[A/N: The choreography of this portion of the story is daunting; and I don’t think I can accurately convey that at all. Every step, every punch, every moment has to be mapped out and staged in my head (and sometimes physically) before I put it down on paper. If I can’t make it work in my head, I can’t make it work in yours, so it has to be perfect. Hence my excuse – er – reason why this is taking so long. I hope its worth the extra efforts. I only have your feedback to let me know whether it is or not. Thanks again to Tam (spikeslovebite) for her beta skills. And to all of you who reviewed and left lovely little messages about whether or not I should write the third story, thank you all very much for your input. Title and quotes are as attributed and the disclaimers, as always, are in full force and effect.]

Previously: The mansion has exploded; Glynnis has split ranks from Jenner, who now knows where she is; Willow has gotten into the house and begun a confrontation with Tara; Anya’s fallen down the steps; Xander’s arrived at the house; and the cavalry is about to arrive. This takes place immediately following the last installment (please remember, all this is pretty much simultaneous).

Book Two. Chapter 62. Now’s the day, now’s the hour


Scots, wha hae wi’ Wallace bled,
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led,
Welcome to your gory bed,
Or to victory!
Now ’s the day and now ’s the hour;
See the front o’ battle lour.
Robert Burns, Bannockburn.

Thus we may know that there are five essentials for victory:
He will win who knows when to fight and when not to fight.
He will win who knows how to handle both superior and inferior forces.
He will win whose army is animated by the same spirit throughout all its ranks.
He will win who, prepared himself, waits to take the enemy unprepared.
He will win who has military capacity and is not interfered with by the sovereign.
Sun-Tzu, The Art of War

Queen of Light took her bow, And then she turned to go,
The Prince of Peace embraced the gloom, And walked the night alone.
Oh, dance in the dark of night, Sing to the morning light.
The dark Lord rides in force tonight, And time will tell us all.
Oh, throw down your plow and hoe, Rest not to lock your homes.
Side by side we wait the might of the darkest of them all.
Led Zeppelin, The Battle of Evermore



Blood streamed from his nose and numerous cuts on his face from Angel’s systematic blows. Both eyes were swollen shut and his ears were ringing, but Xander didn’t lose consciousness; refusing to give into the pain.

The two vampires had taken him by surprise, Harmony catching him by the arm before he could race into the house, while some other female grabbed his shirt. Angel and Drusilla had arrived seconds after him and the instant Angel realized it was Xander, harsh laughter had rung through the night.

The first slap had stung, catching him by surprise, though by the third or fourth, Xander knew he was in trouble. He could taste the blood trickling down his throat, coppery sweet and warm, filling his mouth, choking him. The squelch and popping of the cartilage in his nose nearly crumpled his knees; it was only because he refused to let Angel see him cower and beg that Xander remained on his feet.

Dazed and barely holding onto consciousness, long after he’d lost count of the number of times he’d been hit, Xander didn’t realize the blows had stopped until someone grabbed him around the waist, helping him inside the house.


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“Red’s in the house.” Spike said as they raced across the front lawn.

Signaling to get Faith’s attention, Buffy said, “You get Willow.”

When she started to object, Buffy shook her head. “We’ll get Xander.”

“Kay.” Bypassing the vampires holding Xander, Faith headed for the front door while Buffy barreled into Angel. Spike knocked Harmony out with a single punch and Glynnis dropped her hold on Xander’s arm, throwing punches at Spike’s head.

Drusilla snarled, grabbing Faith by the back of her hair as she ran by, swinging her around. Faith leaned into the turn, using her momentum to swing her left fist around, knocking into Drusilla, causing her to stumble and loosen her grip on Faith’s hair.

Buffy and Angel traded blows, neither one gaining ground on the other. Spike fought Glynnis, one eye watching Buffy and he smoothly stepped in an instant before Angel’s foot connected with Buffy’s belly. Taking the full brunt of the kick in his right thigh, Spike buckled, dropping to one knee while raising his left arm to block Angel’s next blow.

Giles gasped for air, hunched over, his hands on his knees. Wesley reached Xander as he was about to fall over, then helped him inside.

Buffy had sidestepped away from Angel’s foot, deftly throwing a left hook at Glynnis’ jaw, knocking the vampire on her ass, off the porch. She looked up when she heard Oz’ quiet voice, her eyes widening at the sight before them.


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Tara turned her back on Willow, racing up the rest of the stairs and starting down the hallway. She spared a thought for Anya, hoping she wasn’t too badly injured, grateful for the confusion her fall had caused. With luck, the momentary advantage would be enough to get both Dawn and Connor out of the house and away from danger.

