A/N: Well, here it is, the long awaited sequel to Family Ties. It starts a few weeks after Faith's journal entry and from there, the dates will be listed because it will cover a five-month period before the final battle as Faith foresaw in her slayer dream.

Prologue

"Push, Mary, push," Doctor Stephens urged the woman on the table. It had been this way for the past three hours for Mary Jansen and her soon-to-be son or daughter. She listened to the distant voice encourage her. She barely had the strength to break through the fog of pain interfering with her other senses. Never had she thought anything would hurt as much as losing her husband, Joe, four months ago but the agony that cascaded through her lower regions temporarily numbed that heartrending memory.

"You’re doing fine, Mary," her younger sister, Jackie, encouraged. The short woman held Mary’s hand, never once complaining of the tightening grip of her laboring sister. "Come, sweetie, we’re almost there. Almost there," she cooed while her free hand stroked Mary’s thick mane of black hair affectionately.

"Come on," Mary grunted, trying to push forward the small city that seemed to have taken residence within her womb. "Come on!" She screamed as the pain intensified, ripping through her and for an instant, Mary thought it would kill her. That was until she heard the distant cry of life somewhere in the room. She glanced around with sleepy eyes, noting that Doctor Stephens was holding something before her gaze drifted to her sister. The tears pouring from her sister's eyes at first alarmed Mary until Jackie met her gaze and smiled.

"It’s a boy, Mary," she sobbed with tears of joy, "it’s a boy."

Mary reached a hand up to brush the tears away from her sister’s cheeks, returning the smile. "A boy…a boy…" and then everything went black and Mary succumbed to stringent embrace of unconsciousness.

*&*

"There’s Mommy. Say hi to Mommy," a familiar voice cut through the nothingness that surrounded Mary. Slowly, she opened her eyes, immediately blinking back the sudden glare from the lights before her eyes adjusted.

She scanned the room briefly before fixing her gaze on the beaming brown skinned woman to her right. Save for the woman’s perky nose and short, dark hair, she was very close to being Mary’s twin. Mary stared into her sister’s green eyes, smiling at the love and adoration that shone from them. This ‘little person’ as Mary jokingly called her younger sibling was the only reason she had survived the past four months after Joe had been killed in the line of duty. They had been best friends, one another’s "diaries" for the last nineteen years, ever since Jackie was old enough to talk and it had only solidified as they got older. Jackie was a perfect opposite to Mary’s shy yet fiery demeanor; there to light her older sister’s fuse when needed and, at the same time, acting as Mary’s rational frame of mind when the older sister’s emotions bubbled over.

Thankful for all her sister had been to her, Mary smiled at Jackie and reached her hand out when a telltale whimper escaped from the bundle in Jackie’s arms.

"Oh baby, you want Mommy, don’t you?" Jackie cooed and Mary’s eyes were alit with shock. "Baby boy’s hungwie, isn’t he. Well Auntie Jackie doesn’t have the foods, baby boy. That’s Mommy over there that has that," and with that, Jackie stood and handed the baby over to her older sister.

Mary carefully took possession of the mewling child, marveling at the bronze glow of the infant's skin. Not infant, she reminded herself, my son.

"Our son," she whispered as the child stared up at her with his chocolate brown eyes, the same eyes that his father possessed.

The child bit into his fist and cried when the limb gave him no sustenance. Wasting no more time, Mary lifted the hospital gown enough to expose her bare breast and brought her son to her chest. He immediately attacked the bare nipple and both women laughed.

"Somebody's hungry," Mary cooed as the baby suckled her teat aggressively. "So," she said after a few minutes of watching her son in amazement, "how long was I out?"

"Few hours," Jackie said, brushing a strand of hair out of her sister's face. "Doctors said you were just exhausted. They were astonished that you recovered so quickly."

"So, where's Doctor Stephens at now?"

"He stepped out for a few."

"And let me guess, you talked him into letting the little guy here stay with you?"

