Unlikely HeroesTeaser

Story by Faith 730Written by Faith730 and Dan Joslyn (additional writing by CN Winters)

Produced by Susan CarrDirected by CN Winters, Faith730 and Dan Joslyn

Editing by DragonWriter17Sounds by CN Winters

Art Direction by Robert KidmanArtists – Robert Kidman and Zahir al Daoud

Cover Art by Robert Kidman

Cleveland, May 2007

Fade In:Int.Bureau Nine HQ – Magical Security Vault – Night

Inside the room were a series of shelves – some were open while others were closed in, requiring a key to be opened.

At the very end of the long room was a large, in-wall combination safe. Tucked inside was a wooden box with a light green hue around it.

Cut To:Int.Bureau Nine HQ – Outside Magical Security Vault – Same Time

In the hallway outside the vault sat a guard with his feet propped up on a table, watching a television. Another guard arrived from a foot patrol

of the area and took a few moments to watch the program the other guard was enjoying.

"What are you watching?" he asked as he casually swung his nightstick.

"The wedding of the century," he answered sarcastically. "Pretty boring so far. Nothing's really happening, and the cameras are so far away that you can't see anything."

The guard still on his feet leaned over to get a better look at the small screen on the table. "Are they on a boat?"

"Looks like it," he replied. "Problem is you can't really see anything."

The guard who was standing righted himself. "Well, if anything super interesting happens, radio me. I'm going to make another pass."

"Don't plan on it," the other chuckled. "Chuck and Diane – now that was a wedding. I remember because my wife made me watch it over and over again when she was planning our wedding. I had to remind her our budget wasn't the same as someone who's the heir to the English throne."

His counterpart chuckled. "The divorce was more interesting than the wedding," he replied as he walked away.

"Mine or Chuck's?" the guard watching called out to the retreating form.

The other guard only laughed as he continued on.

The guard propped up at the table went back to watching as a still image of Rowena and Willow flashed across the screen before going into a commercial.

Cut To:Int.Bureau Nine HQ – Magical Security Vault – Same Time

Suddenly, inside the combination safe, the green glow that surrounded the Loathestone box went out.

Fade Out.

Cleveland, Present Day

Fade In:Int.Watchers Council – Hallway – Late Afternoon

Skye was backed against a wall, a cane pointing dangerously at her chest.

"We didn't place you in there and give the Voice of Hell the plans to this building for kicks and giggles. We need information."

Lori lowered her cane to the floor and sighed. The hallway around the two women was empty and long, fluorescent lights fading into the distance along with their reflections on tile.

"Hey, I'm risking my life here!" Skye argued. "Respect would be nice. Or at least shutting up and going on your merry way, because at this point I'll settle for that."

"And why are you risking your life, Skye?" Lori asked her. "Because at this point, I haven't seen jack. Have you seen jack? Or Jill, even?"

Skye ran her tongue over her canines. Lori raised an eyebrow.

"What I would think you would understand, Miss Diplomat 2008," Skye finally said, "is that terrorist groups organize themselves into cells. I have access to one cell. I met the Voice once…she was kinda hot and gave a good speech. But that doesn't mean they're gonna tell me jack or jill until it's time for me to blow myself up in the slayer rec room, which, just so you know, I'm probably not going to do."

"Given that, can you justify continuing the operation?" Lori asked.

"Just give me some time," Skye pleaded. "This place needs to get a break one way or the other."

"And you want to make sure you're the one to give it to

them?" Lori pressed. "Or maybe there's a different explanation. Maybe you're just biding your time, playing both sides until one looks like a winner…"

"Hey," Skye exclaimed. "I thought we were beyond that. I've grown as a vampire."

"Yes," Lori agreed. "You have grown. As a vampire. It's asking a lot for us to go to the trust place when you drink human blood."

"Only one human! Well, okay, actually two – but still!" Skye protested. Lori looked confused. "Never mind," Skye sighed, a serious look on her face. "Listen, I promise you on my soul's grave that I will bring you something you can use."

"And if not?"

Skye hesitated. "It'll happen." After a pause, she gestured toward the hallway and said, "Now if you don't mind, Dawn's waiting. We've got to finish packing for the watchers' retreat." Then she turned and walked away down the hallway, leaving Lori standing in her wake.

"There's a stake in this cane, you know," Lori called.

"Yeah, right," Skye smirked as she turned a corner.