Though at this second, she wasn’t sure where a safe place might be.

Footsteps sounded behind her and Tara dared a look over her shoulder. Willow was just steps away, such a look of anger and disgust on her features that Tara faltered.

“You know you aren’t strong enough to fight me. And you don’t really want to anyway.”

She whirled around, squarely facing her former girlfriend. “I don’t want to, but I will. This isn’t right, Willow. You can stop this, just let it all go.”

“No. I need to make this all go away, fix everything that’s gone wrong.” Darkness flared in her eyes, her lips pursed and energy sparked from her. The light arced toward the blond, which Tara deflected, sending it back toward Willow.

“If you ever had any real feelings. . . . If. . . . Willow, what you’re doing is wrong.”

A soft little noise greeted Tara’s statement. “Shyeah. I have lots of feelings.”

“No, I really don’t think you do.” Tara shook her head. “At least not enough to realize what you’re doing now is wrong, very wrong.”

“What I’m doing? I’m not the one sleeping with a demon.” Willow shrugged. “I’m all good.”

“No Willow, I really do have to agree with Tara. What you’re doing is wrong.” Wesley spoke from behind her as he grabbed her arms, holding her tight. Addressing his next comment to Tara, he motioned her with his chin. “Go.”

Wasting no time, Tara headed down the hallway to Dawn’s room.


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Drusilla backhanded Faith, her nails raking across her face, drawing small rivulets of blood. She dropped her chin, her eyes seeking Faith’s. Like a snake, once she’d caught Faith’s eye, Drusilla began weaving, humming to a tune only she heard.

Faith’s eyes were drooping, pupils dilating; focusing on Drusilla’s swaying form, her mind going blank, when the connection was abruptly severed. Blinking furiously, eyes wide and confused, Faith shook her head, watching Giles struggle with the dark-haired vampire, his arms holding her wicked nails away from his face.

“Buffy!”

Two blond heads turned, and Giles motioned the real one back to what she was doing, while gaining the attention of the bot. He pushed Drusilla off, into the path of the Buffybot, knowing the only one who had a hope of fighting fairly against Drusilla was the unable-to-be-thralled Buffybot. Faith let out a nervous laugh, then swore furiously when she saw Oz point down the block.

“Thanks G. I think we got more problems.” She pulled him around to face the oncoming threat and Giles added his own thoughts to hers.

“Bloody hell.”



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Wesley wrapped a hand around Willow’s throat, cutting off her air supply and ability to speak. She struggled, writhing and wriggling in his hold, fingers scrabbling against his, trying to gain freedom. He squeezed tighter, a sad look in his eyes.

“I am sorry for doing this, but your actions haven’t given us much leeway. It’s a shame really, because you’ve got enormous potential.” Wesley was aware he was speaking more for his own benefit than Willow’s, who slumped forward as lack of oxygen became an issue.

“Hopefully, we’ll be far away when you wake up.” He propped her against the wall, moving down the hall to help Tara with Dawn and Connor.



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Shrieking something about doubles in a high-pitched whine, Drusilla stamped her feet, in an effort to gain Angel’s attention. He was too busy to even care about her distress, barely holding his own against Spike.

Lawson had stepped into the fray once Glynnis got back on her feet, slamming her with a double fisted blow to the back of her head.

What he and Spike missed, but had caught everyone else’s attention, from Oz to Giles, was the group of vampires headed in their direction; most of them wielding weapons. The two Slayers shared a look, Faith shrugging at Buffy’s questioning gaze. Giles handed a crossbow to Oz, shoving a handful of wooden arrows at him, saying, “Don’t worry about aim, just slow them down.”

In the back of his mind, Giles was aware of the amount of supplies in the house, equally aware the girls were fighting Willow. Thankful for once about Anya’s insistence upon having more than enough weapons to fight, he also knew there were fully loaded holy water pistols stashed in various spots. Motioning to Oz, Giles pointed toward one corner of the porch and moved swiftly toward it, while the smaller man took the opposite side.

Right now, it was all a numbers game.



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Spike blocked the kick aimed at Buffy’s midsection, pivoting forward on his left heel, so that his right leg shielded her, then dropping to his knees in the next moment. Angel tried again, intending to kick him on the chin, only Spike lifted his left arm, blocking Angel’s foot. Grabbing the bigger vampire by the ankle, Spike spun him away, rising to his feet in the same motion. With Angel still off balance, Spike kicked out with his left foot, catching Angel just above the back of his knee; his turn now to drop down.

Angel rolled back, dropping off the porch, springing to his feet in one almost smooth motion.

