LAX
Heads turned as the woman strode purposefully through the airport.� The constant looks no longer concerned her; she was well used to them by now. She merely ignored them; she knew she was beautiful. She didn't need the admiring eyes of strangers to tell her that. She left the security area, the clicking of her spiked-heeled, knee-high black boots resounding with each stride of her long, tawny legs. She swept a lock of her raven-black hair away from one of her piercing jade-green eyes.

She scanned the area and paused when she spotted the ivory sign that read, "Ms. Cantrell." Cassandra Elizabeth Cantrell then approached the man dressed in a neat chauffeur's uniform and identified herself. He asked for her luggage checks and swiftly retrieved her bags. He then led her to the waiting limousine. She gave him an address in Inglewood and settled in to enjoy the ride. It should have taken about an hour, but traffic seemed particularly heavy, and the ride extended to nearly two hours. It wasn't a problem, though. They would wait for her no matter the time, regardless of how long it took.
Paying top dollar did have its perks.

She opened the portfolio that had been placed in the limo's safe for her benefit. It detailed the security arrangements at the facility where he was being held. The mission required that she'd expend a great deal of magical power, but, the reward would more than make up for the loss. She shivered as if she already felt the power of the Hellmouth flowing through her veins. All it would take was one ritual sacrifice of an old lover and she knew just where to find one--the Federal Detention Center for National Security in New Mexico. The limo pulled to a stop in a poorly lighted parking lot next to a neglected warehouse.

"Stay here," she purred. "I shall return shortly."

Five men clustered around the table, looking up as she entered the building. "Ms. Cantrell, I trust your journey was uneventful. Were all the arrangements satisfactory?" asked a thin man dressed in an ill-fitting tweed suit.

"As always, Smythe, everything was...satisfactory. The traffic was unexpected but even I can't control thousands of commuters...yet."

Her silvery laugh trilled out, enchanting all who heard it. "Well, gentlemen, shall we get down to business?" She laid the plans for the detention center on the table. "This is your target."

A tall, well-dressed man snapped his head up. "These are plans for a federal detention facility."

"Yes, and--"

"I didn't know you were trying to break someone out of a federal pen. The security is too tight. We might be able to get in but we'd never get out again. There's no way my team can pull off this job."

"Mr. Jones, isn't it? All you have to worry about is getting to the prisoner. I will 'get you out,' quite safely, I assure you."

Jones glared at his prospective employer. She was an impressive looking woman, but no way could she single handedly get his crack team out of a federal lock-up. Uh-uh, no way. "Look lady--"

"You may address me as Ms. Cantrell. I am not a peer."

"Ms. Cantrell, there is no way that my men can do this. It's a suicide mission and I learned to avoid those when I worked for my Uncle Sam. We are not doing this job."

A concerned look crossed Smythe's face. He knew what could happen when someone crossed his employer. He stepped back from the table. "Ms.Cantrell, I am certain we can educate Mr. Jones about your abilities and prove to him that you can indeed safely remove both his team and the target from the facility."

Cantrell smiled at her assistant. "An uncommonly good idea, Smythe!" She turned to face the burly leader of the mercenary band. "Would you care for a demonstration of my abilities?" She smiled at the man. He noticed the smile never reached her cold green eyes.

"I don't need a demonstration of anything, Ms. Cantrell. I said we weren't doing it. I meant it."

She began to chant softly and traced arcane symbols in the air before her with delicate fingers. Then her hand made a fist and Jones immediately doubled over in pain, clutching his chest. His face turned red as he struggled to draw a breath. The sorceress watched calmly, expressing no emotion whatsoever. Cantrell raised her right hand and opened it, looking for all the world like someone trying to catch a ball. Suddenly, the large man screamed as his heart tore through his ribcage and flew into her waiting hand. His eyes glazed over and he dropped to the floor, his last breath rattling in his throat.

She turned to face the small group, heart in hand, blood dripping on the floor. She tossed the grisly item into the air and with a whisper, it burst into flames. "Questions or comments, gentlemen?"

�No one said a word.

"Good," she chirped. "Now we can focus on the business at hand, obtaining the item I require."

