[A/N: Okay, obviously that wasn’t the last chapter in this story. Hell, it caught me by surprise also. I thought for sure, when I started the chapter, that it would be the last. However, the characters have a bit more to say – a little bit more. I have no idea how long this is going to be, but however long it is, it is. And that will be, I’m fairly certain all there is in the Originsverse. No more long – endlessly long – epics. If the muse smiles and I’m up for it, there might be one-shots here and there, but I wouldn’t be holding your breath. It has been a helluva ride – with all the nominations and awards and praise, it has truly been a wonderful experience. I’ve met some great people because of this story and honestly, I’m glad I have. Thanks to all of you who’ve been along for this journey with me, and I don’t think I can ever really express my thanks. *sniffles and wipes away a few tears* Thank you. All of you. And so, for the last (maybe?) time, (in this ‘verse) disclaimers prove I own nothing but the plot and a few of the minor characters, all else belongs to Joss Whedon, David Greenwalt, and Mutant Enemy. Title and quotes are as attributed (and I paraphrased so don’t sue me).]


Book Three

Chapter Thirty-Eight. Ending Ambiguously


A hard beginning maketh a good ending.
John Heywood, Proverbes. Part i. Chap. iv.

I left the ending ambiguous, because that is the way life is.
Bernardo Bertolucci

If you want a happy ending, that depends, of course, on where you stop your story.
Orson Welles

Life's like a movie, write your own ending. Keep believing, keep pretending.
Jim Henson





Despite the fact they had much in common and so much to discuss, most of the drive to Los Angeles was spent in silence. Nicholson was very aware that had Wesley Wyndham-Pryce not failed miserably during his first tenure in Sunnydale, he never would have risen in the ranks. And Wesley was all too aware of that fact as well. Wesley’s father was a senior member of the Council and he’d been the golden boy until his spectacular fall from grace.

As if he could read his thoughts, Wesley’s first comment in nearly an hour mirrored Nicholson’s musings. “You rather surprised everyone. Taking on the old man as you did.”

“How so?” Nicholson half-feigned confusion.

“Bit of a dark horse and a rare gamble.” Wesley glanced over at his companion. “The risk of plotting behind the throne. He could’ve destroyed you.”

Nicholson gave up the pretense. “True enough. But it wasn’t just the gaffer I wanted to shake up. The Codgers haven’t budged in ages an’ they’re too mired in politicking to get forward.” He inhaled deeply, his eyes on the darkness of the road. “Slayers have been changing, getting stronger, older, smarter, and sending Watchers who aren’t prepared for that is a bit of unfair.”

Wesley was silent for a few moments, wondering for the first time just how his failure had been viewed by his contemporaries. “Well – “

Nicholson didn’t wait for Wesley to respond. “They’ve been setting us up for failure – us and the girls. World has changed, old man, and the sooner they realize the better we’ll be.”

“Us and the girls?”

“The internet and instant communications. Cell and vid-phones. Sooner rather than later some idiot news reader will catch a vid, or some yank will you-tube a Slayer in action and all this will be front page news. World-wide.”

The Scot’s vehemence caught Wesley by surprise. Hadn’t actually thought of all that . . .

Either he’d said that out loud or Nicholson could read his mind, because the response was immediate.

“None of the elders have either. Information moves fast, Wesley. Technology is moving faster. If the Council doesn’t step up, we’ll spend the next twenty years doing damage control.”

“Bloody hell.”

“Exactly.”

“So what would you rather see happen? Everything subrosa?”

“No. It can’t – won’t work. The minute someone captures a vid, we’ll be exposed. Better to bring it forward. Best defense and all that.”

“You’re not thinking of full disclosure?” Wesley was horrified by the idea that everything would be exposed and their lives the subject of news and tabloid fodder.

“Again, no. Just bits and pieces. Don’t think the general population is quite ready for vamps and demons.” A hint of humor crept into Nicholson’s voice and Wesley barely suppressed an answering chuckle.

“Heavens no,” he paused, a sudden hilarious thought crossing his mind. “Could you imagine? Spike would – “

“Oh, Christ. He’d be hounded by the paps.”

“Too right.”

