Night Falls

Disclaimer: Everything in the Buffy universe belongs to Joss Whedon and company. The only things belonging to me are those that I make up.

Notes: This story is set in Season 7. In order to facilitate the story, I'm extending the season – since the show ended they had to cram everything into one season. However, season 7 could have easily spanned over several years. Therefore, I'm changing the order of events to suit my story telling needs. Thus, some things may not add up with the Angel episodes, such as Faith's arrival in Sunnydale. This story primarily focuses on the relationships between Willow and a character of my creation, as well as Buffy and Faith. I hope you like it.

Prologue:

"It's been a long time – too long," Giles said into the telephone. He held the receiver tightly against his ear, straining to hear over the static of cross continental lines. "Unfortunately this isn't a social call. I must ask a favor."

"Anything," the female voice on the other end responded.

"Do you still have access to the Watcher's Council vaults?" Giles asked, waiting with tense anticipation until he heard a positive affirmation. Closing his eyes and breathing out a sigh of relief, he began to spoke slowly and deliberately. "Good. Listen to me very carefully. The First Evil is trying to destroy the Watcher's Council. Its minions have been slaying Watchers and potential Slayers around the world. I'm surprised they haven't come after you yet. I fear that the Council itself will become a target."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Go to the vaults and remove as many artifacts as you can. Most importantly, remove all of the Watchers' diaries. They contain important historical records that will need to be maintained should the Council fall. Also, the Coven has asked me to procure any mystical weapons that the Council may have in its vaults. Can you do this?" Giles asked. He knew that he was asking her for more than a simple favor. If the Council found out what she was doing, she would be executed for betraying the establishment of good.

"I'll be on the first plane to London," the woman on the other end of the line replied after a moment's contemplation. "Take care of yourself, Giles," she said before hanging up. The dial tone beeped in Giles's ear and he placed the telephone receiver back in its cradle.

"What have I done?" He asked, rubbing his face with his hands. For years, he had blindly followed the Watcher's Council, doing anything that they required of him. Now, he was actively opposing them. Though he knew that his actions were spawned out of a desire to do good, the Council would see things much differently. Reaching into his shirt pocket, Giles pulled out an embroidered, white handkerchief and slowly wiped away the beads of sweat that had collected on his brow during the phone call. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, trying desperately to calm his racing heart, but trying in vain.

He had committed the final act of betrayal against the Council. Though they had fired him years ago, he could not simply cut all of his ties with them. The Council would kill her if they discovered what she was doing and they would hunt him down to the very ends of the earth to exact their vengeance. Giles smiled wryly as he thought of her. He had not seen her in many years. When she had answered the phone, he barely recognized her voice. It sounded so different to his ears now; the once high, childish intonation had been replaced by a deeper, huskier tone that spoke of age and sadness.

Giles clearly remembered that last time that he saw her. It had been only a week before the Council began sending him away from London more frequently. His travels had taken him to many parts of the globe, but six years after the last time he saw her, he was standing at the Sunnydale bus depot, hoping to find his Slayer. The day before he was to leave for Portugal, he had been sitting in the Council library. It was a massive building with spacious, cathedral ceilings, and rich, timber beams. He was pouring over some book written in an ancient, dead language. She was sitting on the other end of the large, oak table at which he sat. He remembered that she had been absently kicking her feat, doodling on a piece of paper with some crayons that the librarian had supplied for her. She must have felt his eyes on her because she suddenly looked up at him, her clear, blue eyes sparkling in the light.

"What're you reading, Mr. Giles?" She asked. She was about ten years old and had a levity in her voice that Giles could not help but smile at, despite the seriousness of his present occupation.

"A very old book," Giles replied, shifting his eyes from the worn, yellowed pages, back to her young, lively face. "It's a fairy tale."

"What's it about?" She asked eagerly, dropping her crayon and leaning forward in excitement.

"It's about a girl – a girl very much like you. A very special girl chosen to fight evil," Giles replied, watching as the girl smiled a wide, toothy grin.

"I like those kinds of stories. Tell me more, Mr. Giles," she said eagerly.

"Alright, I will. But on one condition," Giles whispered conspiratorially as he leaned across the table, mimicking her position.

"Okay," the girl replied, her heart thumping with anticipation.

"I'll tell you the rest of the story so long as you promise never to call me Mr. Giles again," Giles whispered. The little girl nodded enthusiastically.

"What should I call you then?" She asked.

"Just call me Giles," he replied. Then shifting his eyes back down to the book in front of him, he said, "Now, about this story…"

Giles sighed as he pulled himself out of his reverie. That had been a long time ago, when the world was a little brighter and everything a little more innocent. He had not seen or spoken to her since. Occasionally, when he would contact that Coven, he would ask about her. But the news he received was never good. She had fallen hard on a long, dark road that led to nothing but tragedy and defeat. Rising to his feet, he grabbed his jacket off of the motel room desk chair and moved to the door. He had to return to Sunnydale as soon as possible. The end of the world was waiting.

……………………

Quentin Travers watched with satisfaction as distinguished Watchers and other Council members began to file into the meeting room. His attendants were scurrying about, making telephone calls and plans. He had called a meeting for any Watcher or Council member that could attend. They desperately needed to formulate a plan to defend themselves against the First Evil. Though they had faced many grave threats throughout the years, none had directly attacked the very source of their power – the Slayers. Quentin scanned the room. Though he saw determination and commitment, he also saw fear and doubt. They were not ready.