As the four remaining men stood there, mouths opened in shock, she nearly laughed at their stuptified expressions, but was able to maintain her decorum.

"Smythe, which of these men is suitable to lead this mission?"

The men shuffled nervously. She frowned.

"Chop, chop, gentlemen! I want this wrapped up quickly; the night isn't getting any younger and I still have things to do!"

She glared at the men facing her, her persona slipping back to the one she was most comfortable using, when she prowled the seedy parts of London a quarter of a century ago with the boys. Stupid gits! If Jones hadn't been such a bloody prat, she wouldn't have been forced to make an example of him. But, on the bright side, she'd have no more rebellion in the ranks.

"This is Philips, Ma'am," Smythe said with a gesture to arough-looking man. "He was the late Mr. Jones' second in command. I believe he is suitable to lead his mission."

She shook her head slightly, becoming refined again. "Mr. Philips, do you believe you can do what I require of you and your men?" The fearful look he cast on his late, former employer amused her. It warred with the look of greed in his eyes.

He looked up from the body and replied, "Yes, Ma'am. We can do what you ask of us. Now, about the security forces we can expect to find...?"

Once more, they gathered around the table. This time she knew there would be no interruptions. She believed that the key to sucess was to plan for every eventuality, including murder if the circumstances warranted it.

Several hours later, she smiled, satisfied like a lioness that had feasted on a fresh kill. Soon, she would have the ritual's key element in her possession.

"Are we finished here, gentlemen?"

They nodded.

"Yes? Then, Smythe, would you accompany me to my car? I need to speak to you for a moment, before I leave for Sunnydale."

She left quickly and quietly, Smythe hot on her heels.

"Are the Sunnydale arrangements in place? Does the staff expect my arrival? Have they been instructed about the essential element?"

"Yes, Ms Cantrell. All of that has been arranged. The care and feeding of the element," he quirked one eyebrow at that misnomer, "has been provided for. They are expecting you within a relatively short time." He opened the car door and gently guided the woman into her seat, careful not to unnecessarily crease the material of her clothing.

He handed her the file and murmured, "I am sorry you had to soil yourself with that cretin, Miss. I know you derive no enjoyment from such acts. I shall, of course, dispose of the offal, then join you on the Hellmouth."

Ms. Cantrell looked warmly at her personal assistant and graced him with a gentle smile.

"Then I shall see you in a bit. Perhaps we might discuss business over tea?"

He gave her a look of rapture. "I should enjoy that Miss, very much!"

He closed the door behind her and turned to the distasteful business before him. Taking a deep breath, he re-entered the warehouse and rejoined the mercenaries.

"I hope Ms. Cantrell's demonstration has convinced you not to fuck with her. I do so tire of cleaning up these little messes," he said, then sighed.

�He painstakingly chanted in Latin for a few minutes, then the dead body burst into cold flames. Soon all that was left on the floor was a pile of greasy ashes.

Smythe glared at the toughs who towered over him. "That was mild compared to what she's capable of. However, you should also be aware that her rewards for a job well done are equally commensurate." He pulled one sleeve back and let them see the Rolex on his wrist. "You and your teams had best be getting to the airfield. You take off at dawn. Good luck, gentlemen. I'll see you on the other side."

Sunnydale, California

"Boy, that Richard Gere is quite a hottie...for an old guy," Dawn said with a sigh.

Buffy Summers broke their stride and gave her sister an askew glance. "Those holy men must have used a bad batch of Chemical X when they made you, Powderpuff Girl. How could you think that a guy that old could even qualify as a 'hottie?'"

Dawn snorted. "Shows how much you know, Oh Challenged One. They're called the `Powerpuff Girls!'"

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Whatever."

The sisters had left the cinema,strolling arm-in-arm along Broad Street in downtown Sunnydale. The early evening darkness hid Buffy's surreptitious smile from her little sister. She had wanted to share a pleasant evening with Dawn, away from the slaying and the gaping hole left in their lives by their mother's death last year. And it appeared the movie had succeeded in allowing Dawn to forget her troubles for a while.

"I thought he and Gwyneth Paltrow made a really cute couple," Dawn said.

Buffy cackled.

