you to live.....here. For the rest of your natural life. Once your friends are gone, you and I both know your birth family won't think twice about where you are. If you cooperate with us and avoid any further insolence, I will allow you to go free and return to comfort the little Key after the rest of her family is gone. Are we agreed?"

Xander was straining against the chains for all he was worth, the blood drained from his face. Travers said nothing as Xander thrashed for 15 minutes, finally collapsing against the walls in exhaustion. Finally the deranged Watcher spoke. "That was a rather pointless exercise, but you struggled about as much as most vampires, if that's any comfort. I'll take my leave now. If you're smart, boy--and frankly, I have my doubts--you'll try to avoid seeing me again." He turned and walked out of the room, leaving a slumped and distraught Xander in his wake.

Travers exited the bowels of the stadium, contemplating his next move. His new executive assistant, Pierre, fell into step with the highest Council Elder. Travers trusted no one, of course, but he sensed a ruthlessness in his French-Canadian counterpart that the unfortunate Robson had lacked, and that was a good start to a healthy business relationship. They stepped into a waiting limo and made their way back toward Manhattan. "Sir, we've already sent the videotape by courier to Sunnydale. It should arrive at the Summers home by late afternoon our time."

"Well done, Pierre. If I may indulge myself, I'd like your opinion on a matter that has been troubling me." His new assistant couldn't stop himself from swelling with pride a bit at this show of respect from the likes of Quentin Travers, but he managed to keep his face relatively expressionless.

"Of course, sir. How may I assist you?"

Travers looked out the window at the early morning traffic, watching the residents of Spanish Harlem getting ready for another day as he responded. "My concern is Spike. We have no contingency if our plans are delayed by a couple of days." He turned back to Pierre. "Not that I can conceive any delays, you understand. The plan is going perfectly, and if all goes well we will have recovered control of the Slayer situation by tomorrow night. There is no possible way the vampire can travel across the country to assist them that quickly without exposing himself to sunlight. In addition, his soul was just obtained in the last year. It took Angel nearly a century to pull himself out of his state of depression. I'd wager Spike is almost incapable of assisting out targets right now. However, he could make the drive in 2 days, and IS still capable. We were unable to clone him due to his lack of DNA. Are we aware of the whereabouts of Drusilla, his former lover?"

Pierre shook his head. "No sir. She seems to have vanished off the face of the earth. More importantly, sir, I don't think we could convince her to kill him." Travers nodded.

"Of course you are correct. We must control every aspect of this operation, and vampires are uncontrollable." He gave a final nod. "Fair enough then. We will make it known to the Council this afternoon that one way or the other the plan must be executed in the next two days or not at all. The three targets are under surveillance, yes?"

"Of course, sir. They're all currently in the Summers home, along with the youngest Summers and Spike." Travers permitted himself a small smile.

"That's quite convenient, isn't it? I hope the tape arrives while they're all still there. One less thing to worry about with regard to the time factor. Now then, Pierre, we must be thorough regarding the Harris boy. We need to find out if any weaknesses exist that we may not be aware of. He's not the smartest person, but he knows them intimately. How do you propose we extract information from him?"

The Watcher from Quebec leaned back into his seat in contemplation. "He's human sir. Torture?" Travers tilted his head slightly.

"If there's one thing I've learned about this boy, it's his unusual determination for a human. I think torture would work; everyone breaks eventually. Again, though, the time factor works against us. I believe I have another way." Pierre said nothing, merely raised his eyebrows questioningly. Travers continued. "It's quite simple, really. We utilize his strongest quality...his trust in his family." Travers shook his head, and chuckled.

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

Numb. The residents of the Summers house were numb. They'd all had far more experience with tragedy and death than anyone deserved to, regardless of age. Yet with the exception of Spike, no one eclipsed the age of 23. The only noise in the house was the sound of grunting in the basement, accompanied by the dull thuds of fists and feet striking against the Summers punching bag. Buffy sat on her couch, allowing a small smile of pride in the midst of her shattered heart. Dawn had been determined to learn how to fight, and Buffy had taken considerable time training her in the last six months. She'd been surprised at Dawn's natural instinct and above average strength; the Key may not have been destined to be a Slayer, but she had Summers blood. In an incredibly short time Buffy came to realize that Dawn was the most capable human fighter she'd ever sparred with. Riley was a highly trained member of Special Forces, but Buffy had seen the best he had, and Dawn was better inside of 6 weeks. Buffy now believed that at least 95% of the humans on the planet would get their everlovin' butts kicked if they aroused her sister's ire. From Buffy's perspective this was pretty comforting. Dawn had trained religiously every single day since the First had been defeated, and had been extremely valuble during the campaign to clean up Sunnydale for good.