Lori stood in place for a moment, twirling her cane lightly in two hands. Then she pressed a button and small wooden knife slipped from one end. She pressed the button again and the blade disappeared.

Cut To:Int.Watchers Council – Felix's Office – Moments Later

Felix heard a knock at his office door and looked up.

"Come in," he called out.

Lori walked inside and made her way over to his desk. "We need to talk," she said.

"Certainly, have a seat," he motioned.

"No time," she replied. "It's about Talisker. Have you seen her reports? Or I should say lack of reports?"

"Yes, not as fruitful as we hoped," he agreed.

"The question is what are we going to do about it?" Lori asked.

Felix tapped the pen in his hand against his desk.

Fade Out.

Three Days Later

Fade In:Int.Atomic Lanes Bowling Alley – Evening

Faith pulled at the strings on her hooded sweatshirt as she leaned against the shoe rental counter. She tapped her fingernails against the Formica top and quickly adjusted a pair of large black sunglasses.

Norman, wearing a new Red Sox baseball cap, laughed at her. "We can go back if you want."

"No." She removed her sunglasses and squinted at the harsh fluorescent lights above. "This was my idea. I just didn't realize how 'out-in-public' it would be."

"No one's recognized you yet," he assured her. "Besides, you look more hung over than famous."

Faith glared at him. "Funny guy." She pulled the bill of his cap down over his face and turned to the waiting rental attendant. "Seven and a half for me and…" Her eyes glanced down at her son's rather large feet. "Eleven?"

"Twelve," he corrected as he righted his hat.

She turned back to the attendant. "And a size twelve for my wickedly big-footed son here."

"You got it, lady," the attendant called as he headed toward the racks of shoes behind him. A tall blonde stopped him.

"I've got this, Chester. Why don't you head over to the concession stand." While her tone was soft, her dark brown eyes were quite clear. Chester scurried off as the blonde descended on Faith. "Ms. Lehane! I'm Monica Long, manager of Atomic Lanes. I hope you and…" Her eyes glanced over to Norman before quickly settling back on Faith. "…your friend are enjoying yourselves thus far."

Faith's eyes narrowed. "We were." The pair shared a quick stare-off. "Look, Monica, we're just here to enjoy some nice low-key bowling. Emphasis on low-key."

"I completely understand, Ms. Lehane." Monica nodded importantly. "A celebrity of your stature…" Faith rolled her eyes. "…must run into all kinds of wackos."

Faith nodded, looking right at Monica.

The manager went on, "I'll put you at an end lane so that no one bothers you. There's an exit close by, too, in case you want to leave quickly. Let me just get your shoes for you. Seven and a half, you said?"

"And a twelve," Faith added.

Monica nodded and turned to leave. She stopped mid spin, puffing up her chest. "Thank you for choosing Atomic Lanes. Your safety is paramount to us."

After she was gone, Faith turned to Norman and mouthed, "Paramount?"

Norman pointed up. He laughed when she looked at the ceiling.

Cut To:Int.Atomic Lanes – Lane 30 – Moments Later

"Do you get that a lot?" Norman asked as they reached the last lane of the dark bowling alley.

"Sadly, yes," Faith replied as she sat down on the hard plastic seat in front of the lane's computerized score keeper.

Norman was already removing his sneakers. "I think it's kind of cool being famous."

Faith sighed. "Not really, kiddo."

"Well, maybe not for actors and stuff, but for you it's different. You've saved the world. A lot. I bet people line up just to meet you and, I don't know, say thank you."

"It hasn't been that friendly recently."

Norman finished tying his bowling shoes. "Because of the book or because of Willow?" Faith didn't answer. "Have you read it?"

Faith pulled off her own boots. "Norm, this isn't my favorite subject right now. Can we not talk about this? Especially here."

Norman frowned but acquiesced. He stood up and moved to a rack of bowling balls, examining them carefully. "You know, besides the prison stuff, the book's pretty complimentary."

"New topic!"

He smiled. "Okay, I'm done." He selected a ball and placed it on the return rack. "So why bowling? Did you join a league?" His last question was said mostly in jest.

A small grin tugged at the corner of Faith's mouth. "I've bowled a few times. It's surprisingly fun."

"Spoken like someone who bowls a 300 every round." He sighed audibly. "It'd be fun to win every once in a while."

"Spoken like someone who's dating a slayer," she teased.