"Yeah, right! When they put him in the old folks' home in a few years, she could always go and change his bedpan."

Dawn immediately stopped in her tracks, nearly tugging Buffy off her feet.

�"I can't believe you just said that!"

"Said what?"

"'Said what?'" Dawn whined, mimicking her sister's voice. "Your comment about old men and their young honeys. Hello? Don't Richard and Gwyneth remind you of somebody close to you?"

Buffy shot her a confused look.

"No...I don't think so."

Dawn whistled and regarded her sister with a wide-eyed stare.

"Yoo, hoo! Here's an all-expenses paid trip from the Land of Denial; why don't you join the rest of us here in the Real World, Buffy? Aren't you forgetting a certain Watcher and a red-headed witch...?"

Buffy scoffed. "Giles?!? What are you talking about? He's not old!"

Dawn shook her head and snorted.

�"Oh my God! Why, he's way older than Mom..."

Dawn's voice faded off into the night.
As her little sister began to cry, Buffy cursed under her breath. *Damn! And it had been going so well.*

"Dawn," she whispered, hugging her sister close. "It's okay, munchkin, I'm here."

Buffy wasn't prepared for the all-to-familiar tingle in the pit of her stomach. She snapped into slayer-mode, her senses fully alert. She glanced around until she spied a humanoid form dragging itself out of a nearby alley. "Dawn, something is going down. I need you to run as fast as you can back to the theater. I want you to stay there until I come for you. Do you understand?"

Dawn glared at her sister. "Don't treat me like a baby!"

Buffy glowered at Dawn and snapped, "I don't have time for this! I need to-"

"You're just wasting time, you know. I'm not leaving you out here alone."

Buffy's sensitive hearing detected a low, anguished groan from the prone figure across the way. He might need immediate medical attention; she couldn't stand here and argue any longer.

"All right, stick close to me and Don't. Touch. Anything. Got it?"

Dawn bit her lip and nodded. They crossed the street and Buffy felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. The figure on the ground moaned, rolled over and flopped onto its back. Tiny horns sprouted from the figure's forehead. As they crept closer, she saw the thing wore normal clothing. It appeared mostly human, except rather than smooth pink or brown skin, it had tiny, overlapping olive scales covering its face. That is, in those places that weren't battered and bruised. The creature lay on the dirty sidewalk, wheezing and trembling.

Buffy approached, ready for anything. She stood over it and saw one of its eyes had been pummeled and swollen shut. It opened its other eye and the glint of moonlight that fell over her shoulder readily showed the creature's terror.

"Please...no more. No more...Slayer," it said with a sob, "haven't you...done enough? Why...? My clan...never troubled you. Why did," he muttered with a gurgle, his eye growing dim, "you...do...th--" he mumbled, then fell eternally silent.

Buffy knelt and felt for a pulse. She detected nothing. She wiped her tiny hand over the creature's open eye and shut it for the last time.

Dawn brushed against her back with a knee and stuttered, "Why...did...he say that to you? You didn't do this. You were with me."

She stood up and hugged her sister. "I don't know."

She glanced down pointing at the blood stain. They sneaked down the passageway until they came upon two other bodies similar to the one at the alley's mouth. One body looked like it had been an adult female, the other looked like a juvenile's. Both had been beaten to death. The female's body lay on top of the younger one's almost as if she had tried to shield her child.

Buffy felt Dawn shiver against her arm.

"They killed a mom and her kid...just killed them..." Dawn muttered.

Buffy whispered, "And made them think I did...this."

She wanted to turn them both away from the horror, to shut her eyes and wipe it from her memory. As the Slayer, she had seen her share of death, had slayed many of the creatures of the night. But she had always tried to do it quickly, cleanly. She'd never have done anything this...brutal. This was bad and she needed to put a stop to this. But she'd never seen demons like this before. She didn't know if there was some reason the thing that masqueraded as her had picked them as targets.

She didn't know, but she knew someone who did know or who'd find out for her. Although he was in San Francisco, she had to make the call. Because she needed Giles. She needed him now.