A deep chuckle sounded and Angel growled back. “Feeling the burn yet, old man? Been a long time since you brawled like this. Still remember how?”

One of Angel’s minions fell into his side and Spike barely stopped to twist his neck, not bothering to wipe off the dust.

“Some things you never forget, Spike.”

“True, but I seem to recall someone always running, ‘less the odds favored his chances.”

Angel grinned then, spreading his arms wide to encompass the fighting going on around them. “Look around, boyo, see who’s got the advantage.”

Just then, two more vampires exploded into dust and Spike laughed. “Seems like those odds just keep changin’.”

“You gonna stand around keeping score, Spike, or you gonna be useful?” Buffy’s voice interrupted them and he grinned, knowing just by her words everything was fine.

Another vampire got tossed his way and again, Spike barely exerted any effort to stake this one in the back. “‘M getting to it, pet. Just taking a breather.”

“You don’t need to breathe, bleach boy.” Faith cracked from somewhere over by the tree, where she was fighting off two females.

Feigning surprise, Spike quipped, “Right you are.” And before the words were finished, he’d thrown a left hook at Angel’s jaw, knocking him back a few steps.

“C’mon gramps, let’s you an’ me have a real go.”



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Oz hadn’t bothered counting, there were just too many. Seemed like every vampire in Sunnydale had decided to get in on the action, word having gone out through the grapevine that Angelus was taking it to the Slayer. More than half of them he recognized, wondering if they’d been sired in the last couple of days for just this purpose.

He caught a glimpse of a vampire in the back, sort of directing the fledglings where to go and Oz focused his efforts on getting to him. The crossbow vibrated and thumped in his hands, his musician’s fingers having no trouble with the strings. Not really following Giles’ advice, Oz aimed for torsos, figuring sooner or later he’d get one through the heart.

Three times he’d aimed for the vampire that reminded him of Trick, and each time his arrows had missed, hitting other vampires. On the fourth try, Oz held his weapon steady, trained on the dark skinned vampire until he had a clear shot.

Finally, after holding his breath for long minutes, the vampire moved, giving him a clear shot. Oz fired, all the while urging his arrow to find its target. The vampire looked up as the bolt slid into his chest and the last thing Toussaint saw was the vision of a small blue and orange haired man jumping up, pumping his fist and shouting, “Yes!”



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Hawkins paced impatiently in front of the Magic Box, waiting for his Sire to arrive. Twice he nearly disregarded Jenner’s unspoken order to stay put, thinking better of it before his feet hit the corner.

In his mind, he’d already said his final words to Glynnis. Already let her go. He knew, even if she did survive this idiotic plan of Angel’s, she wasn’t going to survive Jenner’s punishment. Glynnis was doomed; no matter who struck the final blow. Either way, she would be dust – probably before the night was through.

He didn’t love her.

He’d known it all along – hell, she’d known it. But they’d been together over forty years; since just after her turning and while he hadn’t loved her – there’d been something on her side. Maybe not love – but it was there.

Hawkins stared blindly off into nothing, remembering the first time he’d laid eyes on her. She’d been nearly starving, barely scraping by in post-war England, a Welsh girl far away from home. Glynnis had gone to London, hoping to find work, only to be shuttled into dark factories working endless hours for little pay. Her sad dark eyes had haunted him, reminding him too much of others he’d left behind.

He hadn’t loved her – wouldn’t let himself – yet he’d cared enough to bring her to Jenner’s attention.

No, it wasn’t love.

And yet his heart ached with the knowledge she’d be gone come daybreak.

Still, it wasn’t love.

And Hawkins knew, deep down, he wasn’t convincing himself at all.



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Shifting her gaze from one Buffy to the other, Drusilla whined and growled in her throat, unable to wrap her mind around the vision in front of her. She stalked around the bot, unnerved by its smile and unblinking stare. Drusilla leaned in, snarling, whining a bit when the bot’s arm blocked her punch.

“Don’t like this bad, evil thing. Not natural. Bolts and wires. Puppet doll.”

A long elegant hand circled the bot’s neck, and Drusilla dug her fingers into the skin-like covering, opening up long furrows. Wires sparked here and there, and she struck again, her fingers wrapping around power lines inside the Buffybot’s neck.

The bot’s eyes rolled up, showing white, and an involuntary jerk of shoulder and arm controls raced through it, knocking into Lawson, who’d jerked back in surprise. His awkward motion allowed his opponent a clear shot at his jaw, while the bot’s arms flailed, slapping Drusilla across the face. Drusilla’s fingers bunched together more wires and small wisps of smoke emerged from the furrows, causing more erratic movement from the bot. Wiring fired, sparks arcing, heat melting the plasticine skin, peeling it away. A small flame erupted, catching Drusilla’s fingertips and the vampire shrieked.