"What can I say?" Jackie fanned herself mockingly. "I guess I just have a way with people."

"That you do, lil' sis," Mary said before turning her attention back to her son.

"So," Jackie said as her nephew drifted off into sleep, "have you thought of a name for him?"

"Cedrik."

"Cedrik? But wasn't Joe's middle name…"

"I know. But I like Cedrik better. It's close to the original but far enough away for him to make his own name. And that he will. My Cedrik Tobias. Cedrik Tobias Jansen."

"Tobias?"

"It means 'God is good'. And he has to be to give me such a special gift." They both looked at the now sleeping infant before Jackie spoke, her voice filled with emotion.

"Joe would be so proud of you."

"Yeah, he would," Mary replied before brushing a kiss across her son's brow. "You're gonna make your father so proud, Ced. You're gonna make him so proud."

Chapter 1

Two of a Kind

April 29th, 2002

“You’re still telegraphing your left, Bitlet,” Spike called over to Faith as he watched his daughter take on two rather ugly vampires. She threw the smallest one into a tree near him before turning her attention back to the larger one.

“Am…” she threw a left at it, ready to shoot a funky retort to Spike when the vamp blocked it and delivered an uppercut to her exposed chin, sending her spiraling to the ground.

“…Not,” she finished lamely while shaking the cobwebs from her mind. She barely had time to wipe the blood from her lips before the biggest vampire pounced on her.

“Can’t be a gentleman and help a girl up, huh?” She quipped while holding the snarling vampire at bay. Though she was stronger, she had yet to recover fully from the fight at the Bronze a month ago. She was still leery about her once shredded leg and, without it, couldn’t get the leverage to hurl the vampire off.

Spike watched with an arched eyebrow at Faith’s obvious struggle with the burly vampire. He saw out the corner of his eye as the second one finally rose and focused in on Faith. Before it had the chance to pounce, Spike intercepted the fledgling by the throat and slammed it into the same tree Faith had just thrown it into. Seeing that this particular threat was thoroughly neutralized, Spike turned his attention back to Faith

“You know,” she said lightheartedly to the vampire above her, “this just isn’t working out. I mean,” head butt, “I know you’re really trying and all,” right cross, “but I really do have other things,” left hook “to do.” The last punch knocked the vampire off of her and Faith shot to her feet, not giving the vamp time to breath before its eyes widened in surprise and pain as the tip of the stake pierced its heart, quickly followed by the swoosh of another dusted vampire.

“Bout time, ‘let,” Spike drawled, clearly annoyed. “What were you waitin’ for? A bleedin’ invitation by way of a bite on the neck?”

“I had it under control,” Faith responded, brushing the dust off the sleeves of her leather duster.

“Yeah, that’s why it took you five minutes to dust a soddin’ minion,” he retorted sarcastically.

Faith ran a hand through her lengthening golden locks and simultaneously rolled her emerald cerulean eyes. “Daddy,” she sighed in exasperation, “he’s dust, I’m alive. Happy endings all around. And it didn’t take five minutes,” she muttered the last part under her breath.

“Like ‘ell, Bitlet. There is no reason that you need more than five moves to stake that sorry mistake for the undead. ‘Specially when there’s another one just waitin’ to snack on the tasty morsel of a slayer.” He jerked his head towards the now struggling vampire caught in his iron grip.

Faith smiled patronizingly before responding. “I knew you had him.” And with that she turned to walk away.

Spike was incensed. How many times had he wanted nothing more than to strangle this girl while on patrol in the last week? She had been so attentive to his instruction the week before when they sparred but now that she was out in the field, her head had grown quite large. The British vampire didn’t know what it was, but his little girl had a way with infuriating him to no end with her brash cockiness and stubborn attitude. It reminded him of a certain slayer that…

Without thinking, Spike released his hold on the vamp and its eyes traveled between the infuriated vamp and the woman with her back turned. It took two tentative steps away from the tree before charging at the unsuspecting Faith.

