January 27th, 2004

She saw it all.

She saw blood. Blood everywhere. And pain, so much pain that it screamed across dimensions. She saw gaping mouths, and rotting flesh. She saw mass hysteria and some of the world’s great cities lying in ruins. She saw death, and undeath, and death-like life.

She saw hell on earth.

It was no wonder that Cordelia Chase woke from her long coma screaming.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Diary of Richard Chamberlain

June 8th, 2009

…It keeps me up at night, the wondering. Wondering what difference it would have made if we had identified the nature of the outbreak earlier. Wondering why it took us so long to recognize the symptoms. Wondering what the Watchers at the Headquarters knew before everything went so terribly wrong. Wondering if it would have made any difference if we had not waited to go public with what we knew. But the Council has always been a secretive organization, a characteristic which served us well during the Inquisition, and poorly in more recent years.

Not that it matters now, considering the outcome, but the simple truth is that we were all so focused on the Apocalypse we thought we saw coming that we never looked for the one sneaking in through the back door…

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Courtney Anderson was at the end of her rope.

Four days and still no sign of Vivian. Now, to make matters worse, Nicky was sick, and the closest hospital had been quarantined due to some kind of funky outbreak or episode of mass hysteria or something. The CCDC had been pretty tight lipped about it, but rumors about bioterrorism were raging on the evening news stations. ‘And it’s not even sweeps week yet…’

Not that Nicky would have gone to the hospital anyway, even though she was puking up toenails. The kid seemed more embarrassed by her condition than anything else. Courtney thought that the girl was going to shrivel up and die when Svetlana had offered to stay at the Council’s safe house and take care of her.

Of course, that couldn’t happen. It was Courtney and Min’s turn to keep an eye on Wolfram and Hart and the newly re-armed Spike. Okay, the official party line was still ‘the other souled vamp,’ but whatever. That left Svetlana to the increasingly futile search for Vivian.

Until they had orders otherwise, they would keep looking for the missing Slayer, but Courtney was convinced that the girl had ended up on the wrong side of some demon or vampire’s fangs. She had said her prayers for Vivian. Ill tempered snot or not, she had been a sister-at-arms, and that counted for something.

However, her orders didn’t keep her from giving Svetlana tacit permission to cut her hunt short to take care of Nicky.

Not that their own surveillance would yield more interesting results. Spike, because she was absolutely certain that he was the notorious vampire, had rather forcibly removed himself from Wolfram and Hart’s private hospital two days ago and had since spent his time nursing his wounds and swilling enough cheap beer to drown an elephant in his crappy basement lair. Courtney suspected that she wouldn’t have reacted any better to the loss, temporary or not, of her own hands, though the incessant Nintendo playing was a little weird.

The law offices themselves were even less interesting, if that was possible. For an evil empire, they sure weren’t rocking the boat much lately. Then again, Vivian had disappeared while on a mission that ran counter to their CEO’s aims, which wasn’t exactly a vote in his favor.

All of this, from the facts to the musings, was being sent out in Courtney’s daily reports to the Council. She always got the same response.

Keep looking.

Keep watching.

Watching for what, exactly, was never mentioned, which made narrowing the search damned near impossible. Watch a couple hundred people who spent ninety percent of their time filing paperwork and the other ten percent gossiping around the water coolers. Okay, sometimes blood coolers, but even the corporate vampires were oddly well-behaved. ‘Boring…’

But those were her orders, even though it had been a few days since her last contact with Council Headquarters. In their defense, the news reports coming out of London sounded pretty bad, so they were probably tied up with their own problems at the moment.

Courtney was currently sitting in one of the well appointed lounge areas inside of Wolfram and Hart, her nose planted firmly in a thick, important-looking file folder in order to stave off any unwanted intrusions. Clipped on her ear, well, hers and everyone else’s these days, was an earpiece to her cell phone. But, unlike everyone else’s, hers had a constantly open line to Min, who was one building over with a rifle scope trained at the necro-tinted windows of the lounge.

“Dude, the guy with the red tie is so checking out your legs,” Min whispered into her own phone, laughter thick in her voice.

Courtney couldn’t respond, not without giving up the game, but she could discreetly glare out of the window where she knew Min could see her. That only earned a muffled giggle before more crackling silence.

Hearing absolutely nothing of interest around her, Courtney packed up her files and checked her watch, the signal for Min to move on to her next vantage point. She left the room quickly, sparing only the smallest exasperated glance at the perv by the potted plant. On the way to the main lobby outside of Angel’s office, she entertained herself during the trek by envisioning the one she would be typing tonight.

To: Rupert Giles
CC: Andrew Wells
Subject: Donkey Kong, Perverted Clerks

Dear Sirs…

The truth was Courtney was getting so very tired of this mission. Her reports were bland to the point of humor but at least she wasn’t writing two reports anymore, seeing as how the Council Head has asked her point blank to report on both souled vampires in his first response. ‘Whatever.’ She was just relieved that they hadn’t noticed the fact that she had accidentally sent one of her reports to a third party. She must have rolled her mouse through “drizzt” and into “dsummers” without realizing it, but thankfully, nothing had seemed to come of her little faux pas, as neither Mr. Giles nor Andrew had mentioned the mistake.

Report reprieve aside, Courtney was still growing more and more irritated with her situation, and having to wear a cinched-in little suit number and heels for disguise wasn’t helping matters either. However, at twenty-six, she looked a lot more believable as a low level attorney than any of the others.