They lapsed back into silence, each man thinking hard about the future of the Council.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~




She’d managed to give them the slip, running away long past the point of her own exhaustion and now Rona was sitting on her bed, watching the clock tick its way toward morning. The rush of adrenaline caused by her flight was now exhibiting its downside and she was still, hours later, unable to settle herself into sleep.

None of the gang members had even come close to catching her. That crazy jump in the abandoned building had been enough to give her a huge advantage. Staying hidden until well after three o’clock in the morning had also helped.

Bitches will be knocking on my door soon enough. Well, screw them. Made it this far. . . Ain’t going down. Not to them.

Rona had, despite every disadvantage thrown at her, managed to stay in school, get really decent grades and keep it together outside of school. Staying away from the gangs was hard and more than once she’d had to back-up her ‘nos’ with her fists. This time, though, this particular gang was proving more difficult. They weren’t taking any of her negative responses at face value. And she was tired of having to dodge fists, knives, and the occasional bullet.

I’m done with this hell.

The usual middle of the night noises started ebbing, dissipating into the ether as the neighborhoods of South Central Los Angeles slowly gave into sleep. Rona let her eyes close, knowing this was her window of safety, when she could let her guard down and rest.

Harsh pounding at the front door of the house she shared with her older sisters and their children woke Rona from sleep. Rosetta, her oldest sister, made it to the door just ahead of her, bleary-eyed and grumbling under her breath about stupid-assed people knocking down doors in the middle of the damn night. Neither of them was prepared for the sight of two very out of place men, one of them marginally less conspicuous than the other.

Rosetta was less than pleasant, but realizing that these men had knocked at three forty-seven in the morning, she figured they weren’t big on manners. “What the hell do you want?”

“Is this the residence of Rona Jefferson?” The taller, thinner of the two spoke, his voice oddly accented.

The sisters shared a look, neither of them willing to give any information to the strangers. “Why you wanna know?”

“My name is Wesley Wyndam-Pryce and this is my associate, J. R. Nicholson.” He paused, motioning to the man beside him. “We represent a branch of the British government and we have some information for Miss Jefferson. Is this her residence?”

Wesley was gambling on the information from the seers and a quick internet search of the area and the local high school’s database. Luckily for them, they’d also managed to secure a picture and the minute the door had opened, he’d recognized the younger woman. It had also gone a long way to proving Nicholson’s point about the ease of obtaining information. Wesley was somewhat grateful the younger man hadn’t belabored his point. Nor had he once said ‘I told you so.’ Another thing Wesley was grateful for.

“What the hell does the British government – what kind of crazy-assed shit is this? You knocking down my damn door at four in the morning with some lame bullshit story about the British government?” Rosetta was spluttering almost incoherently, her sleep-fuzzy brain struggling to make some sense out of this craziness.

“Please, Miss, just answer the question. Is this the residence of Rona Jefferson?” Nicholson was tired and he wanted to get this done with and get back on the road to Sunnydale before too long.

With Rosetta, and now some of the kids grumbling and groaning from the living room, Rona stepped out onto the porch. “That’s me. What do you want?”

“Miss Jefferson, my name is – “

She brushed aside Wesley’s second attempt at introductions. “Yeah, yeah, I heard you the first time. Now I’m asking you. What the hell do you want?”

“The branch we represent is covert, Miss Jefferson, and while we can give you some of the details, it would be more prudent for you to speak with the head of the division, Mr. Quentin Travers.” Their approach was a bit different from the standard, which was stodgy at best. “He’s currently in Sunnydale, approximately two hours away.”

The look on Rona’s face clearly said she wasn’t going anywhere with anyone. “And what does this guy want with me?”

“You possess certain skills and talents that might benefit our organization.” Nicholson took up the explanation as Wesley started to falter. “We believe you could be of use to our division.”

“Do I look like I was born yesterday?” Rona shook her head. “What the fuck would the British government want with me? Hell, my own government wouldn’t want me.”

Taking the plunge, Wesley inhaled deeply. “Have you noticed any changes in the last few hours? Increased stamina? Heightened senses and awareness? Inexplicable strength?”