Faith smiled, knowing that she had struck a nerve with her dad. She surmised that pushing Spike’s buttons was ingrained into her DNA considering the ways Buffy had always sent him off the deep end. Of course, it worked both ways and Faith knew she had been lucky to get to him first, because he was definitely pushing her Anger-o-meter to the top with his overprotective ways. If it wasn’t for…

Faith stopped in her tracks and delivered an elbow to the face of the vampire charging behind her. She then connected with a backhand before triggering the blade from the gauntlet on her right arm. Bringing it around in a wide arch, she sliced through the neck of the vampire, severing bone, tissue, cartilage and nerves. The vampire stood there in shock before its head slid off and its remains matriculated with the dirt lining the ground of the cemetery.

Satisfied, she peeked a glance at Spike, who was now fighting a smile before turning her head and flicking her hair back (though it wasn’t quite long enough to have much an effect in the way of flair) before walking away. Two steps out and she tossed over her shoulder, “That was three moves. Good enough for you?” She almost wet her pants when she heard the frustrated growl of her father and the distinctive crash of another broken tombstone.

“He’s gonna kill me,” she said to herself before skipping the rest of the way through the cemetery.

*&*

The rest of patrol was relatively quiet between father and daughter. They had traversed three more cemeteries and, after nine dustings and three demon kills, called it a night as Spike didn’t want Faith overdoing it her first week back out. Now, on their way back to ‘Hotel Revello’ as it was not affectionately known, both were lost in their own thoughts concerning the other.

Ever since the night at the Bronze, Spike was torn between absolute pride, utter frustration and spiraling despair. He and Faith had continued to bond, two of a kind in almost all things. They had trained and patrolled together, watched the telly and even hung out on top of his old crypt just talking. Spike watched his daughter with a critical eye, marveling the speed at which she polished her technique. Everything had been going rather smoothly up until the last week. Whereas Faith was usually attentive to his observations about her fighting style, now she would snap at him, always having something smart to say. It’s not like she didn’t huff at his teaching before but now-something was wrong that she wasn’t telling.

Of course, it could be the fact that her Mum’s in the hospital with no signs of waking that’s got ‘er on edge, he thought. There was no question in Spike’s mind that the anxiety of Buffy’s coma continued to wear on the gang with each passing day and Faith was no exception. To be honest, his mood hadn’t been overlaid with rays of sunshine, either. Were it not for Faith and Dawn (and to a lesser extent, the Wiccans) Spike knew he would have careened into the depression he had felt thrice before: the first time was when he had to watch Dru and Angelus together while he was stuck in the wheelchair. Then there was when Dru left him for good and those first months after the chip was shoved into his brain. Buffy’s death was not on that list; the emotions he felt then were beyond description and hopefully he’d never have to have a repeat visit of them.

Faith was still wrestling with the premonitions her dream had given. Though she had shared with them all what she saw coming about Gabriel, the one about Buffy’s awakening she kept to herself. Giles wasn’t sure whether or not Faith’s dreams of Gabriel were real or a post-traumatic stress response of the situation involving Seth in her time. That had made Faith question her own belief that her mother would awaken within the next couple of weeks. No, she had decided that she would keep that to herself, not seeing the need to get everyone’s hopes up only to be disappointed. So she had lived with the uncertainty gnawing at her insides and though she usually covered it well, her attitude during slaying had gotten progressively worse.

“Bitlet,” Spike’s voice snapped Faith out of her wandering thoughts.

“Yeah?”

“ ‘M sorry bout snappin’ at you the past couple of days.” Spike ducked his head and shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his duster.

“Daddy,” Faith said and interlocked her arm around his.

“No, ‘ve be actin’ like a right git these past few days. Guess it’s just comin’ out more when we patrol for some reason.”

“Pent up aggression?” He chuckled briefly before returning to the topic at hand.

“Truth is, I miss your Mum. Miss ‘er so much.” Faith ground her teeth to keep the sob that clawed at the back of her throat from making itself known.

“I know,” she whispered. “I miss her too.”