"Shannon and I are not dating," Norman corrected her. "She's more interested in guys who can drive right now," he said, defeated. "And who can grow facial hair, too."

Faith chuckled. "Ah, unrequited young love, huh?"

"Like you said, new topic please."

Faith took off his cap and tousled his hair quickly before stuffing it back on again. Norm tried to get away from the onslaught but failed. Faith then pulled on her left bowling shoe.

"If you're gonna fall for a slayer, though, just remember they're good at every-OUCH."

"Every-ouch?"

She pulled off the bowling shoe. "I think there's a rock or something in here." She shook it upside down in hope of dislodging the offending pebble. Nothing came out.

"Wear your boots," Norman suggested.

Faith shot him a look and stood up. "I'm going to run back and get a different pair. Why don't you put our names in the computer?"

Norman slid onto the chair she had just vacated. "What should I call you?"

"Anything but my real name."

"Faith Summers it is," he smiled. "Congrats by the way on your upcoming nuptials to Buffy."

"Not funny," she called back to him. "And stop reading the tabloids."

Cut To:Int.Faith and Robin's Apartment – Living Room – Later That Night

Robin lay lengthwise across the sofa reading a novel by the light of a small table lamp behind him. He ignored the low volume of the TV that was tuned to the local evening news.

"The O'Mara-Holton Disease Control and Prevention Act, which goes into effect tomorrow, marks the latest of Congresswoman O'Mara's recent legislative pushes and has fueled further speculation of a possible presidential campaign someday," droned the anchor. "At an early morning press conference, O'Mara had this to say."

A clip of the press conference filled the screen.

O'Mara spoke, "This legislation is not what some have called a 'ticket' to the White House. For too long this country has been vulnerable to

external matters of public health. As a representative of the state of Ohio, it is my duty to protect its citizens as well as all those who proudly call themselves Americ –"

Robin turned off the TV at the sound of jingling keys. He closed his book and sat up in time to see Faith and Norman enter.

"Hey," he said with a smile. "How'd it go?"

"Great!" Norman said. "I'm off to get some victory Rice Krispies treats," he said. "Even though she took it easy on me, a win is a win," he added before scampering away.

Faith closed the door, locked it, and sighed. She shuffled over to the couch and fell back next to Robin. "He beat me." She paused. "Twice."

"Ouch."

"That's not even the worse part," she added in a whisper. "He thinks I let him win."

Robin raised an eyebrow. "Did you?"

"Well, originally that was the plan," she continued, "but then he hit a strike and bet me I couldn't do the same. Thing is, I couldn't. And the more I tried to hit one, the worse I got."

"I'm sure you're exaggerating."

"I bowled a 34 the last game."

"Eww, that's bad."

"Thanks, you know I hate it when you sugar-coat it," she teased. Faith closed her eyes.

"Tired?" Robin asked as he nudged her shoulder ever so slightly.

"Yeah," she yawned.

"Okay, you head off to bed." He stood up, pulled her to her feet, and guided her to the bedroom. "I'll get Norm over to Buffy's for the night."

"B's stealing my kid," Faith muttered.

Robin gave a light chuckle. "She is not, and you know it. Norm just wants to get to know everyone here a bit better. The revolving door sleepovers are a great way. Besides, if anything, you should be happy he wants more of a connection to the people around here." Faith yawned again. "Anyway, try to stay awake. I'll be back soon," he said, leaning down and kissing her soundly.

"Giving me a reason to stay awake, huh?" Faith asked.

"You know it," Robin replied before heading toward the kitchen.

Cut To:Int.Faith and Robin's Apartment – Bedroom – A Short Time Later

Robin disappeared into the walk-in closet. "You in the mood for a game?"

Faith grinned and pulled off her sweatshirt. "As long as it's not bowling."

Robin emerged with a black silk tie. "I had something different in mind."

"Nice," she said, eyeing the garment. "Blindfold's kinda kinky, isn't it?"

"You've never complained before." His eyes were feral as he leaned in and covered her eyes, securing the blindfold with a loose knot. "Lie back."

Faith kindly obliged, sliding her body up the center of the bed. She let her head fall back as Robin's fingers tugged at the bottom of her tee-shirt. Once removed, he rested his hands on her jean-covered hips and attacked her neck.

"S'good," she mumbled as he sucked at her clavicle.

Robin kissed his way down her chest, ignoring her bra in favor of unbuttoning her jeans. He paused. "Should I keep going?" he teased.