Suspicion filled her eyes and Rona edged away from them. “What? How the hell did you know that?”

“It’s inherited.” Wesley paused, trying to gather his thoughts. “I assure you, this is not some sort of joke or mistake. Please accompany us to Sunnydale and I promise all your questions will be answered.”

“And what happens when I don’t like those answers? What if I don’t care and I just want to come back home? You gonna bring me back here or you gonna lock me away and pretend I never existed?” All those crazy spy movies she’d ever seen flashed in her mind and Rona wasn’t buying their stupid excuses about why they were interested in her. “Why me?”

Nicholson shot a glance at Wesley, who was clearly floundering. “Miss Jefferson?” When he had her full attention, Nicholson tried to explain without raising any further alarms. “We recruit worldwide, looking for people with certain abilities and skills that are unique. We believe you possess those abilities and skills.”

“Yeah, I heard you say that. I’m wondering where you got the info.” Rona crossed her arms, disdain mixed with fatigue creasing her features.

“The fact you’ve managed to avoid gang entanglement is one major tip-off.” Nicholson kept his expression neutral, not wishing to get involved in a battle of wills against a Slayer – even if the Slayer in question had no clue about her true nature.

They were losing her. Skepticism and angry confusion wafted from her and Nicholson knew if they didn’t reach through those emotions, she would refuse to accompany them to Sunnydale. He searched his brain for something to break through her defensive stance and came up with nothing. It was Wesley, who inadvertently hit upon the solution.

“You’ve already admitted to the inexplicable strength and increased senses. Aren’t you curious about their sudden appearance?” Catching the slight change in her posture, Wesley continued. “Don’t you want to know exactly what you can do?”

It was clear she was curious. So Nicholson pressed the advantage Wesley had given them. “We can provide you with the answers. With all the answers.”

Rona did want to know. She had no reason why all of a sudden she could run for hours without getting tired. Or how she could have made that crazy jump to get away from the gang. Nerves and adrenaline only answered a little bit. There was no logical explanation why she could suddenly do all those things. And how she knew she could do them. I need answers. I need to know.

She caved.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



Sunlight hit the front windows of the house on Revello Drive, refracting and bending light. The illusion that all was well behind those solid walls was shattered by the big black coroner’s van parked in the driveway. Wesley slowed the Jeep, parking it behind the large DeSoto. Rona stirred in the back, blearily brushing the sleep from her eyes.

“What the hell? I’m not so sure about this – What kind of place is this?” Her confusion and distrust were clear. The questions devolved into mutterings and mumblings under her breath, but neither man mistook that for a lessening in her distrust.

Wesley was at a loss to explain exactly why the coroner’s van was parked in the driveway of 1630 Revello Drive, especially when it was their destination. “A bit of misfortune.”

He ignored Nicholson’s dark look and the further grumblings from the back seat. “I’m sure it’s all sorted out.”

They exited the vehicle, the doors sounding loud in the early morning. Two men were chatting on the porch, their faces grim and somewhat uninviting. Rona’s unease grew and she felt extremely out of place. She was the only person of color – and it was unnerving. All these tall white men were making her skin itch and crawl. This wasn’t her gig. And if this is what they were expecting of her, well, then she was just going to back out now and head right home, to South Central. Where she knew exactly what was expected, and what she had to do to protect herself.

The older of the two men on the porch stopped speaking and nodded at her, a small smile playing about his mouth. “Good morning. I’m Rupert Giles. Welcome to Sunnydale.”

“Uh. Yeah. Thanks.” Rona stuttered her greeting, unsure of how to react to the sudden turn-about. He’d looked forbidding and scary, but the minute his mouth had opened and he looked at her that changed. His eyes had twinkled and the smile had warmed his whole face.

He waited expectantly for her to say something, and Rona belatedly realized he was waiting for her to introduce herself. “Oh. I’m Rona Jefferson.”

Turning his attention back to the man he’d been conversing with, Giles shook his hand, saying, “Thank you, Nate, for coming so quickly.”

A rueful laugh escaped from the younger man. “All part of the job, Giles.”

“Indeed.” He paused for a moment, gravity setting on the scene once more. “I’ll call you later with the rest of the arrangements.”