“I know she’ll wake up but then again I don’t know. Hell, just last year, I thought that I’d never see ‘er again but out of nowhere, there she is, descending the steps like an angel. I don’t know what is worse; that or watchin’ ‘er sleep forever.”

“It won’t last much longer,” Faith said with conviction. Spike couldn’t help but smile at his daughter’s adamancy.

“You know, you and your Mum are so much alike with the stubbornness. Soon as you get somethin’ in your bleedin’ head, you’ll stick to it, come hell or high water.”

“Just like you, huh?”

“Not like me, Bitlet.”

“Piffle,” she said, waving her hand in front of them. “If you didn’t stick to pursuing Mum when she was in her-and these are her words-‘Buffy the bloody Bitch’ mode, then this little miracle,” she pointed to the top of her head, “would have never been.”

Spike grinned, knowing exactly what Faith meant. All the times Buffy beat him down with words, he still remained constant in his love for her. Sometimes he had wondered if it was the pain, like she said in the abandoned building, that he was addicted to that kept him coming but now…now he knew it was just the pull of his unnatural love for his mortal enemy. It was a love that was more potent than a thousand suns to him that fueled him. And his gift-their gift-was the beautiful young woman draped on his arm this minute.

“Faith,” Spike said, forcing his mind to the present and future.

“Yeah?”

“You know I love you.”

“Yeah, Daddy, I do.”

“And that I would do anything for you.”

“Daddy, what are you getting at?”

“Well,” he stopped and grabbed her shoulders firmly, giving her a somber look. “I don’t know how to tell you this…”

“Just tell me,” she demanded, stomping her foot.

He lowered his eyes and, for a second Faith was afraid that what he said would break her heart but when he stared back at her, he couldn’t quite keep his smirk hidden.

“You’re still telegraphin’ your left.”

“Daddy!” She roared and slapped him on the arm.

“And you are slightly off balance when you throw your left kicks.”

“Argghhhh!” She growled and assaulted her father with light slaps on his chest and arms. When Spike turned to run, she pounced on his back, sending him to one knee. He struggled to get up while she playfully worried his right shoulder with her teeth. That only lasted for a minute before she spat out the taste caught in her mouth.

“Ewww. You really need to clean this thing,” she said between hacks before wrapping her arms comfortably around his neck.

“I didn’t get it for its tasty flavor, ‘let.”

“Well, still…”

“I don’t suppose,” Spike said after standing, “that I can persuade you to get the bloody hell off me, can I?”

“Nope,” she said, popping the ‘p’.

“Figured.”

“Horsie Go,” she whined and her heels dug into his upper thigh.

“Hey! Watch it.”

“Sowwie.”

“Yeah,” he harrumphed before starting up the trek towards home. “Don’t think your Mum’d ‘preciate you neutering her stallion.”

“Oh God,” she huffed and Spike could hear her eyes roll. “As if catchin’ you guys in the bathroom when I was five wasn’t traumatizing enough.”

“You what?”

“You heard me. Yep, my mind shut down. Couldn’t speak for weeks. Guess that’s what happens when you see your parents goin’ at it up against the bathroom wall.” She could almost feel the vampire’s embarrassment even though he had not had that experience yet.

“Relax, Daddy, I’m kiddin’.”

“You were?”

“At least about the not being able to speak part. Actually, you guys couldn’t shut me up about it for weeks. I think I told everybody. Auntie Dawn and Aunties Tara and Willow. My kindergarten teacher…”

“So much better,” he drawled sarcastically before breaking out into a light jog.

“Yay,” Faith exclaimed. “Horsie Go!”

“Just don’t expect me to do any bleedin’ horse sounds.” But Faith didn’t hear him as she was absorbed by the exhilaration and comfort it all was. And, for the first time since Tara came out of her coma, Faith Joyce Summers was content.

*&*

"Down you go, luv," Spike told Faith as he stepped onto the porch.