San Francisco

"You look scrumptious, darling, good enough to eat!" Giles said, beaming with pride and love as he helped her into her chair and took his seat across the table. She wore a flowing green dress that clung to her lithe body like a glove. It touched every part of her lovingly. 'Oh dear God...I'm jealous of her dress! Very good, you bloody idiot. That'll endear you to her.'

His favourite redhead sat across the table from him, her eyes sparkling with love and fun in the mellow glow of the candlelight. She lifted her wine glass to her lips, barely touching the ruby liquid inside with the tip of her tongue. A throaty moan escaped Giles' lips as he remembered exactly what that wicked little tongue could do. He was amazed at the depth of passion he had mined from his hacker, his Willow. 'Bloody hell, just face facts, old man. She's an angel.'

His life sat facing him over a table covered with fine linen and British bone china. The crystal appeared to be French as was the cuisine. All in all, an up-scale place to ask the love of his life to consider moving in with him. He nervously cleared his throat. "Er...um...Willow...? I wanted to ask you about...well...if you'd consider..."

Willow thought he looked adorable as he searched for words to ask her whatever he wanted to know. As the redhead parted her lips to speak, an annoying buzz sounded both inside her tiny purse and on Giles' belt. They removed their respective pagers, glimpsed at the number, then each other.

Giles closed his eyes and sighed. Damn it all, this simply is not fair! Then he sobered, feeling a lump in the back of his throat. Buffy is in trouble, she needs me! His eye had extreme regret in them as he signalled for the check. When the waiter approached, he presented his credit card and shooed him away.

He looked in Willow's eyes, and saw pain, sorrow, and confusion. He wanted to explain to Willow, but what could he say? That when Buffy called, he would go. It was his destiny to guide and protect the slayer. He didn't have a choice.

Willow knew that the evening, as well as the weekend, was over just as soon as she saw the number on the pager. *Great...Buffy has to face big evil, so Willow can just swing in the wind. Doesn't matter that Willow has been looking forward to this weekend for how long, now? It just matters that Buffy wants, Buffy gets.* Willow gathered her purse and rose from the table, turning away from Rupert so he wouldn't be able to see the hurt in her eyes.

Rupert would never forget the pain in her eyes as they left the restaurant, en route to the B & B. They needed to pack quickly and head for Sunnydale. He knew that, but he also knew that if he wasn't careful he could lose Willow and there was no way he could let that happen. God, he loved her so much. He didn't think he could live without her and...if he didn't stop talking to himself and start talking to her, she just might leave without him. "Willow, I'm so sorry that we have to leave. I don't want to; I want to stay here, make love to you on that bed, and watch the sunrise with you in the morning. I wish we didn't have to go. But, it's my job."

"I know, they require your presence to guide the slayer. I understand that Rupert, I just don't particularly like it right now." She growled at him as she began throwing her lingerie into an open case on the four poster bed where she had tickled, then fucked him into submission. She never looked at the bed or at him. She knew that if she did, she'd bawl like a baby. She knew she was behaving like a spoiled Buff--, er.. brat, but damn it, it was her turn to have some love and fun in her life.

"This was supposed to be our weekend, nothing Hellmouthy was supposed to happen, and now this. I'm sorry if you're disappointed in me, but that's how I feel." She slammed the lid of the case down on the tangle of naughty bits, purchased just for this weekend. If it wouldn't have upset Rupert, she would have cried.

Giles looked helplessly at the woman he loved. He drew the slight redhead into a tight embrace, stroking soothingly down her back. "I'm so sorry, Luv, but I have no choice. I have to go. I wish that things were different, but if things were different than I would never have met and loved you. And I can't tell you how empty my life would be then."

The witch lovingly snuggled into her lover's embrace, "I know. I don't like it right now, but I do understand. We had better get on the road. It's a long drive back to Sunnydale."

Giles dropped his head and kissed her firmly, enjoying the warm, sweet lips that tasted of lust and love. He reluctantly released her and gathered their luggage. He shot one last glance around the bedroom, where he had learned so much about his future. Well, he thought ruefully, his future, if his dedication to Buffy didn't get in the way.