This day was apparently no exception as Dawn was delivering rapid fire kicks and punches, no doubt to appease the anger she was feeling over Xander's death. Everyone else simply sat in the living room, unmoving. Faith had spent the early part of the day driving around Sunnydale, visiting places Xander would normally frequent, desperately wanting to find some trace of the man who had been responsible for saving her heart. On some level she'd known it was futile, but the denial stage was hard for Faith to get around. In reality, this was the first death of someone who truly mattered to her. Buffy, Spike, Willow and Dawn had all gone through this before, but previously Faith had been the cause of death, not an emotional casualty of it. Therefore she took a little longer to get to the stage that the others had entered almost immediately. Now she had joined the others in the Summers home.

The dark-haired Slayer took a deep breath. "He was alone." They all glanced in her direction, though not directly at her. "He ran out of here and he was alone. He wouldn't have done that if not for you." Her eyes burned into Willow. "Even if they'd attacked him later, I would have been with him. I would've protected him. You took that chance away from me." No one spoke as Willow began sobbing quietly. This was inevitable. From his seat on the couch William fervently wished that violence was not about to happen.

Willow found words. "Faith, I'm...."

"Please let me finish. I'm not exactly feelin' stable right now, but I'm doing this for Xander. Just give me a minute." Faith cleared her throat in an effort to compose herself. "I know you have problems with me, and I understand why. I also know that Xander was aware of how you'd react, and it bothered him a lot. I tried to tell him all that mattered was what he and I felt for each other, but all that did was piss him off. He told me in no uncertain terms that Buffy and Willow's feelings and opinions will always matter. Always. I gotta tell you guys, that made me a little jealous." Everyone in the room actually smiled a little at that, including Dawn, who had just made her way upstairs into the living room. Her face was wet with perspiration and tears. Faith was crying now as she continued. "He told me there are different kinds of love, and one was no stronger than the other. There was never going to be a choice between the three of us, because he chose us all. He considered B and Dawnie to be his little sisters, even though they could kick his ass."

Smiles through tears made their way around the room again. She looked at Willow again, this time much more softly. "When I asked him what you meant to him, he said that you were his Willow. Not mom or sister or best friend...his Willow. Everything good about him was developed by you. You practically taught him how to read and write, and you took him into your room at night after his parents hurt him. He said you made him feel special because the smartest person in the world took the time to care about him. After B came along, he felt like he was accomplishing something with his life because he was hanging with his heroes. Those were his exact words: hanging with his heroes."

Willow moved over next to Buffy and they embraced, shuddering with grief. Faith wasn't finished. "The last thing he said was he'd find a way to make this work out because Willow had room in her heart to understand. He hated lying to you, but he was scared. It's why he told the others first, one person at a time. At least, that was his plan." Faith took a deep breath. "As much as I want to, Willow, I don't hate you because part of Xander is in me, and he won't allow it. I don't really want to see you right now; in fact I may never want to see you again. Either way I'm not going to try to hurt you like I did at your place. I wish I hadn't hit you before. That was the old me. The new me is the one Xander developed, just like you and B developed him, and I will never dishonor his memory by hurting anyone in this room ever again." She slumped back into her seat, tears overcoming her. Dawn knelt next to her and they embraced, the youngest Summers stroking Faith's hair gently as she sobbed.

Suddenly there was a loud pounding noise at the front door. Everyone jumped to their feet, Slayers or not. They'd been on the Hellmouth long enough to react quickly to anything. A few seconds later Dawn looked nervously around the room and made her way to the door, with the rest close behind. She opened it and saw no one. At her feet, however, there was a large padded brown envelope. She picked it up and turned to see everyone staring at her from a few yards away. Buffy moved closer. "What is it?"

Dawn scrutinized the packaging, and her eyes widened. "It says, To the Family of Alexander Harris. No return address." Buffy grabbed the package from the hands of a rather annoyed Dawn and tore it open.

"It's a videotape. Doesn't say anything on the label though." They looked at one another curiously. What could this mean? Finally William spoke.

"I suppose we should put it in, then?" Buffy nodded and the group entered the living room as one. They sat down and the Slayer hesitated as she turned on her TV and VCR. Finally she put the tape into the machine.

- End Chapter Eight -