"Do I have to?" She whined before setting her feet down. Spike smiled at her childish pout, reminding him even more of the woman that carried Faith in her womb for nine months. The same woman that even now lay unconscious. Buffy had come back immortal but that didn’t me that she was indestructible. And with no knowledge of her brain's condition (though the doctors said there was no major damage) she could conceivably lie in that state forever. The simple thought of it made him shiver and Faith caught the slight movement.

"Daddy? You okay?"

"What? Oh, right. Yeah, I…" Faith kissed him on the cheek before staring him in the eyes.

"Don’t lie to me. Please."

Seeing her concern, Spike sighed before telling her his fears.

Faith listened intently as her father told her things that she, too, had given thought to. She wanted to tell him what she saw in her dream but what if she was wrong? What if her mother never woke up? She couldn’t do that to him, not after everything he had been through when Buffy died the first time.

"So you see, Bitlet?" Spike steadied his shaky voice. "See why I want you to slay fast and not play? Losing Buffy was bad enough the first time and now--even with Dawn around, without you here I would never have survived that first week. You're all I have left of 'er. If anything ev'r happened to you, I'd…I'd…" but he couldn’t finish as an aching sob broke free and Spike fell into his daughter's arms.

The young Summers could do nothing but hold her father as he fell to the ground and wept. It was the first time since the night at the Bronze that he had cried in front of anyone and in a way she was relieved that he finally released the anguish locked up inside. A silent tear trailed down her cheek but she dared not let loose the anguish that threatened to seep from her soul, knowing that right now Spike needed her strength more than ever.

Spike's cries tapered off after several minutes and it took him just as long before he was strong enough to push away from her. The stood simultaneously and brushed the other off before making eye contact.

"I love you so much, Daddy," Faith said and brushed a stray tear from Spike's cheek. "I'm sorry I've been so difficult these last few days but I've just been…"

"No worries, kitten," Spike assured and ran his hand through her hair. "Just remember that I only want you to be the best. I can't bear to lose you, Bitlet."

"You won't. Lose me. I love you guys too much to leave you. And she will wake up." Spike could only nod at the confidence in her voice before kissing her on the forehead.

"Thank you, baby. I needed that."

"So," she said as she turned the key in the door, "going to see her tonight?"

"Reckon I should. Been a couple days since I 'ave."

"Be back before dawn?"

"Always, luv." He kissed her once more before spinning away and walking towards his De Soto parked in the driveway.

"Daddy?" Faith called from the threshold.

"Yeah, Bitlet?"

"I'll wait up for you."

Spike could only smile, knowing that telling her not to was as effective as telling Buffy not to do something.

Faith watched as he got in the car and pulled out. The red taillights winked at her before disappearing around the corner.

Faith sighed and closed the door. As she walked downstairs to Spike's bed she prayed once again to God to wake her mother up. She had already lived through one parent dying before her eyes; she didn’t have the strength to do it again. Even with Spike at her side, Faith wasn’t sure how much more she could take without her mother by her side.

Hopefully, she wouldn’t have to wait too much longer.

TBC…

Chapter 2

Still I Rise

South America

The pale moon howled, its light blanketing the night, leading the distant stars in the gleeful chant as rulers of the night sky. They illuminated everything; the secluded villages, the passing strangers that braved the night and the canopy tops of the jungles. But rarely did they touch the sacred grounds of those very jungles, shut out by the selfish leaves of the trees that claimed it as their own. At times they were forgiving, opening up just enough to give the night lights a taste of the dirty basin of the wild but never enough to satiate. Never enough to survive.

Survive. That was the only thought that ran through the two yellow-skinned Miquots that tore through the foliage. The larger one held up his smaller kin whose right arm dangled by his side after a shotgun had barreled through the flesh.

"MaKri," the larger one whispered to its barely conscious clansman, "we must hurry. He is close by. I can feel him."

"I don’t know if I…the pain…Ulklan…"

"We are warriors, spesinsido! Pain is nothing to us," Ulklan spat and hoisted his brethren up by the waist and continued dragging him through the dense underbrush.