He followed Willow out to the car. He threw the bags in the boot and opened the door for his Willow, tenderly assisting her into her seat, drawing the seatbelt across her and carefully fastening it, double checking to make sure it was secure. He drew her delicate hand to his lips, kissing the palm, before laying it gently in her lap and shutting the door to the little red Tramp.

Giles drove in silence, Willow couldn't stand to leave him hurting, not after the way he had treated her. She knew that he loved her, she didn't doubt that. She loved him because of his dedication to Buffy as much as any other reason. *Note to self; don't act like such a jealous bitch. Be the kind of partner the man you love needs.*

"Rupert, I know we can't celebrate in San Francisco tonight, but we can celebrate kicking evil's ass in your bed, if we manage to survive." She shot her gamin grin at Giles and he was lost.

"Um, Willow, I was trying to ask you something at the restaurant and did a poor job of it...but would you consider making it OUR bed. I can think of nothing I should like better then to wake up next to you every morning and for your sweet face to be the last thing I see every night."

The hacker was silent. She couldn't breathe, let alone, think. *Uh, oh. Oxygen becoming an issue...* She forced herself to draw some air into her lungs. *That's better. The wuzziness is gone now.* "Are you asking me to move in with you, Rupert?"

"Yes, I am. I want you with me, always. I don't want to have to get out of bed to take you home, ever. I want to go to sleep with you in my arms and wake up the same way. I want to fight through a tangle of stockings and lacy nothings to get to my sink to shave. I want to wonder if I've grabbed the right toothbrush in the mornings. I want to..."

Willow gently placed her fingers across his lips, stopping him in mid- sentence. "I'll move in with you, just as soon as we have the time. We'll run by the house and I'll pick up enough clothes to last me through a few more days and we can say it's a done deal. I love you, Rupert Giles. Nothing would give me greater pleasure than waking up with you every morning."

Ripper peeked out of Giles' psyche and smirked. He'd surely find a way to make her eat those words when he could come out and play. Then, she'd really scream. Shaking his head to regain control, Giles tucked Ripper away. He picked up Willow's hand, kissed it, and gently placed it on his thigh as he smoothly pressed the Tramp's accelerator to the floor.

The dying wail of the undead prisoner's demon brought a welcome respite to his solitude. Ethan Rayne shook his head and a single thought came to mind. Lucky bastard! At least they had staked him and bloody well put him out of his misery.

Ethan sat on his cot and stared sullenly out of his cell. He was bored. They had given him nothing to read, no paper to write on, not a thing to employ his mind. He assumed the penitentiary guards had been told by those Iniative blokes to keep anything that he could use for spellcasting away from him. He snorted. Idiots! If he were powerful enough to cast any decent spells simply from writing them down or reading them from a book, he would have been long gone. No, he'd never had innate power. He'd always required ingredients, compounds, and elixirs to practice magick. He wasn't a born practictioner, not like Deidre or Lizzie-or Ripper.

Ethan felt the acid churn in his stomach and start its climb up his esophagus. Ripper! This whole mess was his fault! "Bastard," he hissed.

If it hadn't been for Ripper, his Slayer-the little tart, and her soldier boy, he wouldn't be rotting in this stinking hole. But, wasn't this just par for the course? Ripper and his little pet always jammed their noses into his business, mucking things up. Wasn't it Ripper who had put a stop to his Halloween fun when he first came to that godforsaken town four or five years ago? Then there was that business with Eyghon, when the Slayer... He paused, then shrugged. Well, can't blame her for trying to survive after he had marked her for the demon. She had just as much right to live as he did.

Well, what about the band candy caper? he fumed, his rage enflamed once more. Again, Ripper and his bottle-blonde bimbo queered that deal but good. He had a hard enough time finding work after that debacle. Perhaps it had been Trick or his Honor, the Mayor, who had put out the word on the street that if you dealt with Ethan Rayne, you stood a good chance of having both the Slayer and her Watcher involving themselves in your affairs.

When he had heard about the Initiative, he had known that nothing good could come of that business. No government, anywhere, had ever done well with the occult. Bureaucrats were born without the gene to respect anything. Not people, not nature, and, most certainly, not the supernatural. So he had wanted to warn Ripper about them. Was it really so bad that he took the opportunity to tweak ol' Rip a bit to repay him for his past interference?