Lawson reeled back, smelling smoke, away from Drusilla’s smoldering fingers, ducking his head. His motion inadvertently saved them both, because Drusilla, distracted by Lawson, accidentally stuck her fingers in his opened mouth. The bot didn’t fare as well, the wires beginning to smolder, sparking wildly.



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Tara raced into the bedroom, heart pounding, breaths coming in short gasps. “Oh Gods! Where. . . Dawnie?”

“Over here.”

She rounded the foot of the bed, spying the two figures huddled against the wall, Dawn’s arm wrapped protectively around Connor, who was crying softly. “What’s going on?”

“Can you get up?” Tara crouched down, preparing to take Connor.

Dawn grabbed her wrist. “Tara, how bad is it?”

“It’s bad sweetie. Willow’s broken in. . . She got through the shields. And. . . . and Angel’s . . . I think Angel’s outside.”

“Shit.” She handed the baby off, and while Dawn was struggling to get to her feet, Wesley burst into the room.

“I’m not sure how much time we have. Luck seems to be running against us tonight.” As Tara stepped to the side, Wesley lifted Dawn from the floor, his arms around her hips. “Can you reset the wards for this room?”

Tara managed to stutter, “They’re still up. . . keyed. . . keyed to intent.”

“That’s a bit of good news.”

Between pain filled gasps, Dawn managed to croak out, “Buffy’s downstairs?”

“Yes, Dawn. She and everyone else are outside, fighting to keep us all safe.”

“Kay.”

Tara was pacing, rocking Connor and crooning to him tonelessly. She caught Wesley’s eye over Dawn’s head and neither of them shied away from the truth.

Willow was out of control and the wards, no matter how they were configured or reinforced, weren’t going to withstand a full-blown assault. They were going to have to come up with an escape plan.

The distinctive smell of burning ozone hit them simultaneously.



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Giles had gone through all his arrows, completely disregarding his own advice to Oz. He’d managed to dust half a dozen vampires on his own, methodically aiming and shooting calmly. Despite his kill ratio, Giles was acutely aware of the numbers they were facing – and knew too, he and Oz had been aiming mostly at the fledglings, who were almost as interested in fighting each other as they were in battling the Slayers.

Angling toward the hanging plants, which held a small cache of fully loaded holy water pistols, Giles watched while Buffy ducked under a punch, swung her short sword at the vampire’s leg, and when the vampire dropped his guard to block the sword with both hands, efficiently staked it with her left.

Well done. He felt a cool breeze move across the back of his neck and without flinching, Giles snapped his elbow back, knocking into Drusilla’s solar plexus, doubling her over.

One handed, he gripped her loose hair, keeping her bent over, while firing a stream of holy water at the vampires circling in front of Faith. Silently sending thanks to his father for insisting on marksmanship many years ago, Giles concentrated on hitting the vampires square on the back of the neck. He watched while first one than another crumpled, disintegrating into dust. Giles knew he only had a short period of time before Drusilla fought back, but until then he was determined not to let her ruin his aim or wreck his concentration.



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Jenner could smell the fight blocks before he and Hawkins were in sight of Revello Drive. As they neared, he could feel Faith’s presence, feel the growing emotions racing through the air and he realized he was growling, responding to her scent.

Hawkins eyed him warily, though his voice was calm when he spoke. “Are we going to intervene?”

“Haven’t decided that.”

“Then you might want to change your current look.”

“What?”

Hawkins pointed to his features, slipping into vampiric guise then back into his human face. “You might want to watch that.”

“Fuck.” Jenner stopped in his tracks, inhaling deeply, trying to gain some semblance of control. “Been a long time since I did that.”

“All those Slayer vibes.”

“Yeah.” He started walking again, his pace swift and steady. “You all right?”

Taking his time before answering, Hawkins shook his head. “Not sure. She . . . . she made her choice, and she went against her sire.”

“She’s still your woman.”

A deep sigh and a softly worded, “that she is”, was all the response Jenner got.


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A feral scream rent the air when the dark skinned vampire disintegrated, raising the hairs of everyone within hearing distance. Oz froze, instinctively knowing whatever vampire emitted that noise would be looking for revenge.

Grabbing the rest of his arrows, Oz began firing, aiming for any vampire who’d stopped for the primal sound.

The arrows ran out quickly, and Oz found himself scrambling for some other weapon when a small delicate hand wrapped itself around his wrist.

His head snapped up, straight into the snarling face of a small, almost child-sized female vampire.



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