They hadn't gone twenty yards before the air whistled as a projectile tore through it. Neither Miquot had a chance to react as the bolt pierced MaKri's skull, ripping him from Ulklan's grasp.

"MaKri," Ulklan bellowed as he turned to his fallen kin. Though he knew the other one was dead, Ulklan still surveyed MaKri's body in search of finding life. He was so intent on the body that he didn’t hear the rustle of foliage as a black shape dropped from the trees.

The stranger watched the scene before him with emotionless eyes. It had been a little over a month since he had returned from--well, Master had never told him where they had gone. But when he had returned to this place, this realm, already forged with a new strength, one that had been granted by sharing his Master's blood, he had set forth to kill each and every demon that crossed his path and even those that ran from his presence. The first night, his silver blade had cut down six Fyarls with the help of the silver shots that sang from the barrel of his shotgun. The second night he had slaughtered a nest of vampires and leaving one alive, albeit disfigured, to spread the word. He made sure that the vampire knew that he was no slayer though to them he offered them the same fate. He had whispered into the vamp's ear, the mask that covered most of his face garbling his words though they rang true enough. And the vamp had spread the word.

The Executioner had come and no demon would escape his wrath.

"He's dead, you know." Ulklan spun around as the flat voice of his pursuer carried to his ears. He snarled when his eyes focused on figure before him.

At first glance, Ulklan didn’t see what was so deadly about the demon before him. He was not a giant as many had whispered. He stood about six feet tall and was covered in black. The mask that he wore stopped just below his eyes, shielding the rest of his face from view. On his left hip hung the crossbow that had fired the bolt that had killed MaKri while his shotgun was holstered comfortably against his right hip. Several knives and stakes populated his ankles and waist while, in his right hand was the silver katana that had cut through most of Ulklan's clan so effortlessly.

Ulklan stood slowly, the blood of his kin calling out for vengeance. I will tear this demon's heart from his body and feast on it, the Miquot thought viciously right before he looked the stranger in the eyes.

Even in the shrouded darkness of the jungle, Ulklan could see the red cores of the Executioner as they surveyed the Miquot with unsettling casualness. Though they didn’t scream 'evil', those eyes did shout deadly and the trickle of fear that snaked down Ulklan's back was enough for the Miquot to know that the only way he was getting out of here alive was by killing the shadow before him.

Cocking his arms in front of him, Ulklan grunted as boned blades popped out of his forearms. In one motion, Ulklan spun and hurled the projectile at the man in black.

He saw it coming a mile away. Though Miquots were decent fighters, having to wait for one's weapon to pop out kind of took the surprise out of everything. Of course, he thought as the blade sailed past him as he rolled to the left, nicking him in the shoulder, they do have superb aim.

He was on his feet in an instant and brought the blade of his sword up just in time to deflect the second attack that would have impaled him through the eye. He smirked behind his mask at the mounting rage of the other demon before throwing out a snarky laugh.

"Please tell me you're gonna make it more interesting than this." He shrugged his shoulders, relishing in the tightness of his back and neck muscles. This was what he lived for now: the thrill of the hunt, the satisfaction of the kill and-sometimes-even the pain of wounds. He welcomed anything that would erase the agony of watching her die, to destroy the powerlessness he had felt as her life seeped from her veins as he held her. He had come here in search of power, so he would never feel helpless again.

"You will die, demon," the Miquot spat and charged the man in black.

The red-eyed man spun away from the slash of the Miquot's blades and countered by cutting across Ulklan's exposed belly. He finished with another spin that brought him behind the yellow-skinned demon and his blade sliced through the air, severing the Miquot's head from his body.

"That was too easy," the man in black chuckled and sheathed his sword in the scabbard strapped to his back as the now lifeless body of the demon fell to the ground in two separate pieces.

Running gloved fingers through his hair, the man in black headed back to the one place he saw as home.

