Morning Kittens, Part 60 is below, but first a couple of replies...
Big Dummy - Thanks, though I Think you could OD on this fic if you read it that fast...
Anya and Cordy huh? Anya is not a bad guess if you say Anyanka instead. Cordy of course is dead as a doornail from "The Wish" itself.
Miss Calendar - Thankyou too... I do like to tempt the lurkers out to play! Spike and Dru... seems like a long time since we saw them. But you are right, they are not new. Darla is a pretty good guess as I have hinted at her from time to time. Angelus? Well Angel is dust ("The Wish") but I suppose that some mystical stuff could get him back... Nah.
Chelelhel74 - Yeah you spotted the dead ones. Wesley has been in this though - he tracked down Faith if you recall. And thankyou to you to...
Without further ado Part 60. Two new characters (though no one said they were ever major ones) and the return of one old one.
Enjoy
Katharyn
--------------
Title:
The Sidestep Chronicle – Fear, Anger and Visitors (Part 60)
Author: Katharyn Rosser
Feedback: Constructive criticism always welcome.
katharynrosser@hotmail.comSpoiler Warning: Pretty limited. The story occurs in an alternate universe though reference is made to events that occur in both realities.
Summary: Giles’s letter to the Council creates a stir.
Disclaimer: I still don’t own any of the copyrights or anything else associated with BTVS. All rights lie with the production company, writers etc, etc. I am making zilch from this series of stories.
Rating: 15
Couples: G/J.
Notes: Nope.
Thanks To: Xita, Jo, MC and extra special one for Kerry and her “Seppo” background.
The Sidestep Chronicle
Fears
By
Katharyn Rosser
“Mr Collins.”
“Mr Travers.” There was a mutual respect between Collins and Quentin Travers. The old man had a steely quality that you didn’t find much in the poms nowadays, even in Watchers.
Especially in Watchers nowadays. When Collins had been new to the Council’s services it had been a great time for Watchers. The tail end of that previous generation was still out there in the field, but they were gradually succumbing. To demons or to age. That generation was a little past its prime now admittedly but compared to the quality of the new ones they were sending out? It was hardly any wonder that the Slayers were falling like flies – no real back up.
What they appeared to forget to tell the new Watchers was that watching was never enough. A good Watcher had always been a Watcher that was prepared to get out of the research library and into the fight. In Collin’s considerable experience that was becoming all too rare nowadays. Maybe it always had been rare – just now it was rarer.
“I have a little task for you and your team,” Quentin informed him with the tiny little smile that always accompanied the promise of a ‘little job.’
“Where?” That was always the first question for Collins. He never doubted he could do the job, any job, to which his team was assigned to. They were deservedly regarded as the best – but there was always a spanner in the works regarding the “where.” Besides Smithy’s wife was about to drop her sprog and even Collins had to admit that the father should make some sort of appearance at the birth.
“Sunnydale,” Quentin told him as if it was just another little town.
Oh that was just great. Hellmouths were one thing, but the bloody yanks? Worse than the poms by a mile. Seppos the bloody lot of them. “The Hellmouth, been awhile since we visited one of those,” was his only actual response. It was definitely better than their last mission, up the Amazon where the wild animals, insects, spiders and plants were likely enough to kill you – let alone the throngs of shape shifters that existed out there in the rainforest. A weresloth might not be much of a challenge, but there were more dangerous creatures that shifted shape.
“Yes. I fear that we may have a slight problem out there.” Quentin said.
“The Slayer?” Wyndham-Price had been sent to fetch this latest one, Carrie Phillips’s team had been backup for Wesley on that operation. It had, after all, occasionally been known for the new Slayer to react badly to the news that her whole future had been blown away. Generally speaking when a Slayer reacted badly there were likely to be bodies involved. But if there was one thing both Collins and Phillips hated more than rainforest it was swamp. Collins and his team had definitely got the better end of that deal, though the way Carrie had told it there had been some fun to be had watching Wesley trying to get all incognito in his waders as a fisherman – strangely a fisherman without a rod.
In a swamp. Watchers…
“No actually, were it just the Slayer I would leave the matter in the hands of Mr Giles,” Quentin replied. “No this is something quite… different.”