Ethan drew a deep breath, then sighed. He raked his hand through his hair and stared down at the floor. It WAS his own fault. If he had just warned Ripper, left it at that, had left...him feeling good about being together again rather than slipping that potion to him, he wouldn't be here. He would have had an ally against the soldier boys, might even have had a chance to rebuild something with Rip. Instead, he nearly shoved him into the Initiative's camp, along with that delicious little Slayer.

He stood up and stepped into his toilet area. Ethan gazed into the mirror, seeing his gaunt face. He was growing paler every day while he languished here. "So, this is what worshipping Chaos has done for you, old boy," he whispered to his reflection. "Back then, seeing how Ripper had used it, it had seemed like a good idea. He always did have luck with the ladies...and you."

Ethan closed his eyes, he didn't want to look into the mirror anymore. Yes, it had been easy for Ripper. He'd cast a little spell, or sing with that velvet voice, or appear dangerous and untamed. And they all went for it, Lizzie, Deidre, hell, even me, he mused. Now, even though the bastard went and got old, in the process becoming a fuddy-duddy Watcher, he still snags the birds.

His mind tumbled back to the recent past. He could see Ripper's little schoolteacher friend during the Eyghon affair. She certainly was a looker. He also recalled that little red head dressed like a strumpet during the Halloween fiasco and smirked. Twenty five years ago, Ripper would have had his way with her several times before even bothering to remove her clothing, what little of it she had on. Of course, one couldn't forget the petite blonde. Ethan smiled. So like Ripper...running from her responsibility, yet fiercely protective of her mates. Strong, vicious, and passionate. He chuckled. "Perhaps I should call HER Ripper from now-"

Ethan's heart leaped into his throat as the explosion resounded down the hall. He stumbled when the floor trembled and fell. Lying prone, he glimpsed out into the hall through his plexiglass cell door. A large man dressed head-to-toe in black assault gear, carrying an automatic rifle, and wearing a gasmask trotted to his door. The man peered inside the cell, studying Ethan. "Over here!" the man yelled. "I've found him!"

In a moment, three other men joined him, all dressed like the first. One stuck a silver tube on the cell door with some putty-like material. Another barked, "Rayne, plant your face on the floor and cover your eyes, now!"

Ethan did as he was told. Even with his eyes shut, he noticed a bright light flare through his lids. Then he heard footsteps hustle into his cell. He looked up and saw the device had melted a passageway through the unbreakable glass. He stared at them, dazed by the suddenness of it all. "Who...who...are...?"

One of the men snapped, "It doesn't matter. Come with us, if you want to live."

"Come with you? How? Don't you think the guards have regrouped by now? They'll be ready for you."

Three of the men ignored him and went about the room placing several rods on the floor in a circular pattern. The rods looked like they were pure gold. The fourth man dragged Ethan off the floor and jostled him into the center of the circle. "They're not going to be ready for this," the man said.

After the others jumped into the circle, the man next to Ethan pressed a button on a small device he held in his left hand. Soon, Ethan could see eldritch energies, swirling about him, increasing in speed until the cell winked out of view. The next thing he knew, he stumbled from a vortex and fell hard onto a concrete floor inside a vast room. He smelled something in the air, instantly recognizing the scent. As he lay on the floor, he was stunned, not by the stress of having undergone a mystical transport, but by the fragrance of jasmine.

"Lizzie," he gasped, opening his eyes wide.

�

"Out of the frying pan, into the fire," Ethan muttered to the empty room.

`Well, you've gotten yourself into a sticky wicket this time, haven't you, old boy.' He shook his head and chuckled. "Exchanged one cell for another; what a bloody riot!"

After he had arrived in the warehouse, the men had quickly dropped a bag over his head and shackled his hands. Then they dragged him from the building and threw him into a car. They had driven for what seemed like ages until the car had finally come to a stop. After someone opened the door, they swept him out of the car and brought him into another building.

Once they had placed him inside this room, they had removed the bag and shackles and left him alone. Ethan had shaken off his disorientation and examined his surroundings. The room had a nondescript bed, a spartan table with two wooden chairs, and a pine dresser. There were no windows, the only entry a single door which he assumed lead to the hall.