"Mm hmm," was her near inaudible reply.

Sitting back, Robin removed his sweater and undershirt. He was about to unzip his own jeans when a strange noise escape his supine girlfriend.

"Babe?" He looked over.

Faith let out a low snore and rolled onto her side.

Fade Out

End of Teaser

Act One

Starring:

Lacey Chabert as Skye Talisker, Gale Harold as Jim Pollan, Caroline Dhavernas as Grace Hatherley, Elijah Woods as Jeff Lindquist, Michelle Rodriguez as Kadin Van Helsing, Laura Pyper as Casey Pierce, Alexis

Bledel as Denise, Tessa Thompson as Chamique, Robert Picardo as Dr. Albert Miller, Thora Birch as Tracey Hausser, Laura Prepon as Lori

Carew, and Gary Oldman as Mr. Jason Felix

Guest Starring:Marcia Cross as Autumn O'Mara, Morena Baccarin as The Voice of Hell, Rhona Mitra as Alex Neel, Kristy Swanson as Joan Arkham and Freddie

Highmore as Norman Hansen

Fade In:Ext.Hazelton, WV – Rural State Highway – Same Time

Alex Neel drove her slick silver hybrid slowly between lines of protesters as Xander sat in the passenger seat. The protesters carried poster board signs, chanted…forming an unintelligible cacophony. They closed in on either side of the car, and Alex sighed. One sign read "Honk for Willow" in bright green marker.

Alex honked.

A cheer went up, and the crowd parted slightly. Alex turned the car onto a drive and slowed to a stop

at a high metal gate. A line of guards stood in her way, glowering. Alex pressed a button, and the window slid down. She held out an ID to one of the guards.

"I'm the lawyer. This is Rosenberg's best friend," she said as she motioned to Xander. "I called ahead."

The guard examined the ID briefly then nodded. The line of guards parted; then the gate opened with a mechanical whirr.

Alex drove up the road, and the guards closed ranks behind her. The shouts of the protesters faded into the distance. As the gate clanged shut, the sign hung on it rattled briefly. It read "Hazelton Federal Detention Center for Special Offenders."

Cut To:Int.Federal Detention Center for Special Offenders – Series of Shots

– Alex and Xander put their arms out so that a female guard could run a wand metal detector over every inch of them. It whined at Alex's wrist. She sighed and pulled off her Rolex, dropping it in a cup.

– Alex's eyes rolled as she bent over so a different female guard could frisk her.

– Her briefcase hit a metal table with a bang. Hands in white plastic gloves snapped it open.

– Another guard, this one an African-American man, carefully read a sheaf of papers that he held in his hands.

Alex's hands were on her hips. "It's not subversive material; it's an official legal brief."

"Policy, ma'am."

– White plastic gloves screwed apart a fat black pen with gold trim, separating it into two halves. Each piece was carefully placed down on a metal table.

– A young man with purple streaks in his hair and far too much eye makeup shook a wood and feather talisman in front of Alex, making shapes in the air.

"Would it be rude of me to ask what they're paying you?" Alex asked. She got no response.

– The same young witch sprinkled some kind of dust over Alex's belongings as they spread over a table, the pen now in four parts. Nothing especially spectacular happened.

– The African-American man handed Alex her briefcase back. Her clothes were rumpled, and dust fell from her case.

"You're clean, folks. Thanks for your patience."

Alex gave him a jaded look. "You're welcome," she replied. As they walked away through a metal revolving door, she mumbled, "Like I'd be dumb enough to try and sneak anything spelled in here anyway…"

"Now, now," Xander said just as low. "They're doing their job of keeping the world safe from Willow – you know, the woman who helped save the world, like Faith."

Cut To:Int.Federal Detention Center – Visitation Room – Minutes Later

Alex and Xander sat on one side of the glass divider while Willow sat on the other. All three were holding phones to their ears.

"So, how's it feel to be Nelson Mandela?" Xander asked.

"Surprisingly enough, it kinda sucks." Willow, clad neck to ankle in a bright orange prison jumpsuit, flashed a smile from her seat. The holding area was pretty small, and they sat alone in the room except for a lone guard on each side.

"So…uh…what's your cell like?" Xander asked.

"Oh it's lovely – more roomy than the other cells I'm told. I wouldn't know because I'm in solitary. Just me, a sink, and a toilet. But on the upside the beautiful glowing green anti-magic bars keep me up most of the night with the light they give off so…you know…added bonus for not being rested."

