Deais closed her eyes for a moment and when she opened them, she turned to Buffy and nodded. “The Cursed One shall be here momentarily.” She paused for a second and the asked quietly, “Might we know what he has done to incur your wrath?”

Buffy simply shrugged her shoulders and said, “He thought to take that which was not his to have.” Then she turned towards the raised platform and seated herself on the large chair resting there, pulling her hood once more over her head to shadow her face.

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

Methos sat stupefied, his face the perfect picture of complete shock. Slowly he raised his hand to his mouth, as if to take a drink. When he failed to taste the whiskey that was in his glass, he blinked slowly, gazing at his empty hand and then looked around in consternation. “Where did I put my glass…?”

Spike reached down, picked up the glass off the carpet, and refilled it before handing it to Methos. “Here ya go mate. Looks like you need this.” He sat back in his chair and watched as Methos downed the contents in one swallow. “Wanna tell me what has you all twisted round arse backwards?”

Methos took a deep breath and focused his gaze on Spike, then let it travel to their unwanted guest. “What do you say we lose the excess baggage first, and then I’ll tell you? There are things some people are not meant to know, and the Council is top of the list of those who don’t need to know.”

Spike surged to his feet, a sparkle of mischief in his eyes. “Right then, is it the dump, or the pier?” He turned towards the tied-up, wanna-be assassin and gave him a wicked grin. “Or maybe we should just chop him into small bits and send those bits back to Travers?”

Methos laughed at the look of utter terror on the face of their ‘guest’. “I’m thinking I like your style, Blondie.” He rose up from the couch he had been sitting on and headed for the door. “Bring him, if you would?”

Spike untied the man from the chair and yanked him non-to gently upright. “This is just to get back at me for this morning? Right?” Grabbing the man by the back of the neck, Spike forced him out the door, following Methos.

Giles chuckled to himself as he listened to Spike and Methos haul his assailant out of the apartment. “I might not be as young as I once was, but I am by no means stupid.” Giles thought to himself, “I’ll just stay in here, maybe grab a quick shower, while they dispose of the complication.” He reached over and turned on the shower, adjusting the temperature until it was steaming perfectly. “Yeah, not so stupid. Pretend to be intoxicated so I don’t have to deal with the unpleasantness.” Giles stripped down and stepped into the shower, humming softly to himself.

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

Joyce hurried Dawn out the door of the gallery. “Hurry up slowpoke, we need to get home. You do have to go to school tomorrow young lady.”

“Yeah yeah, I’m comin’ I’m comin’” Dawn quipped as she darted underneath her mother’s outstretched arm and bolted for the jeep. “Who’s the slowpoke now?” She taunted her mother.

Shaking her head, Joyce followed Dawn to the jeep and got inside. “Now, while I’m cooking supper, you will have a shower and get the dust out of your hair.” Joyce looked over at her dusty daughter. “After supper, we’ll watch some TV before you have to go to bed.”

“OH! Can we have enchiladas? And watch that new TV show? What is it called…? Torchbranch or something?” Dawn bounced in her seat.

“Enchiladas it is. And I think the show is called Torchwood. Although why you want to watch that is beyond me…” Joyce laughed gently, knowing the exact reason why.

“C’mon mom! You know that guy looks like Spike.” Dawn said with a squeal. “I wanna see if he behaves like Spike does!”

Laughing aloud at her daughter’s antics, Joyce agreed. “Yes, he does look somewhat like Spike. But you know what Spike will say.” Looking at Dawn she grinned and continued, “He’ll call him a ‘ponce’ or something equally British.” As she drove towards home, they talked about the similarities between Spike and American actor that looked so much like him.

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

The assembled Powers arranged themselves in a semi-circle beside the dais on which Buffy sat, with her at the central position. They were curious to see what would happen next, but even more concerned that one of their coterie had apparently been running his own agenda.

Buffy watched as the Oracle twins escorted Angel into the room. She smirked, her facial expression unseen by those in the room, noting that Angel was acting as if he was in charge. “That will change, very soon. Oh yes indeed it will.” Buffy thought to herself.

Angel stopped five feet from the dais, his eyes darting around the room, taking in the assembled beings, before coming to rest on the long, slender legs of the woman sitting in the chair in front of him. He plastered his most smarmy smile on his face, thinking he was being charming. “You asked to see me, sweetheart?” Angel purred.

Buffy slowly rose to her feet, noting that the semi-circle had closed itself behind Angel, effectively cutting him off from the door. “Indeed, I summoned you here to face charges, Cursed One,” she said, motioning for the ceatric to bring both Tannic and Whistler forward. “I believe you are familiar with at least one of these men,” she stated.

Angel gaped at the sight of Whistler being held in the grip of the massive guard. “What’s going on here? I demand that you release him immediately!” he shouted taking a threatening step forward.

Deais stepped up beside Buffy and in a hard tone stated, “You have no right to make demands of us, Cursed One. We are the Powers That Be. You stand before us, along with these two, to answer the questions put forth by this assemblage.”

Angel glared at Deais and with a snarl declared, “I have done nothing to warrant such treatment!”

Buffy stepped forward, lowering her hood and exposing her face for the first time to Angel’s view. “That depends on just exactly what you consider nothing to be.”

Angel’s bottom jaw dropped, and he darted a glance at Whistler and the still-gagged Tannic, for the first time feeling a small frisson of concern chase down his spine.