“Good enough.” Nate stepped lithely down the steps, waving a final time before getting behind the wheel of the hearse.

Herding them all into the house, Giles questioned Wesley. “No problems?”

“None. She was a bit reluctant at first, but we managed.” He stepped into the hallway just behind Rona, edging around her when she didn’t move any further. “I thought it best to wait until we had . . .”

Wesley’s voice trailed off, as if he were unsure of how to end his thought, though Rona was completely confused when the others either nodded, or in Giles’ case, actually said, “No, you made the right choice. I believe the others will be up shortly.”

“It is rather early.” Nicholson remarked idly, after looking down at his watch. “How soon do you expect them to wake?”

Giles shook his head. “Sleeping patterns have been off for weeks, though Buffy’s – she hasn’t slept well since her –“ His voice died away into silence and Rona felt like such an outsider. What the hell are these crazy dudes talking about?

Before she could open her mouth and demand to be taken back to Los Angeles, Giles touched her arm. “Would you like some breakfast? I believe we can offer you coffee as well as tea. And if the hordes have left anything, there might even be pastries.”

She let him lead her into the dining room, where an even older man was sitting at the far end of the table, his attention riveted on an old musty book in front of him. He looked up as they entered and Rona could see the tiredness in his eyes. “Rona Jefferson, this is Quentin Travers.”

“Good morning.” He extended his hand and though he looked tired, Rona noted it didn’t extend to his handshake. “I trust you made the trip without any trouble.”

Rona still didn’t know how to react to the situation she found herself in. Nothing in her life had prepared her for anything like this at all. These crazy guys were treating her like she was important, but she still got the feeling that there was something really, really significant they weren’t telling her. And the way they blew off the coroner? Freaky.

“Trip was good.” Deciding she was never going to get any answers by playing it cool, Rona jumped right in. “Don’t know why you need me. Or why you would even want me. And I’m really getting tired of everyone talking about me like I’m not here.”

Looks were exchanged over her head and Rona headed for the door. “I’m outta here.”

“Wait.” Travers gestured to the chairs around the table. “Miss Jefferson, please give us a moment. If you’re still not satisfied with our explanations, we will make arrangements to return you to your home.”

Grasping her backpack, Rona thought for a moment, her eyes sweeping over the various males. A deep sigh heaved her shoulders and she reluctantly nodded her agreement. “Fine.”

“Very well. Before we start, I’d like some sustenance.” Travers raised an eyebrow at the two younger men, and they both jumped. “I’m sure we could all use some caffeine.”


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~




When they had finally finished their explanations, Rona sat back, looked at them for a long moment and very nearly laughed. “You people are all crazy.”

“I’ll admit that it sounds a bit preposterous.” Giles wasn’t the only one to meet her gaze, but he was the first to speak.

“If that means insane and crazy, then yeah, that’s what it sounds like.” Rona shook her head. “I’m just supposed to believe that I’m a – What did you call it? Slayer? That I’m supposed to believe that vampires and demons are real?”

Giles and Travers shared a look. “It is a bit much to take on faith.”

Wesley moved away from the wall closest to the stairs. “However, we aren’t asking you to take it all on faith. We can offer you some proof.”

“Proof? How the hell are you supposed to prove that vampires exist? That I’m a Slayer?” Rona crossed her arms. “This is all just crazy bullshit. And I’m still outta here.”

“Wait, please? Give me a few moments.” Wesley held her belligerent gaze, not flinching away when anger pursed her lips.

“Whatever. It’s not gonna change a damn thing.”

“We’ll see.” On that cryptic note, he left the room and headed straight up the stairs to the second floor.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



The soft mewls of the twins had escalated to full-throated cries, and though Buffy had grabbed both infants, she couldn’t manage to feed both of them together. Spike was up, pacing the floor with Kirsten, his voice rolling and rumbling deep in his chest, an old lullaby doing little to soothe her pitiful wailing.

“Ssshh, baby girl, Mum’s got to deal with your big brother, an’ then she’ll be right with you. M’promise, Kirstie-girl.” His words had better luck and she calmed enough to turn toward the sound of his voice. “Ahhh, there’s my wee little sweet bit. Daddy’s got you.”