And on the same topic, the next time she caught Nicky calling her ‘Mom,’ well, it wasn’t going to be pretty. She wasn’t that old.

When she rounded a corner and almost ran smack into Angel himself, Courtney shrank back in startled surprise. He had to sense that she was a Slayer at this close range, which was why she had been studiously keeping her distance, but the vampire just brushed past her, muttering an apologetic excuse as he went.

Alone in the hallway again, Courtney leaned back against the wall and hugged the thick folder tightly against her chest. ‘That was close…’ Angel had looked tired and distracted, though by what, she had no way of knowing. After taking a long breath, she started towards the lobby again, before the ever-present voice in her ear stopped her dead in her tracks.

“Court, get somewhere private where you can turn on your walkie-talkie,” Min said, voice tense with worry.

Courtney turned on her heel and made her way to the nearest stairwell. As far as she could tell, this place was lit up with cameras and sensors enough to microwave anyone’s brain before they were old enough to reach retirement. Considering the company, that actually might have been the plan. However, there were a few spiraling concrete staircases that were only maintained in case of an emergency and they seemed to be fairly empty of passers by and surveillance devices. Under normal circumstances, she wouldn’t have risked it, but there was an edge in Min’s voice that only seemed to appear when the shit had right and truly hit the fan.

Safely behind closed doors, Courtney reached into her designer knockoff purse and spun the volume dial on her walkie talkie.

“… won’t stop shaking,” Svetlana’s voice crackled through the device. “I don’t know what to do.” From the usually taciturn Slayer, that plaintive wail was exponentially more disturbing.

“You getting this?” Min asked.

“Yeah,” Courtney answered quickly.

She brought the walkie-talkie to her mouth. “Svet, we’re on the way.” The receiver, still on, went back into the purse. “Min, I’m coming. You go ahead, and catch me up on what else was said on the way.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

When Dawn had touched down for her overnight layover in Paris and realized that she had forgotten her toothpaste, she had been irritated.

When she had checked her e-mail the following morning and had seen the quarantine announcement for Council Headquarters, she had been concerned.

When she had realized halfway across the Atlantic that she hadn’t told a soul where she was going, she had been chagrined.

When some kind of security emergency forced her to spend the night on a row of chairs at her arrival gate, she had been angry.

But it wasn’t until she was standing outside of the terminal at LAX and realized that she didn’t have the first idea where to find Courtney and the others that she thought that this might not have been the best plan she had ever had.

‘Smooth, idiot.’

Dawn was sprawled on one of the benches outside of the terminal, nursing her jet lag with a Starbucks triple shot espresso, and watching the parade of taxis pass her by. She had already tried calling Andrew; the only person who would both might have a clue and was eminently blackmailable. Buffy, Giles, Willow, Xander… all of the others would give her a stern lecture and sic the nearest Council lackey on her to bring her back to London.

‘No thank you.’

When Andrew hadn’t answered, Dawn clicked her cell phone closed before the long-winded recording that the geek used to guard his inbox could really begin.

Thinking through her options, she realized how very slim the pickings were. Her father might be around- emphasis on might- but it had been so long since she had relied on him for anything beyond a week-late birthday card that his name was immediately rejected. The monks hadn’t seen fit to craft any lasting L.A. friendships from Buffy’s pre-slayer, pre-arsonist days, so that fleeting thought was out as well.

In all reality, it looked like her best shot was to skip the middle man and go hunting for Spike herself. And there was one person, if you could even call him a person, in L.A. who knew where Spike was and was just as invested in keeping the reason for her presence in California secret from her sister for as long as possible.

Dawn threw the empty coffee cup in the nearest trashcan and hailed a passing cab. Tossing her meager baggage into the back seat, she slid in beside it.

“Where to, miss?” asked the cab driver, bland, definitely human eyes sizing her up in the rearview mirror.

Dawn took a deep breath. ‘God, this is such a bad idea.’ “I don’t actually know the address, but could you take me to Wolfram and Hart?”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Buffy was hiding in the first class section of the Council's private jet. Okay, maybe hiding wasn't the best term. Insisting on privacy there? Fine, hiding it was. The few watchers- all that remained of the London contingent if what Andrew had said was the truth- that had stepped through the curtain and into her fragile sanctuary had taken one look at her stony face and scurried back into the main cabin.

Giles was dead.

No, not even dead. Ripped apart by those insane creatures; eaten, dragged down and consumed while he was rescuing the fleeing refugees of the Council's Headquarters, now probably a member of the afflicted himself.

The taste of bile hit the back of her throat, but she forcibly swallowed it down. She wouldn't cry, not where the others might hear her, and she definitely wouldn't throw up, no matter how much she wanted to.

Andrew's idea of 'research' in the main cabin wasn't helping either. While they had started by reading what little information they had managed to salvage from the Council libraries, his next logical step was straight to the complete works of his favorite director. And yeah, okay, every myth had a grain of truth in it and all that crap, but if the new slayers had learned how to kill vampires from Bram Stoker and Anne Rice, they would have had some serious problems.

The distant screams and garbled cinematic moans filtering through the concealing curtain weren't helping matters much either. She'd turned off the screen in the first class section as soon as it had become obvious what the in flight entertainment was going to be.

At least she knew where Dawn was now, though why her little sister had seen fit to skip continents and drop in on L.A. was anyone's guess. One panicked phone call to Willow, and the pilot had altered their flight plan to point them in the direction the witch's locator spell had indicated.

So now all she could do was wait.