The pause was telling.
Collins had actually forgotten that old Rupert was the Watcher in Sunnydale. For a Hellmouth the place had not attracted the kind of attention from the Council that it had deserved in recent years. Besides Rupert had never been the kind for writing reports. He’d never got to the bottom of what had happened there in Sunnydale though. Rupert was one of that select group of young watchers who had come to be known as ‘Quentin’s Few,’ all set to get that Betty Summers who had been Slayer a little while back assigned to him. Betty had been a real warrior by all accounts, and then… nothing. Summers had been pulled off and assigned to cut a swathe through Cleveland’s demon population instead – without Rupert who must have been left in Sunnydale. Collins had actually quite liked Rupert back in the old days of their training. He had been a Watcher after Collins’s own black heart. Anything to get the job done and definitely not the ponce he genuinely seemed to
try to be. “What then?”
“A new
player in Sunnydale.” Quentin’s distaste for the Americanism was quite evident. It had probably been represented that way in the report for Quentin to even use the term in that fashion.
“So kill it.” In his time with the Council Collins had found there was very little for which that solution didn’t work. Course the trick was often figuring out quite
how to do that particular deed. And if killing wouldn’t get the job done, torture it or bring it back for further study. Often involving extensive experimentation to figure out how to kill for the next time.
He rather liked that kind of thing – adding to knowledge.
“
Her actually and apparently she kills vampires.” The tone of Quentin’s voice was measured, as if wondering what Collins would make of that information, as if killing vampires might be enough for some people. As if he was wondering if that was the case for Collins.
It was a ploy, of course, Quentin knew him better than to ever believe that.
“Not much of a trick to that, any fool can kill a vampire.” If you knew just the right way, Collins personally liked to flatten them with a fusillade of Teflon tipped nine millimetres and then stake the bastards where they were twitching. Weatherby sometimes let rip with the incendiary rounds but that last house fire he’d caused had been expensive. The point was that there was certainly no need to get all mystical and hand to hand. Unless you were a Slayer.
Crossbows, stakes, swords and axes were all very well, but Collins had never been able to shake the idea that, for the Slayer, some firearms and demolitions training would have gone down a treat. Might have helped keep them alive a little longer. But would the Council hear of it?
Oh no… that was not the way that things were done.
“Quite, but this young lady ah…” Mr Travers looked at the report that sat on the desk in front of him, scanning it for a name. “… Tara Maclay is something different. She uses magic. And very effectively by all accounts. It was she, in conjunction with our Slayer I might add, who eliminated the local vampire king in Sunnydale.”
Collins whistled between his teeth. “The Master?”
“Quite.” Quentin’s tone admitted to the fact that he himself was somewhat impressed.
And it was an impressive feat. Slayers had been pursuing that old bastard for generations – and each that had caught up with him had died. Then, about a century ago, he’d dropped off the radar before reappearing on the Sunnydale Hellmouth five years ago. There he had brazenly taken control of the town and set a very worrying precedent. Worrying because there was only one Slayer and if every local vampire king had started to take control of towns then where the hell would all the people live? “Impressive. Sounds like she’s talented.” He didn’t just mean in magical terms. “You want her dead?” That was their primary role of course.
Quentin smiled slightly, perhaps at the enthusiasm, or perhaps at the presumption that if he was calling Collins and his people in she must have been targeted for termination. “Not quite yet. A young lady as resourceful as that could be a valuable asset, but we understand that she is already in the employ of a… politician.” Quentin’s voice dripped with loathing at that last description. The Council was quite willing to make use of politicians for their own ends but the disdain that they felt for the entire breed was tangible. It didn’t matter whether they were military dictators, despots, religious leaders or any breed of democratically elected official - the Council treated them all with equal scorn.
“You’d like her assessed then,” Collins concluded. It had been a while since his team had been tasked with one of those ‘little jobs.’ Those who passed the stringent requirements of Collins’s assessment were more than worthy to join the Council, perhaps to become part of a Special Ops team themselves. And as none of the teams liked to think that they were anything less than the best themselves they went hard on such potential new recruits. Sometimes too hard. Sometimes the potential was proved to be false. Sometimes the recruit got…
broken.“Yes. But not just her skills Mr Collins. I want to know if she is truly suitable for us. There is some doubt as to her side in the battles to come.” Doubt from Quentin was generally eliminated in a harsh manner.