Buffy’s soft laugh caught his attention and she shook her head at him. “Do you realize you’re dancing with her?”

“So? Seems to like it, doesn’t she?” Spike semi-glared at her, his attention going right back to the infant in his arms. “Least she’s calmed a bit. Won’t wake up the rest of the house.”

Lifting the now-sated baby boy to her shoulder, Buffy motioned him closer. “Time to switch.”

“Right then. Gimme that greedy-gus.” Spike easily swapped one baby for the other, looking down into the bright blue eyes of his son. “Doesn’t seem like a James. Or Jimmy. Does he?”

Getting Kirsten situated pulled Buffy’s attention away from Spike’s comments, and she didn’t answer him right away. “Jimmy?” She wrinkled her nose. “Ah. No. That doesn’t fit him at all. What about Jaime?”

It was Spike’s turn to make a face. “Not sure how I feel about that.” The baby in question scrunched up his own face and Spike took that as agreement with him. “Don’t think the boy likes it either. Best come up with something else.”

“There aren’t too many other James-type names we could call him.”

“Maybe he’s not a James.”

She laughed a bit. “That would be just like us. Naming them backwards.”

“Meaning?” Spike’s lips twisted with a wry grimace as he listened to the baby’s stomach settle.

“Joyce Kirsten.” Buffy placed more emphasis on the baby’s middle name and then did the same with the other. “James Robert.”

Whatever comment Spike would have made was interrupted by a soft knock on their bedroom door. The two blondes shared a look, then Spike pulled the door open a bit. Recognizing Wesley before he had the door opened fully, Spike invited the other Englishman inside. “Might as well come in, Oxford. She’s gonna hear it anyway.”

“Good morning. I trust you both slept well?” He framed it as a question, but Wesley wasn’t truly expecting an answer. “We’ve managed to locate the new Slayer.”

“Already? That was quick.” Buffy tried to catch Spike’s eye, but he was suddenly busy, tending to – “Robbie. I like that one.”

His head snapped up, blue eyes clouded with momentary confusion. “Oh. Right then.” Spike gazed down at the gurgling baby and since there seemed to be no objection from that corner, agreed. “Seems fine to me.”

Without missing a beat after gaining his agreement, Buffy returned her attention to Wesley. “So. New Slayer. Where is she?”

“Downstairs. The seers managed to locate her in Los Angeles, of all places.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Nicholson and I made the identification and brought her here.”

“Downstairs? What? The house is trashed! I haven’t cleaned in days and . . . “ Buffy looked helplessly to the two men, who were both shaking their heads.

“Why on earth would you be concerned about that?

“Really, pet, who cares what the house looks like? Watchers have been here for days an’ this is the first you’ve cared.” Spike rolled his eyes, disdain lacing his words. “The new bird’ll learn soon enough that a clean house isn’t what’s important. Safety is.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want her to think we’re all heathens and that we live in a hovel.”

“Walls are up. Roof’s secure. No demon hordes are camped out on the front lawn.” Spike shook his head. “I’d say we’re doin’ fine.”

Belatedly realizing exactly what Wesley had implied by coming upstairs to their room, Spike changed the subject before Buffy could angst more about the state of the house. “She the reason why you’re up here?”

He sighed, then nodded affirmatively. “She’s finding our explanations a bit hard to believe. I’m afraid she’s going to bolt.”

“So what? Gonna parade out the troops and prove to this one she’s another Chosen?” Spike chuckled when Buffy made a dismissive noise. “Where’s Faith?”

“No one’s tried to locate her. Or Jenner for that matter.” Wesley crossed the room to look out the window. “I doubt she’d be of much assistance anyway.” He paused for another moment, finally admitting what the other Watchers had been thinking. “Travers believes it might be best for Faith to act as a – roving agent. Freelance. He wants to place the new girl in Cleveland.”

The blondes shared a look that didn’t go unnoticed by Wesley. It was clear what they were thinking, and it was Buffy who finally confirmed it. “That would fit best for Faith. She’s not gonna stick around long. She’d be way better off doing the traveling.”