He tried the knob and found that the door was locked from the outside. He placed his ear against the door, listening for any signs of life. When he heard nothing, he chanted an incantation that he and Ripper had devised long ago to melt locks. When he spoke the last word, he pointed his finger at the door knob. Energy leapt from his finger toward the handle, then rebounded and struck his hand like the arc from an electric welder. "Christ!" he yelped as his hand went numb from the discharge. "What the fuck was that?!?"

His hand continued to tingle and little bolts of pain shot up his right arm. He grimaced, looking down at his fingers. They were red, throbbing. "Third degree burns," he murmured. He needed medical attention and needed it soon.

Ethan pounded on the door with his left hand and yelled, "Hey! Can somebody help me out there? I'm hurt. I need a doctor!"

No one answered. "Hey! Please, I'm not trying to trick you...I really am hurt. I'm in a lot of pain!"

He heard the mechanism of the lock click. He stepped away from the door. When it opened, he stared at the figure in the doorway, slack- jawed, the pain forgotten momentarily.

She was a vision.

She stood there in a smart business suit, black with red pinstripes. Her waistcoat was open, revealing a silky white blouse with a scoop neckline, proudly displaying her impressive cleavage. As his gaze continued to move down her frame, he nearly gasped when he came to the hem of her micromini-skirt which showcased her taunt, long legs encased in sheer black silk stockings and enhanced by her high- heeled, spike pumps. Then he looked up into her perfect face, highlighted by tasteful eyeshadow and lavender lip gloss, and found her icy gaze tinged by amusement locked with his own.

"My word, Ethan," she purred, "it appears that you've been a naughty boy." She sauntered toward him. "I suppose my men should have warned you about the wards placed around the room to neutralize your magic. But," she smiled like a cat regarding a canary caught in its paws, "you always did learn best from experience, wouldn't you agree?"

He glared at her and snapped, "Not at all."

She regarded him casually. "Don't lie to me, Ethan. I know you too well."

He gritted his teeth and felt his blood begin to boil. Bloody bitch! She always knew what buttons to push. This time, though, he wasn't going to let her get to him. He smiled slyly at her. "Oh, Lizzie, you've always been able to match wits with me." He motioned at his right hand with his left. "However, would you be a dear and fix this? It hurts like hell."

She gave him an icy smile. "Of course, dear. I wouldn't want you to be in any discomfort when we visit the Hellmouth."

Ethan froze. "Hellmouth? We're not in bloody Sunnydale, are we?"

"Why, yes, we are."

He started to sweat. "For gods' sakes, woman; we've got to get out of here! If bloody Ripper found out I'm back in -"

"Wait!" she snapped. "Ripper...Ripper is here?"

"Yes, damn it! And he's probably still out for my blood, both he and his Slayer."

She frowned and shot a frosty glare at him. "Slayer? You must be mad! Only Watchers have Slayers. If this is your idea of a joke-"

He was so agitated, he ignored her threat. "Have I ever joked about Ripper before, Lizzie?"

She swallowed hard and hugged herself. "But, he'd never become a Watcher...he had always said-"

Ethan smiled inwardly. So she still had that weakspot, eh? "He is one, luv. Not only that, the bergs teamed him up with a Slayer. A cute bottle-blonde called Buffy." She looked at him like he was insane. "Honest, luv! That's no joke."

She snorted, "Her parents named her `Buffy'? And I thought WE had been heavy drug users."

"Well, she may have a dumb name, but she hits like piledriver. Yet, I'd rather take my chances with her than with Rip. She'd put me in the hospital for sure, but that's better than being dead."

"Is this girl, this Slayer...involved with Rip?"

"What's the information worth to you, precious?"

She gave him a hooded stare. "You'll get to live a while longer."

He gulped. "Well, since you put it that way...no, I don't think so. Last time I was here, she was hanging out with a soldier boy who worked for some secret government group that raised hell with the demons in these parts. I don't think Rip has anyone, actually. A few years ago, he was interested in a young woman who worked with him, but I heard she had died a while back."