“Understood,” Collins told him. And he really did. He knew exactly what he had to do. The file was pushed across the desk towards him, already containing the signed chits for requesting Council resources. Those would come right back, unused, of course. Collins always arranged his team’s own transport and equipment. Always deniable and always reliable – the way his people had the right to expect such things to be. “But if she isn’t… acceptable?”
“Report back and stand by to take appropriate action of course.”
“Of course.” ‘Appropriate Action.’ That could mean a multitude of things in the circumstances. Most of them would generally be unpleasant for this Tara Maclay – but if she had the associations that she was believed to have made that might be exactly the right course of action. In general politicians who made use of the mystical were the worst of a bad breed.
“You leave right away,” Quentin told him as Collins stood. “I’ll want your report as soon as possible.”
“Absolutely.”
**********
ANGER
He looked around at the sight that lay before his eyes. He could not say that it was a surprise. He had been warned. He had been told by others. Those who had fled had sought him out and then, after they had told him everything, he had killed them for their cowardice. The events of the last few weeks, of one particular night, here in Sunnydale were already a legend out there in the wider world.
A legend in the darkness he inhabited.
The Master was gone. But the legend was not yet complete. There was always more to come. Always.
He didn’t even bother to reach out and remove the yellow tape that should have blocked his entry to the Master’s Court. When he had been alive there had been no such thing as a police force. There might as well not have been now for all he cared about the rules of the human animals. He simply walked through the flimsy barrier, allowing the tape to stream along, wrapped around his chest until it caught on something else and was pulled from around him with a swoosh.
There might as well not be any police but there had definitely been a crime. The Master was gone. The old one. The great one. The Master.
Gone.
He who had defeated more Slayers than could be counted on a hand.
Gone.
The Master had been the constant presence in his existence since he had been turned three centuries ago. Always there. Always strong. Always protecting the members of his order. Always leading them to greater things. Always seeking the day on which they would emerge and rule the world.
Amen!
And that day had come. They had taken this town. Unremarkable in the extreme apart from its place on Hellmouth. They had made it their own in a way that had not been seen in the world since the days of the Ancients. The days that even Aurelius himself had only read about. The days when humans had existed as nothing more than cattle; as was there rightful place in the scheme of things.
A place to which he would return them for the Master but this time there would be no one to get in the way of that desire to fulfil his wishes. Clearly the Master’s favourites had deserted him or were otherwise gone. It was the same thing really. They had not done their duty and brought him back when they should have done so.
Immediately.
So he would have to do that himself.
He surveyed the inside of the Bronze. He had never really appreciated what the Master had been trying to achieve in this human building. The music, the modern place. What purpose had it served? But now he understood. It had been a symbol of their power. It had been a concession to those younger vampires that had been created in his name. It had been a place to eat. A place to indulge in the pleasures that made existence so much more interesting.
And it had opened them to attack. They had forgotten what it was that made them predators. They had forgotten how to defend themselves. They had assumed that the humans were beaten. As they should have been. Someone had come to this place and destroyed a host of vampires. Weak and young things to be sure… but still vampires. Still, supposedly, able to destroy any human in this town. All but… the Slayer. The Slayer had been involved and she would be the first to pay. She would be one of the keys.
The Sunnydale Police had stripped the place of anything that might conceivably have resembled evidence of what had ever happened here. The crime… and the things that had made it their home. It was bare. He looked up and saw the smashed skylight. Water pooled on the floor below it after the rains. Dust covered the floor. The dust of destroyed vampires. Turned to paste in the damp.
The Brethren had been decimated by the Slayer… and the one who had come down from the skylight. The one who had created a magical smoke that had blocked the sight of only the Brethren. Hampered only them. The one who had rained death upon them from above.
Witch.
The Witch.