“That is what Travers believes. Besides, you are already entrenched here in Sunnydale and are more than capable of handling anything that might arise here.” Wesley leaned against the wall, watching her intently. “The new girl’s name is Rona.”

“Got to train this one better than the last.” The comment was out of his mouth before he could censor it, and Spike tensed, waiting for the other two to chastise him over his callousness. It never came.

“Kennedy’s failings weren’t lack of training as much as excessive arrogance. And rather rigid thought patterns.” Wesley moved away from the wall, heading for the doorway. “Perhaps this one will benefit from training with a Master Vampire.”

He opened the door. “Either way, I think you should both meet her before she decides we’re all escapees from Bedlam.”



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~




The remains of breakfast were piled on the dining room table, remnants of a hasty meal. Giles had kept the conversation innocuous while Wesley tried to convince Buffy and Spike to come meet the new Slayer, though he failed miserably as uncomfortable silence descended over the room’s occupants. Rona was poised at the edge of her chair, eyes focused on the front door. She had rebuffed every attempt from Giles to draw her out and from her posture, it was clear she was mentally counting down to zero.

Travers waited patiently, his attention seemingly caught once again by the musty book in front of him. Nicholson had retreated to the kitchen, replenishing the supply of caffeine and escaping the uncomfortable atmosphere of the dining room. Has it only been three days since we landed? Nicholson counted off the time in his head, while he silently urged the coffeemaker to speed up. Time had begun to merge and he was still figuring out the days when he heard Wesley’s tread on the stairs.

He wandered back into the dining room as Wesley was again reassuring the new Slayer that all her questions would be answered, if she’d only give them a few more minutes.

It was more than clear that Rona wasn’t blessed with patience. She shrugged her shoulders in response to Wesley, almost blatantly ignoring him. They had only a few moments before she made a break for it. Probably the only reason she’s staying put is because he’s between her and the door.

Another set of footsteps sounded on the stairs and Nicholson didn’t need to look up to guess who it was. Despite his short stature and deceptively thin build, Spike exuded a presence that screamed for acknowledgment and automatic respect.

“Mornin’.” He leaned negligently against the doorframe, his arms crossed and a slight smile on his face. “See we have another house guest.”

Various responses were mumbled to his greeting. It was Giles who answered his non-question, though, while the others remained quiet. “Yes. Rona, this is Spike. Spike, this is Rona Jefferson.”

He very clearly sized her up, and they could all see Rona reacting differently to him. Her eyebrows rose and she shifted in her chair. The backpack she had been holding onto like a lifeline dropped to the floor and her back stiffened. Giles could see the tension rising in her and he got to his feet.

Spike did no more than just nod once in her direction, then directed his next comment over her head to Travers. “Might want to give this one more of a chance than the last little girl you let loose.”

It was the perfect opening and though the four Watchers knew it, none of them replied. Looks were exchanged, and not a one escaped Spike’s notice. A deep sigh shook him and he sauntered over to the table. Palms flat down, he leaned past the new Slayer to stare directly at the senior Watcher. “Gonna cost you, if you want to keep her here for a bit.”

Again, not one of the men pretended they were unaware of the true discussion.

“An addendum to our original agreement?” Travers didn’t waver from Spike’s gaze. “Room, board, and upkeep?”

An amused, huffy snort was Spike’s counter argument. It was Giles who shook his head in disagreement. “Both the girl and her Watcher will need additional training.”

Travers mulled over the idea, realizing it had more merit than he believed the rest of the Council would be willing to admit. Kennedy’s training had lacked, and he wasn’t entirely certain it was due to the girl’s rigid mindset and reluctance to take orders from men. Especially those that weren’t her father. Her field training had also been lacking. And as for her Watcher – Spencer Whitworth had the credentials and background – but she hadn’t been truly prepared to have an active Slayer.

“For both, then.” Conceding the point, Travers waited while Spike decided.

Sensing his opponent’s need far exceeded his original expectations, the vampire smiled. “Up the ante for the Slayer.”

Knowing full well he meant Buffy, Travers capitulated. “Agreed.”