*&*

Diohbin-Zi had never really understood the fascination humans had in games. Well, that wasn't entirely true. There were the gladiatorial spectacles of American football and boxing that always intrigued him. Games of the mind, such as chess also drew his interests though that was about it.

Now, as he stared over the seven stacks of cards, the Elwvenian knew that solitaire was not a game that he enjoyed.

"Bah," he spat and raked the cards from the table just as the door to the hut opened.

"Are the mean, nasty cards trying to give you a hard time, Master?" the man in black asked as he shut the door behind him.

Diohbin-Zi smiled at his protégé as the man removed the cowl that hid most of his face. He stroked his now free beard and walked over to the Elvvenian, taking a seat beside the old demon.

"How was your night?" Diohbin-Zi asked, patting his pupil's gloved hand.

"Not bad," he replied and set about removing the weapons strapped to him. "Wiped out a clan of Miquot demons and killed three vamps.”

“Injuries?”

“Few nicks here and there. Nothing serious.”

“Good, good,” Diohbin-Zi said and clasped his hands together before standing. He stared at the man who had become like a son to him and smiled sadly. “Your abilities have matured and just in time. They will need you soon.”

“Well, I guess after three years of daily training, my skills would be matured by now,” he said mirthfully but the humor died as he responded to his Master’s second statement. “And as far as them needing me, don’t think so. They’ve had enough time to forget about me. And her,” the last part was whispered and only Diohbin-Zi’s enhanced hearing allowed the Elwvenian to pick up the words.

He placed both hands on the young man’s shoulders and he stared into the brown pupils whose core were no longer black but a mahogany red; a red that shone like the brightest star during battle.

“My son,” Diohbin-Zi comforted, “they have not forgotten about you nor her. The one that you blame lives with the disgust she saw in your eyes before you left.”

“Good,” he replied though his tone was not as convincing as it had been when he had first arrived.

“Is it?” The Master asked him. “Is it good for one so true, one who has already been through more than you could ever imagine to feel such pain? Is it good for one who will sacrifice all for those that she loves to see hatred in the eyes of one she had only met in her second chance with her family?”

“But it’s her fault,” he replied though there was no strength in her voice. Diohbin-Zi smiled sadly, sensing his protégé’s desperate attempts to hold onto the hate. It was all he had left and, if he lost that, lost the hate, then he would never be able to live with the decision he had made to become the thing he had fought so valiantly against the last six years.

Knowing that he would not be able to help the brunette to answer such questions, Diohbin-Zi maneuvered the conversation to back to something his student had said.

“My dear boy,” he quipped, his purplish red eyes staring into the brownish red of his protégé, “I have something to tell you and I do not think that you will be terribly impressed by it.”

“What?” His thick eyebrows scrunched in concern, recognizing the mirth in his teacher’s eyes that meant only one thing; he was not going to like what would float from the old man’s mouth in the least.

“Well, it seems to me that your assumption as to the time frame we have been together is not quite accurate.”

The laugh that escaped the younger man’s lips was reactionary. “So, what are you saying? That I took a bump on the head, have really been here for ten years instead of three? Well, that would explain how quickly I have learned to fight.”

“Never could get anything past you, could I Alexander?”

“I thought I asked you not to call me that, Master. And you mean I have been here longer than three years?”

“Yes, you did ask me not to call you that, Alexander. As far as you being here longer than three years…well, that’s not entirely accurate.”

“What do you mean ‘not entirely accurate’?” Xander stood and glared down at the man who had taught him everything over the past three…well, it wasn’t three years now, was it? How long had it been?

“Decidedly less than three years,” Diohbin-Zi replied amiably and Xander wasn’t sure whether he had spoken the question aloud or not.

“Come now, Alexander. You know that I read minds, though I rarely take advantage of that useful ability. Kind of takes the surprise out of things, wouldn’t you say.”

“How long?” Xander repeated the question aloud this time.

“Don’t you think you should sit down?”

“How long?” He spat and kneeled, grabbing the smaller being by the shoulders.