He had killed a good many witches in his time, real ones and those who were simply accused, and there would be at least one more of them to destroy. Hadn’t Willow been accused of being in league with the witch? Affectionate with her? One of The Three has told the Master that… trying to barter the information for his pathetic life. It had been so pitiful that the Master was, of course, right to have killed him anyway.
That did not make the information any less accurate.
That was the greatest crime of them all. For a favourite, even an undeserving stripling such as Willow, to betray the Master and side with his enemies. With a Slayer of all things. That was intolerable. And it would not go unpunished.
No… there would be a punishment. And there would be pain. He would make Willow’s witch beg for death even as he had holy water poured onto Willow’s most tender flesh. It was said that Willow liked pain during her play. He had never really found out. But he would discover her tolerances.
He would find out how much she could take before fun turned to agony.
He would strip Willow of the witch and the Slayer to bring back the Master and then he would make her beg as well. For a stake. For an axe through her neck. Anything just to end her suffering at his hands. And maybe he would do that for her when she had suffered enough. Maybe, as Willow had with her playthings, he would keep her around for a while.
The Master would make the decision.
Plans for Willow’s death occupied his thoughts as he made his way to the cemetery. There were humans out in the streets! Already. After dark. Not many but some. Walking rather than hurrying as they always had before after the setting of the sun. In Sunnydale. The Master’s town. At least until they saw his face and realised what he was.
That made them hurry. Scurry away.
It would be his town again.
Their town.
They would not make the same mistakes again.
There. The unmarked grave, the grass seeds barely germinated in the shadow of a large tree. He had not been told but he knew that the Master’s bones were there. It was what made him who he was. The connection with his sire. He would always be able to find the Master. It was a knowledge at the very core of his being. It had replaced his unlamented soul after the kiss of the Old One.
He should have found himself one of those humans to do his digging for him but there was no time. He needed to secure the bones so that he could go forward and collect those closest to the Master when he had died. It was never too late. The ritual was age old, and he had never seen it work. But the Master had. He had learnt it from and then performed it on his own sire.
Just to see if it would work. And then the Master had staked his sire and kept the knowledge to himself. Grinding the other’s skull to powder to prevent another from bringing him back. Such was the trust that the Master placed in his favourites. The knowledge of how
true immortality could work. Even if he was destroyed then there was a way back.
Willow was the only other who had ever returned – and without the ritual. That was why she had fascinated the Master so much after her return. Why, perhaps, he had tolerated her. That and the damnable prophecy that was so obviously proved false when Xander had not returned with Willow.
He found the bones of the feet first, followed them up along the legs to the pelvis, scraping the earth back carefully. He could not afford to lose a single bone for this to work. A human would have taken less care. No it was only fitting that he did this himself. There were the ribs, broken, splintered. Something… more than one thing had penetrated there. Forced bones apart and broken them.
He stroked the exposed bone. “There will be revenge and there will be pain. And then there will be blood. This whole town will run with blood. I swear it.” He cleared away a little more of the soil finding more of the vertebrae and then…
Nothing.
With less caution and a lot more desperation he cleared away more of the soil. Nothing. Nothing. Still nothing.
There was no skull. He howled and knew that there was no way to bring the Old One back. Willow… Willow had done this. She had known, as a favourite she had known and she’d had them remove the skull. They had probably ground it up or fragmented it as the Master had done to his sire – to prevent the resurrection. Had the Master taught her how to prevent his own return?
There was no way back for him. The Master was, after centuries on the earth… gone.
And now he would have to make his own way in the world.
His way was the Master’s way. And his way would make the world shake to the core.
When he had re-established the Order. When they were strong enough to continue his legacy. When they had avenged the Master. No longer keys to the Old Ones return they could suffer with Willow. And they would.
This time he would do things a little differently. And knowing that the old ways were gone made him howl again.
---------------
Willow looked down from the tree hearing the howls. It was pure coincidence that the Master’s remaining bones had been placed in the ground within sight of her own empty grave.
Luke was back in town.
That might make life a little more fun. Things had been getting duller lately.