Smirking at the Watchers ranged about the dining room, Spike nodded his head. “Looks like we have a deal.” He stepped away from the table, once more eyeing the new Slayer. “Training starts tonight. Best have a Watcher assigned.”

“What the hell is going on?” Rona finally broke her silence, confusion marring her face. “You people haven’t proved a damn thing. I’m out.”

“Perhaps you should introduce yourself.” Giles motioned to Spike, waiting for his reaction.

Spike’s eyes danced with mirth. He paused a moment, gaining her full attention, then shifted into game face. “Hello, Slayer.”

Rona scrambled to her feet, eyes wide with disbelief. “What the fuck?”

“Spike.” A decidedly feminine voice chastised the vampire and he stepped back from looming over the new Slayer. Buffy rounded the doorway into the dining room and surveyed the situation. “Hey guys, what’s going on?”

Buffy’s gaze drifted from one Englishman to another, waiting for an answer. “Who’s this?”


“This is the new girl.” She sensed Spike’s smirk and turned to face the girl to get a better look at her. Rona was backed up against the table, as far away from Spike as she could get in the crowded space. “Her name’s Rona.”

Buffy snuck a glance at Spike, who was out of gameface. “Really?”

Taking a step forward, Buffy held out her hand in greeting. “Hi. I’m Buffy. The Vampire Slayer.”



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



Several hours and quite a few demonstrations later, Rona finally began believing what the Watchers had been trying to tell her. At first, it was very clear the poor girl hadn’t wanted to trust anything they were saying, but after the third sparring session with Buffy, she finally got the picture.

They had purposely kept Spike out of the fighting, his injuries precluding any real effort on his part. Rona had been sufficiently cowed, especially when the seemingly more fragile, and slightly out-of-shape Buffy threw her the entire length of the back yard. It hadn’t been graceful, none of their sparring had been, but it had been effective. The impression it made upon Rona had been lasting.

It had also made an impression upon Travers. Nicholson had used his cell phone to record the entire session, and he’d emailed the file to himself. Twenty minutes after it was all over and done with, and the two girls were in the kitchen talking quietly, Nicholson had replayed everything. Twice.

After the first replay, Rona had slumped into one of the dining room chairs, her expression grim and, at the same time, thoughtful. “So you’re telling me I can do everything she can?”

“That you’ll eventually be able to.” Giles reached across the table for the teapot. “With training and time, you should be fine.”

“She kicked my ass. Every time.” Rona couldn’t believe the crappy looking, flabby white chick had beaten her. Not when numerous girls from South Central couldn’t. “How the hell did she do that?“

“Buffy’s been the Slayer for,” Giles had to do the quick calculation in his head and reality struck him momentarily. Hard to imagine it’s been that long. “Since she was fourteen. She was called just before her fifteenth birthday. Seven years.”

Rona stared at him, a couple of different thoughts rolling through her head. “So how many of us are there?”

This was the part Giles was dreading, and judging by the looks on the faces of Wesley and Nicholson, they hadn’t been too happy with it either. The three shared a pointed look, then almost together shifted their gazes on Travers. Who, unlike them, was lost in thought and not paying attention to the conversation. Buffy was no help at all, since she and Spike were in the kitchen, low voices carrying on their own conversation. Giles cleared his throat, preparing to answer when the front door slammed open, bouncing off the wall.

Faith’s disheveled appearance in the front hallway wasn’t a surprise to anyone, except perhaps Rona.
“Oh. Look at this. Council Convention.” At the varying looks she was getting, Faith quipped, “So does this mean I’m the entertainment? Coz the lap dances are gonna cost ya.”

Spike, halted just beyond the edges of sunlight streaming in the door behind Faith, griped, “Close the door, pet.”

She reached behind her and slammed the door, hard enough to rattle the windows. “So, this the newest Chosen One?”

There was enough emphasis on the last word that even Rona picked it up and she looked around the room. “Chosen One? What does that mean?”

The aborted sigh Giles had nearly choked on finally emerged from his throat. “It means that there is traditionally only one Slayer at a time. Due to a serious of unforeseen circumstances, we now have three Slayers. Buffy, Faith, and yourself.”