His eyes fell on the last face and he felt a pang of disappointment in his heart. He had been certain that she would come. The meeting was about to start, but she had not arrived. It had been a long time since he saw her, but he had hoped that time would have lessened the anger between them and healed some of their wounds. One of his aides apprehensively approached him. Quentin turned his attention to the frightened woman and smiled reassuringly. "Yes?"

"They took our records, wiped out our files. We've lost contact with operations in Munich, Switzerland, and Rome. We've got casualty confirmations coming in as far away as Melbourne," the aide said, her face drawn in an anxious frown. Her voice trembled as she spoke. The end was coming – they could all feel it. "Sir," she said, pausing as if considering the effects that her words would have. "We're crippled."

Quentin knew that his people needed a leader. They needed a champion to rise up out of the death and destruction that surrounded them. They needed someone who could carry them into safety. He had been preparing for this day for as long as he could remember. He had sacrificed many things in his life so that when the moment came, he would be the rock and pillar of the Council in its time of need. Looking over at the woman standing next to him with soft eyes, he spoke. "It's alright, Lydia. We are still masters of our fate, captains of our souls."

"Yes, sir," Lydia replied, walking away from him with a little more confidence than she had previously possessed.

Quentin cleared his throat, capturing the attention of everyone in the room. "I believe that it's time to start the meeting," he said and nodded to two security guards standing by the entrance of the meeting room. They shut the doors and Quentin took his spot and the head of the conference table. "Ladies and gentlemen," he began, "Our fears have been confirmed. The First Evil has declared an all-out war on this institution. Their first volleys proved most effective. I, for one, think that's it's time we struck back," Quentin said with conviction.

Slowly pacing as he spoke, he felt the hopes of his people rising with his words. The intensity in the air was palpable and Quentin knew that he had finally become the great leader that he was meant to be. "Give me confirmations on all remaining operatives. Begin preparations for mobilization. Once we're accounted for, I want to be ready to move."

"Sir?" One of the Watchers asked, looking at him in surprise.

Quentin smiled smugly, knowing that the First Evil would never anticipate his plan. It would not be long before the First was but a distant memory – another failed demon in a long of failures. "We'll be paying a visit to the Hellmouth. My friends, these are the times that define us. Proverbs 24:6: Oh, by wise counsel, you shall make war," Quentin finished.

…………………………….

Giles stood in the middle of the airport, staring up at one of the many television screens with a look of utter disbelief on his face. All of his hopes had been shattered and crushed beyond recall. Several potentials were gathered around him. "It's gone?" One of them finally asked as the news report finished.

"It's gone," Giles confirmed. The reporter had been standing outside of the smoking remains of the building that had once housed the entire Watcher's Council. Everything was lost.

"What does that mean? What do we do now?" Another potential asked, fear evident in her voice.

"Nothing has changed," Giles finally said. "We're still going to Sunnydale, as planned. The Council may be gone, but we are not."

"The First Evil's winning," the first potential said, dread filling her eyes. "We're going to die just like they did."

"No we won't," another potential said. "They exploded. We're just gonna get gutted by some blind monks," she said sarcastically.

"That's enough," Giles said sharply. "No one is going to die…not today. We have to take each day at a time. Be grateful for every sunrise that you see," he said. A voice crackled over the airport loudspeaker. "That's our flight," Giles said as he listened to the message. "It's time to go."

"Good-bye jolly, old England," one of the girls said, looking sadly around as Giles ushered them towards the terminal. They boarded without incident and as the plane took off, Giles leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. The Council was gone. He could scarcely believe it. It had survived for hundreds of years; never in his wildest imaginings did he believe that it would fall to the hands of evil. He thought of all of the people he knew that were most likely dead now. Each face appeared in front of his closed eyes and then he saw her. With a sickening dread, he realized that she was dead as well – because of him. She never would have been there, if not for him.

Rubbing his face with his hands, he whispered, "God forgive me."

…………………………..

Smoke billowed out of the rubble. Twisted beams and broken glass littered the street in front of the exploded building. Firefighters worked diligently to quench the fires that raged in the wreckage. The sky was as dark as night, the sun blotted out by a thick, greasy, black haze. Rescue workers dashed madly about, trying in vain to find survivors of the explosion. Two rescue workers leading a dog circled the remains. Their ash covered faces bespoke the defeat in their eyes. All they had found was death. Suddenly, the dog began to bark and wildly pulled at its leash. The worker released his hold on the leash and the dog dashed into the wreckage.

"Come on, Charlie," one of the men said. They ran after the dog, hope filling their hearts. They could not imagine that anyone had survived the blast. But they desperately wanted to find someone.

"What's that?" Charlie asked, looking over at Tom, his partner. Tom shook his head.

"What is it, boy?" Tom asked the dog, cautiously moving through the rubble to where the dog was frantically yelping. "Get over here, quick!" Tom cried when he saw an arm sticking out a pile of twisted, smoking metal. Kneeling down, he shifted as much wreckage off the body as he could.

"Is she alive?" Charlie asked, joining his partner and gazing into the bloodied face of the girl lying in front of them. Tom picked up one of her limp hands, searching for a pulse. He eyes lit up and he smiled brightly.

"Go get help," he instructed. "She's alive."