Diohbin-Zi looked to where Xander held him before staring the man in the eyes, waiting patiently for the younger man to get the hint. Xander immediately dropped his hands though the urgency still hung between them. “Please,” the brunette croaked and the Elwvenian sighed.

“Fine. Fifty days.”

“Huh?”

“Try to pay attention, young man,” Diohbin-Zi chastised and wriggled a gnarled finger at Xander. “I tell you, you people just can’t seem to maintain focus on things. I mean…”

“Did you say…fifty days?”

“Yes. Fifty days. Twelve hundred and nine hours. Seventy-two thousand five hundred and forty minutes. Want me to put it in seconds?” The Elwvenian snarked.

Xander tipped over and plopped down on his butt in shock. Fifty days. He had only been gone fifty days? Then why…”Why did it feel like three years then?”

“Think hyperbolic time chamber.” On Xander’s perplexed look, Diohbin-Zi threw his hands up in exasperation. “My God, man, do you think everything in your world is a product of a writer’s imagination?!”

“Wha…?”

“ You know exactly what I’m talking about, Alexander. Dragon Ball Z? The training chamber? Day goes by in reality but a year passes to those in the chamber. I saw it in your mind but hell, when the reception's good in this God-awful place, I watch it too.”

“But how…?” Xander’s red tinged brown eyes bugged out in disbelief.

“Look, Alexander,” Diohbin-Zi’s voice was calm and comforting and he patted the man’s cheek. “I don’t mean to be so flip with you but you have to get over it and fast. The skinny is that when you came to me, I saw the pain and anger within you yet also how lost you were and how much you wanted to help. Your loyalty to the slayer was, and still is, the thing that holds you together. But that wasn't the only reason I granted you your wish. I also foresaw the coming of the Angel of Death and knew that you would be needed to avert the End that he has planned for this world.”

“But…” Xander stuttered and was silenced by Diohbin-Zi’s raised hand.

“No talk, you must listen. As you know, I am the last of my kind and, in that, I am more powerful that most beings that will ever walk this plane. But even I will be powerless to stop him. Only she can do that.”

“She?”

“The one that you blame for you mate’s death. The same one whose namesake will leave your lips in love, the one that will bring forth that which you have locked so tightly in here,” he touched Xander’s chest, “that part of you that even I cannot free.”

“What do you mean, Master? What are you saying?” It was too much and Xander felt himself lost to the confusion he had thought he would never experience again.

“There are certain dimensions that I am able to traverse to. The one that we went to, my native dimension actually, Elwvenin. Time there moves faster than it does here. I took you there because I knew you would be needed sooner than was physically possible to prepare you.”

“I…I can’t go back,” Xander whispered and Diohbin-Zi’s eyes softened at the turmoil he saw in his protégé’s eyes.

“You must go back. They need you. The Key, the slayer, the witches, the vampire and the child. And others. Others that you know but will not expect to be there. You are the final piece of the puzzle, the furthest away. “

“Master,” Xander started but Diohbin-Zi waved his hand and the questions left the brunette’s mind. The world drifted away and Xander felt his body lift off the ground for several seconds before the familiar softness of his bed was beneath him.

“Sleep my son,” Diohbin-Zi whispered, “you will need it. Because once you are back, there will be no rest for you. Not until it is over.”

A purple tear trailed down the immortal Elwvenian’s cheek as he closed the door to Xander’s room. He knew he would never see Xander again as his duty had been done. The weakest link to the chain had been strengthened though there were still chinks in the armor of the band of warriors. It was out of his hands now. All Diohbin-Zi could hope for was that the one, the one who had once succumbed to the darkness could bring light to Xander’s heart.

“Fare well, Alexander,” Diohbin-Zi murmured into the empty room as he looked back towards the closed door. A pale blue light echoed through the room and Diohbin-Zi closed his eyes. “Maybe the Fates have it in the cards for us to meet again.”

The light brightened considerable for several seconds before dying down, leaving the room dark.

And empty.

Chapter 4