Lizzie's eyes took on a faraway look for a moment, then regarded him again. "Thank you for the information, Ethan. I hope that you'll find your accommodations to be more comfortable for the short time that you'll be using them." She turned and called out into the hall. "Smythe?"

A thin, well-dressed man appeared in the doorway. "Yes, Miss?"

"Fetch the special ointments for burns from the cellar and tend to Mr. Raynes. Then I want you to find a Mr. Rupert Giles. He's here in Sunnydale. I want both his work and home addresses. Oh, and Smythe," she paused, drawing his undivided attention to her. "I want those addresses yesterday."

He nodded. "Is that all, Miss?"

She smiled brightly. "No. After you find Mr. Giles, please purchase a television set for our guest as a reward for his cooperation."

"Right away, Miss."

She turned to Ethan and said, "Don't worry, I won't tell Ripper you're here. It wouldn't serve me well to have him kill you before the ceremony."

Ethan glared at her as she left the room and closed the door behind her. "Into the fire, old boy?" he murmured. "Rather, more like a nuclear reactor running wild."

Angel Investigation Los Angeles

Cordelia Chase pawed half-heartedly at the stack of files that laid seige on her desk. She sighed and ran her slender fingers through her short, well-coiffed hair. She really liked the blonde highlights that the Beverly Hills hairdresser had given her. She thought she might just keep it, or, maybe, go even more blonde. She raised her eyes from the work she pretended to do and glanced at Charles.

Well, more specifically, at Charles' fine butt. Smiling like Mona Lisa, she noted how fine his butt was, yes, indeedy! While Gunn sharpened the axe his crew had made for him out of a hubcap across the whetstone, Cordelia followed the line of muscles from his shoulders to the firmly rounded muscles of his rear. She would love to have him stay in that position for an entire day, as long as she could be there to enjoy it. That would definitely make her days more entertaining. She smirked. Hey, a girl had to get her entertainment wherever she could find it. And Gunn's butt was definitely the most entertaining thing in the office and...and...oh, damn!

# Gunn heard Cordelia's strangled cry behind him. He spun and found Cordelia slumped onto the floor. He ran to her side and called to Wes for the aspirin and some water. He cradled the seer's spasming body to his muscular chest, waiting for her vision to fade away. Gunn hated these visions for the pain they caused the abrasive actress, even while he was grateful to the powers that be for the heads up. He had always found it hard to believe that this fragile-looking young woman, 'Stickfigure Barbie,' he remembered calling her once, could take the agony associated with the so-called 'gift' that she had inherited from Doyle. But looks could be deceiving. That was certainly true both for vamps and this brave, little white girl.

She groaned. Gunn frowned. This one was taking way too long. Normally these pain-fests were over in seconds. This one had gone on for at least a minute. He shot a questioning look at Wes. The Englishman muttered, "When it's a long one, it's really bad."

# Cordelia moaned, then looked at the two men beside her. "Pack your things, we're leaving for Sunnydale."

Wesley handed her a handful of pills and helped her support the water bottle to wash then down. "Angel should be back in a couple of days; we can research and be ready to leave as soon as he arrives."

"No, Wes. Angel can't go on this one. Trust me; it would be bad, very bad." She shuddered at the thought of Angel having to face his ex- lover when she was all groiny with his childe. She didn't think she would ever manage to rid herself of the picture of Buffy poised on top of Spike, plunging down on his erection while his fingers did truly naughty things to her. "I saw Buffy and Spike together...and...can I just say, 'ewwww?'" She sobered quickly and continued. "I also saw Willow dying. It was bad, really bad. We have to get to Willow, stop this before it starts. Hand me the phone."

They helped her to the phone and held her up as she dialed a number. She fidgeted as she waited for an answer, then her eyes widened when someone picked up the other end. "Kate...we have a problem and we need your help. We have to go to Sunnydale and Angel's still out of town. Want to tag along? Kate, I won't lie to you. It's going to be bad, but the shit would really hit the fan if we brought Angel with us." She paused for Kate's answer. "Fine...we'll be there to pick you up in about an hour."

The seer glared at the two men who held her. "Well, chop-chop! We don't have all day. Get a move on!"