*************
VISITORS
The door to the apartment opened and Collins instantly recognised the bespectacled man who held it, blocking any entry as stoutly as the door had done. Even if it had been a while the facial features hadn’t changed that much. A little less hair, a little more tweed. There had been a time it had all been denim and leather for this guy. “Rupert.”
“Collins? Michael Collins?” the owner of the apartment asked him after just a moment searching his memory. Collins could forgive him that. It had been years since they had last met and a moment was not bad after all that time. The, former, golden boy Watcher and the Council’s, still currently, most highly regarded operative. So he was told and who was he to deny it?
“Yeah mate, there is a little grey up here. You seem to be gaining a little yourself,” he suggested with a smile.
“Age comes to us all Michael,” Rupert agreed.
“But we just keep getting more distinguished Rupert. Distinguished is a look that the ladies seem to truly appreciate.” That was met with a little incredulity. “It’s true.”
“Particularly the young, bespectacled, female trainee Watchers in awe of ‘Collins the legend’?” the Sunnydale Watcher suggested.
“Yeah,” he grinned. “Especially them. But as I recall you cut quite a swathe yourself back then.” The words were met with a furtive glance from Rupert back into the apartment. Collins knew exactly what that meant. He had done his homework. He always did. “Though I hear that you are getting hitched?”
“Yes he is. To me.” A woman, definitely younger than the Watcher stepped up to the side of the tweed and pullover clad Rupert and put her arm, only slightly mockingly, through her fiancés. She smiled when Collins stepped back feigning a dizzy spell at the sight. Giles just rolled his eyes, having been exposed to the Collins school of charm and conquest for the first time a great many years ago. How old would this Sheila have been back then? Ten maybe? She held out her hand “Jenny Calendar.”
“Soon to be Giles?” Collins shook the proffered hand firmly. He knew exactly who she was of course, without any introductions. Again… homework. Janna. A gypsy who had come to Sunnydale five years ago, computer science teacher. Calderash Clan. There was some ancient power in that Clan… but nothing that had been active for a dozen generations.
There were still text books at the Council directing Watchers and operatives to seek sanctuary with that Clan if they found themselves stranded in an unfriendly, vampire infested, Romania. And if they all looked like ‘Jenny Calendar’ then he might just have to take a trip to that country and try a little sanctuary for himself.
“We haven’t set a date but maybe Calendar-Giles. I always liked that double-barrelled name thing.” Her fiancé looked at her, the first he had heard of that obviously. “Not really.”
“Yeah it’s poncy,” Collins told her. Jenny Giles? Maybe… Jenny Calendar-Giles, now that would be a shame.
“Good word. I like that. ‘Poncy’” Jenny seemed to be considering all the possible uses.
“Feel free to use it whenever you like,” he told her.
“I think I will, I mean just think of all the opportunities I’ll get to use it around the house?” she suggested, making her meaning clear. They both looked at Rupert.
“I am
here you know,” the Watcher reminded them, his exasperated tone carrying a slight undercurrent of mockery.
Jenny just hugged his arm as Collins took in the sight of the pair of them. “Will you come in Mr Collins?” Then she let Rupert go and held her arm out to him instead. He gratefully took it, if only to see his old colleague’s reaction.
“Michael please,” he grinned at Rupert as he stepped past on the arm of the Watcher’s fiancée, leaving Giles to close the door behind him.
“You work for the Council then Michael?” she asked escorting him into their home.
“Odds and ends, odds and ends.” Things that neither she, nor even the Watcher she was engaged to, would really want to know. Necessary but not very nice things.
--------------
“Odds and ends, odds and ends.”
Yes, Rupert thought as he closed the door, the oddest jobs and usually completing them in very final way. Whilst it was good to see Michael on social terms, this was unlikely to be such an occasion. He appreciated the fact that the Council’s operative had not performed his traditional trick of letting himself in and waiting for the home owner, but he knew only too well that he should worry about why Michael might be here and what that could mean for Faith. For all of them.
The arrival of a Special Ops team generally meant something bad. For someone, often for more than one person. Often there was collateral damage. The Council was not as sensitive as governments had become.
“Tea?” he asked their guest knowing exactly what Collins would think of that offer. It was all the subtle art of revenge.
“Got a beer?” the operative asked.