Alex sat in a chair next to Xander, wanly returning her smile as she shuffled through the papers in a leather binder.

"Anyway," Willow continued, "I've got a ways to go before I give Mandela a run for his money. I haven't been here that long. And people liked him."

"People like you," Alex objected. Willow raised an eyebrow. Alex pressed on. "I'm serious. You should have seen the protesters we passed on the way in here."

"She's right," Xander told her. "Big poster painted signs and everything."

Willow sighed and leaned back on her hands. "Were most of them women, by any chance? Possibly holding hands with each other?"

Alex looked down at the contents of her folder. "Some of them looked like men…but…yeah, mostly women."

"I'm sure everyone in Washington is rushing to help the lesbian," Willow sighed.

"Well, one woman is," Xander told her. "Rowena took Andy, Grace, and the kids and went to Capitol Hill to try to make some headway."

"Any luck?" she asked.

"Not as of yet," Alex replied. "But she just got there, so let's give it some time."

"I've been waiting for three months now – I haven't even had a trial yet. How much more time do I have to give?" she said, frustrated. "I'm sorry," she said immediately. "I know all you guys are trying. I do. It's just…" She let the sentence hang unfinished. "So, what'd ya bring me?" Willow asked brightly, trying to change her mood. "Is it a cake with a bomb baked into it, like on Duck Tales? That'd be helpful. Plus, hey, cake."

"Papers to sign." Alex pulled a particular sheaf from her stack and held them up to the glass for her to see.

"Papers with a bomb baked into them?" Willow asked hopefully.

"You realize they're listening to us, right?" Alex asked with a vague air of impatience.

"Oh, well, what are they going to do? Put me in jail without a trial? Oh, wait a minute. That's what they're doing now." She quickly read over the top page Alex held there. "Request for Expedited Hearing?" she read. "Didn't I already sign one of these?"

"Three, actually," Alex sighed. "The process isn't moving nearly as fast as I would like."

"How about what I would like?" Willow replied. She got to her feet. "It's been three months and no hearing. Nothing! I have babies. Little baby children who will probably forget me if they haven't already. Not to mention a wife and a life and a job that can mean life and death for people. And instead of being there, I'm stuck in solitary, wrapped in one mother of a power dampener, and practicing doing chin-ups. Chin-ups, Alex!" She ended her diatribe with a deep breath, taking her seat again.

"Welcome to Hazelton," Alex said darkly. "I've been working for exceptional people and…other beings, for a while now, and I've never seen anything like this. It's Guantanamo Bay for the magically inclined."

"So, the trial's still nowhere in sight?" Willow asked, running a hand through her hair.

Alex nodded. "Near as I can figure, they're not sure they have enough evidence to convict you, but thanks to the Patriot Act and Homeland Security, they want to keep you locked up as long as possible."

"Who's 'they'?" Willow sounded exasperated.

"We don't know," Xander admitted.

"Right," Alex added. "And believe me, if my bosses don't know…it's a really big secret."

Willow sighed. "So, what can I do?"

Alex pointed to the floor. "You can sign the paper. We keep trying. It's all we can do without a Presidential pardon."

Willow gestured for her to hand over the files. Alex turned and motioned the guard over, handing him the papers.

"Actually," Alex said, "we've been discussing alternative avenues."

"Yeah," Xander said. "Like the one Rowena's working on now."

"And?" Willow prompted.

"And…other stuff," Xander said.

"Like?"

"They've really tied our hands here, Will," he told her.

"Son of a…" Willow muttered as the door to her side opened and a guard walked in handing her the papers and a pen. She signed her name and gave the papers back, and the guard left as quickly as he came.

"Now what?" Willow asked.

"We hurry up and wait," Alex told her.

"Are the kids sitting up on their own?" Willow asked Xander. "When I left, they were trying."

He licked his lips nervously. "Yeah," he replied. "They're ahhh…yeah, but only if you prop them up. Otherwise they fall over to the side like a sack of potatoes."

Xander smiled, as did Willow, but the expression didn't last long on her face.

"Hopefully I'll know more by the time they're walking, right?" Willow asked Alex.

"That is our goal," Alex said.

"What about Buffy?" Willow asked Xander.

"She's fine. She can sit up on her own," Xander teased.