Silence reigned in the dining room. Rona sat in the chair, digesting the information she’d just been given and trying to put all the pieces of it together. Faith looked around, shrugged and headed toward the kitchen. Spike’s attention shot toward the stairs, hearing muffled mewling that no one else picked up and he motioned Buffy forward. “Be right back.”

Rona looked at Giles, anger sparking in her brown eyes. “You’re telling me there’s only three of us? And we’re supposed to fight vampires and shit all on our own? You people are crazy.”

“You got that right.” Faith lounged in the doorway, eating cereal directly from the box. “Except we’re wicked strong chicks.”

“Which means we can slay whatever runs across our paths.” Buffy’s voice preceded her down the stairs. Touching down on the first floor, she shifted the baby in her embrace. Looking pointedly at the others, Buffy moved into the living room, followed by Spike, who had their other infant tucked carefully in his arms. She plopped down somewhat gracefully on the couch, sliding the complaining baby onto her lap and deftly covering herself with a light blanket. Shielding her exposed breast from everyone but the baby, Buffy started nursing.

“Check you out. All domestic and motherly.” Faith teased her, the glint in her eyes displaying an almost wistful expression.

Travers finally shook himself from his reverie. “I believe it is time we took our leave.” He rose to his feet, reaching for Giles’ hand. “Rupert. I trust you’ll keep everything well in hand.”

“I shall endeavor to do my best.” His gaze swept the rooms. “I’ll have my hands full.”

“Indeed.” Travers did the same to Wesley, remarking, “You’ve come a long way since you left. Would you be willing to discuss further options?”

Wesley looked over his shoulder to catch Spike’s eye. There was an assessing gleam as the vampire waited for the other’s answer. “Not something you have to answer just this moment, but expect to hear from us in the coming fortnight.”

Travers didn’t bother to shake Spike’s hand, merely inclined his head to bid him goodbye. “Ladies, we’ll be in touch.” Pausing for a moment, he spoke to Faith. “Miss Lehane, I’d like to see you privately before we leave. Say tomorrow at half past two?”

“Yeah, sure.” Faith looked puzzled, but shrugged the implications of a private meeting with the Council into something not really to worry about.

“What’s gonna happen to me?” Rona got up from the table, arms crossed over her chest and a decidedly aggravated look on her face.

“For the time being, you will be staying in Sunnydale, training with Miss Summers and her partner.” Travers motioned to the living room. “After I’ve spoken to Miss Lehane, and you’ve had some time to train, we’ll reassess your situation.”

He inclined his head to everyone. “Good day, all. Nicholson?”

“Coming, sir.” Nicholson paused for a moment at the door, a smile creasing his normally stoic features. “Good bye.”

Buffy handed off Kirsten to Spike, taking the fussing Robbie from him. “So, pet, ‘pears we’ve been saddled with the newest in the Slayer brigade. Can’t say that I’m all over with happiness.”

“Me either.” Buffy surveyed the faces peering at her; only one that she was truly concerned with. “But we’ll deal. Just not today.”

“Okay, Scarlet. We’ll suss it all out tomorrow.” Spike lifted Kirsten to his shoulder, humming softly under his unnecessary breath.

“We will.” Buffy smiled at him, happiness shining from her eyes. “We’ve got lots of time.”





Little did they know, there was lots and lots of time ahead of them. . .
















[End notes: This is my chance to say, one more time: Thank you. Each and everyone single one of you that’s read, reviewed, nominated, voted, and enjoyed these stories. I cannot express enough how much your support (through writer’s block and worse) have bolstered me. It is for your enjoyment that I’ve sweated through some of this. So thank you. And also, if you’ve the time or the inclination, I’d love to hear from you. Yeah, everyone. So if you read and never reviewed, or faithfully reviewed all along, please, let me know what you think and how these stories affected you. I wanna hear it all, good, bad, complaints, compliments, everything; from a simple “thank you” to a “oh my god, you wordy bitch, thank god you’re finished”. And for those of you crazy people who still want more – there’s a future story posted exclusively on Elysian Fields called “Destinies” and a second one in the works (which may take years to finish unless Tam puts her cards on the table) which will be posted sometime soon. Slainte, cheers, and much love, Niamh]