“Yes, there should be one, I’ll go get it, Rupert?” Jenny offered letting him stay with his friend. After all it was rare that they had anyone over.
“Yes thank you.” Bless her for the diplomatic exit. She could meet the charming Mr Collins later. He needed to find out what was going on. And what was likely to happen to them all with this man, and presumably his team, being here in Sunnydale.
She left them alone briefly and Rupert watched Collins watching her. Same old Michael. A man who was unlikely to settle down until he was walking with a cane.
And even then the ladies would probably be chasing him. Or he them. It would be rather like Benny Hill.
“There was a time you wouldn’t let alcohol pass your lips,” the Watcher pointed out, remembering the very serious trainee that Michael had once been, receiving a nod in return and a mock gesture with the bottle that was yet to be delivered. Cheers. “Why are you here Michael? You were never really one for just visiting.” They had gone for years before the last time they had met. And that time they had slipped back into being friends. This time there was more to be cautious about. Faith. Jenny.
“Assessment mate.”
Just that. That was all he had to say? All that he could say? “Faith?” Rupert had no fears that Faith would clear any standard assessment that the Council might have deemed necessary, but then a standard assessment, no matter how cruel, didn’t require Collins and his team of wet work specialists. The Council was never quite so ruthless as their operatives.
“Nah, the local witch. Maclay,” Collins told him.
“The Council read my report?” Giles asked him, surprised that was even a possibility. Of course he had written the report on the basis that it would be read, but he had hardly expected it to be. And at least not paid attention to. And even if they had studied every detail why would that bring Collins here?
Only one person had the authority to authorise the use of Special Ops teams. Travers.
“Quentin did.” Collins paused. “He was impressed by what you said.” Collins paused again. “And concerned.”
“Much like myself.” As Faith’s Watcher he had to approve of the assistance that Tara had given the Slayer and the effect that they’d had on the town between them. But working for the Mayor and her relationship with a vampire. That he could not condone. “Recruiting or…” he tailed off. The other option was one that he had not considered when he had written his report. In hindsight, he certainly should have. How could he have been that stupid?
It was not unheard of for a Special Ops assessment to find a person wanting and for that person to be never found again. He didn’t want
that for Tara. The other, if she could overcome the problems with the vampire and the Mayor then it was a way out for her. A way out of the life that she had and into something where she would get the proper support.
She could, really, be fighting with them. Damn it, he hadn’t considered the alternatives and it was too late to do anything about it now. Except possibly to moderate Collins’ impressions.
“All options are open.” Collins smiled at Jenny as she returned with his beer. “No decision has been made as yet. Faith out on patrol?” he asked her.
“Actually… Michael… she is working out. Training. She’s been injured and wants to get back into the fight,” he nodded at the use of his given name.
“She’ll be back in her own time. She usually is,” Jenny told him. Giles knew that by now she was used to the odd hours kept by their house guest even when she was training. It had helped that, as a Watcher, he had been keeping them himself for as long as she had known him.
------------
“Enjoys it does she?” That was a good thing as far as Collins was concerned, nothing more likely to get a Slayer dead real quick than the feeling that it was just a duty to be carried out before she went home to bed. Those ones tended to get tired and give in to the lure of death a lot quicker than the others. He could also tell that the Watcher’s fiancée was more than little fond of the Slayer. Well that was fair enough. Everyone needed a support mechanism.
Even Slayers.
Everyone except him.
He wondered what the attitude of this Tara Maclay was to the fight. After all she was probably a street fighter. Definitely a survivor. Definitely dangerous. But what was driving her?
“Perhaps a little too much, but she is still quite new to it,” Faith’s Watcher pointed out, gesturing for them all to sit as Collins sipped at the beer.
Collins settled back and prepared to commit their comments to his impressive memory. Ready to file each piece of information away for later use. “Now tell me, both of you, what do you know about this Tara Maclay?”
There was some reluctance to tell him too much, but there was enough there to be going on with. He and Weatherby would get the rest.
**********
by Katharyn » Wed Jul 10, 2002 10:31 pm 
Nice mood music you two. 
at: 7/12/02 3:01:19 pm