Willow grinned. "I meant have you asked her out yet?" Xander anxiously rubbed the back of his neck. "I'll take that as a no," Willow continued. "You gotta do it, Xan. I see how chummy you guys have been lately. Well, you were…it's been a while since I've seen you guys together…Really, you shouldn't wait."

"Jeez, Will," Xander sighed. "You sound like you're dying, offering your last advice or something."

"Just because my life is on hold doesn't mean yours should stop," she told him. "Take advantage of the freedom you have and be brave. Don't waste the time you have, okay? Promise me?"

"I will promise nothing," Xander replied. "But I'll certainly give it serious consideration. How's that?"

"Is that the best I'm going to get?" Willow asked.

"'Fraid so," Xander replied.

Willow sighed. "Well, I'll take what I can get." She then turned to Alex. "So, lady lawyer extraordinaire…how long on this paperwork?"

"Their case is nothing more than hearsay. But getting a trial to prove that is our biggest problem right now."

"What's the bottom line?" the witch asked.

"I won't make promises, Willow, because as I said, this is something we've never encountered. But I'm doing all I can," Alex replied.

Willow nodded. "I know. I know. I'm sorry if I'm testy."

"It's understandable and justified," Alex replied. "I am too."

The guard brought the papers back to Alex. "Time's up, ma'am," he told her.

Xander put his hand against the glass. Willow seemed reluctant at first, but then she did the same. "Tell Ro and the kids I love 'em, okay? Everybody actually."

"Faith too?" Xander asked.

Willow groaned and looked away. "Just do it, all right?" she said, turning back to him.

"You bet, Will," Xander told her. "You hang in there."

Willow just nodded and then hung up the phone, looking doleful.

Cut To:Ext.Washington, DC – Establishing Shot – Day

The white dome of the US Capitol building and the spike of the Washington Monument soared above the tree line, symbols of the old American power. The Potomac River flowed among cherry blossoms in the foreground.

Cut To:Int.Congressional Office Building – Hallway – Same Time

The thick oaken door slammed shut with a bang, leaving Rowena and Grace standing slightly stunned in the hallway. A brass nameplate on the door read "Rep. Joseph Ankiel."

"Well, that didn't work," Grace commented dryly.

Rowena sighed and shook her head. She took a moment to gather herself before beginning to walk down the hall. Grace hurried to follow.

"This isn't what I expected," Rowena said as they walked. "We've spent years building up these contacts. Robin and Jim and now with Oversight…this isn't the first time we've pulled these strings."

"Ankiel sponsored the Slayer Emancipation Act," Grace commented as she brushed past a scurrying intern. "The strings have decided they don't want to be pulled this time. And Oversight has to have a couple of stray senators in their pocket, but for whatever reason, there's not much happening on that front."

"Which leaves us with the question of why," Rowena continued. "It doesn't make sense. None of this makes sense. It's like some kind of…"

"Conspiracy?" Grace ventured. "My feeling is, conspiracies are usually ruled out by Occam's razor."

"Well, I don't see any simple explanation for any of this. I take it you have an alternative theory?"

"O'Mara's the rising superstar, maybe a president someday if you believe the polls. The race is on to see who gets to be the top flunkies. She needs to look tough on something – why not us?"

Rowena stopped in her tracks. "Speak of the devil."

Autumn O'Mara was walking quickly down the hallway in the opposite direction, a chunky female aide in tow.

"Let's ask her." Rowena broke into a run. "Congresswoman!" she called, and O'Mara came up short.

"Councilor Allister," she acknowledged guardedly. Rowena and Grace stood on either side of her, effectively pinning the Congresswoman against the wall. Seeing the worried look from her aide, O'Mara said, "It's all right, Darlene. I'll meet you at Ways & Means."

As her aide walked away, O'Mara turned back to Rowena and Grace. "Is there something I can help you two ladies with?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact," Rowena replied. "I'd like to speak to you about my wife."

"Your wife in a marriage that is unsanctioned by the state of Ohio," O'Mara commented. Rowena visibly stiffened, and Grace's eyes widened. "I suppose you can't get a pardon from an overstuffed actor this time…Miss Rosenberg's crimes are federal."

"Alleged crimes. Willow has never been convicted of anything," Grace protested. "And yet they seem to be able to keep her locked up until judgment day without a trial…"

"I'm sorry," O'Mara said. "But I can't help you."

"You're the Chair of the Supernatural Relations Committee," Rowena pointed out. O'Mara turned to face her. Seeing she had her attention, Rowena pressed on. "I know there's been a rift between your office and the Watchers Council. I'm not sure how it happened…we bring jobs to your district, keep it safe, we've even made a few contributions to your campaigns, but you go on national TV and act like we're the villains here."

"I can only act according to my conscience…" the Congresswoman answered stiffly. "…especially in light of recent events just brought to my attention."

"Faith Lehane," Rowena began.

"Not Miss Lehane," O'Mara cut her short. "This is something far worse, and you know what I mean."

Rowena sighed. "Look, I'm offering a clean slate here. I think it'd be advantageous to both sides not to have the other as an enemy. All we need is someone to get us time with the President so that we can ask him for a pardon. Truce?"

Rowena held out her hand. Autumn O'Mara stared at it for a long moment, her breaths surprisingly short and nervous. Grace raised an eyebrow. Finally, O'Mara said, "I'm sorry. I have a committee to get to."

She didn't take Rowena's hand. Instead, she edged away from the two women, making sure not to touch them as she extricated herself. She then walked briskly away down the hall.

"What the frak is her problem?" Grace asked, exasperated.

Rowena stared after the Congresswoman's retreating back and finally lowered her extended hand.

"I wish I knew," she said softly.

Cut To:Int.Watchers Council – Conference Room – Later

Faith, Robin, Kennedy, Jason, and Lori sat at various points of a too-large conference table. The room was a little too dark and a little too quiet. Kennedy drummed her fingernails on the table. Lori clicked the top of her pen repeatedly. Faith yawned.

Kennedy turned to Faith, a little too quickly, and asked, "Are you feeling okay?" Everyone in the room turned to look.

"Sorry?" Faith asked softly.

"You've got…circles." Kennedy pointed to her own eyes.

"Five by five," Faith told her. "Just…"

"What?" Robin asked.

Faith turned and looked at him for a beat. "Achy." She rolled her neck and grimaced.

"Maybe you're coming down with something," Kennedy suggested.

That brought a headshake from Faith. "No. I've never been sick since I became a slayer…ever. A little run down? Sure. Besides, Norman's in town, and you know how he likes to run in circles. Maybe I'm just not cut out for motherhood."

"Maybe you should –" Robin began to venture, but he was cut off when the door banged open and Buffy strode in.

"Sorry I'm late," she announced before she'd even sat down. "Just got off the phone with Xander in West Virginia and Ro in D.C."

"Any luck?" Lori asked, sitting forward in her seat.

Buffy just shook her head. "Willow signed some papers, Xander said. He and Alex should be here in a few hours."

Faith slumped in her chair, the circles under her eyes looking particularly dark.

"Ro had no luck either?" Robin asked.

Buffy again shook her head.

"They're headed back to the hotel and'll get back late tonight, so…" She looked up to see Joan enter the room carrying a sheaf of papers. Joan had a blue wrist brace on one arm and hand.

"You forgot these," Joan said. "Mission reports from last night?"

Buffy bobbed her head. "Right, right. Thanks."

As Joan handed the papers over, Felix asked her, "How is your…carpal tunnel, is it?"

Joan nodded. "Getting better, I think. It's all her fault." She jerked her good thumb towards Buffy. "This lady never learned to type."

"I was kinda busy, saving the world and all," Buffy said defensively, but Joan was already on her way out the door with a final wave.

Faith yawned again, drawing glances from everyone else.

Robin cleared his throat. "It will be nice to get a few more friendly faces around here. I feel like we've been running with a skeleton crew the past couple of days."

"I think the watchers' retreat is important," Lori said. "We've just been working them so hard with…everything."

"But there's only a few more days," Kennedy asked eagerly. "Right?"

Buffy gave her a suspicious glance before replying. "Jim'll keep them out of trouble. He's good at…shepherding."

"And I'm sure he's keeping an extra-close eye on Dawn and her bestest vampire friend," Faith said, an unsuccessful attempt at a wry grin on her face. She had opened her mouth to continue when she winced and put a hand to her forehead.

"Okay, that's it," Kennedy told her.

"What's going on?" Buffy asked.

Kennedy looked over her shoulder at Buffy. "Faith's sick."

"She's sick?" Buffy repeated. "How can you be sick? You're a slayer."

"I'm not sick," Faith insisted.

"Faith," Robin said firmly, "I get it, I do, but we've all been under a lot of stress lately, especially you."

"Yeah," Buffy agreed. "The only time I can remember feeling flu-y is that time when I felt guilty about…" She saw Kennedy looking at her quizzically. "…stuff."

"I'm not feeling guilty!"

"Maybe," Robin said, "but you definitely need rest."

Faith looked around the room and suddenly had no more energy to argue this. "Yeah, okay."

She sniffed loudly and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. She looked startled when her hand came away smeared with blood. "What the –"

Kennedy saw the blood on Faith's face, coming from her nose. "Oh, jeez. Does anybody have a Kleenex?"

Lori dug in her bag and produced a small pack, sliding it across the table. Kennedy pulled out a white tissue.

"Lean your head back," the slayer said.

"No, that's the worst thing you can do," Lori said. "Keep her head straight."

"I think she should –" Kennedy began again.

"Guys!" Robin said, quieting them.

"What's happening?" Faith asked worriedly as Kennedy helped press the tissue under her nose.

"You've just got a bloody nose," Kennedy told her. "My half-sister used to get them all the damn time…just hold still."

"That never happened to me," Buffy pointed out.

"Maybe we should get you to Dr. Miller," Robin suggested.

"No," Faith said as she pulled the tissue away. "I just need to lie down for a while…"

"Well, I think it's stopped," Kennedy told her. She handed Faith the pack of Kleenex. "You should probably take these with you."

Faith nodded and took them. She got up, then stumbled, holding her head. Buffy looked genuinely worried now.

Faith turned to Robin. "Little help here?" she asked sheepishly.

Cut To:Int.Washington, DC – L'Enfant Plaza Hotel – Later

Andrew removed his hands from his face, revealing a big smile. "Hellllllooooo!"

Baby Alex laughed hysterically in the portable crib, while Jen just stared, wide-eyed at this strange man. Andrew put his hands over his face again.

"Where'd I go?" he said in a voice pitched high for baby ears. "Where am I?" Then he pulled his hands away again. "Here I am!"

More wild laughing came from Alex, distinguished by his blue diaper. Jen's was a light pink.

Andrew turned when he heard the door of the hotel room open and close behind him.

Rowena sighed and slumped against the wall.

"I guess I don't have to ask how it went," Andrew said.

Grace didn't even look at him. "I need to pee like a racehorse that drank a lot of Gatorade." She closed the bathroom door behind her.

Rowena rolled her eyes then asked tiredly, "How are they?"

"Doing just fine, thank you, though I think Jen's a little jet-lagged," Andrew replied as Rowena walked over.

"We're in the same time zone, Andrew. Jet lag isn't possible."

"Still, you could have left them with us at the Council for one night, you know."

Rowena picked up Jen just as the baby girl began crying. "I know, I know. You're hungry," she cooed. As she patted Jen on the back, she said, "I can't leave them. Not when they're already down one mother. Shh, shh."

"I can't believe no one would help you," Andrew sighed as he picked up Alex. "What'd they say?"

"The ones that would talk to us said they're still working on relief efforts for the Southwest and don't have time for my cause célèbre," Rowena told him. "The others were less polite. O'Mara wouldn't even shake my hand."

"That's a new kind of rude," Andrew said as he sat down on one of the room's double beds. Jen's crying was starting to quiet down as she began to nurse. "Who does that woman think she is?"

After a moment of relative silence, he turned to see Rowena looking about as pensive as one can look with a baby in her arms.

"What are you thinking?" he asked.

"Something's going on here," Rowena told him. "Something more than a politician running off at the mouth, I mean."

Andrew's brow furrowed. "Like what? The Congresswoman's a lot of things, but she's not Emperor Palpatine. Well…she's prettier, anyway."

Rowena shrugged. "I don't know. But I have a feeling we need to find out."

The tense moment was broken by the loud noise of flushing coming from the bathroom. Rowena sighed.

"Having fun rooming with Grace?" Andrew asked.

"The weird thing is, that girl's a sponge."

"She's a what now?"

"A sponge – she soaks up everything going on around her. I wouldn't be surprised if she's running things someday."

Andrew looked from Rowena to the bathroom door and back. "Nah," he finally said. "Her hair's not shiny enough."

For the first time since arriving, Rowena smiled.

Cut To:Int.Congressional Office Building – Autumn O'Mara's Office – Later

Autumn O'Mara squirted an unnecessarily copious green blob of hand sanitizer onto one palm. She leaned back in the large leather chair

behind her desk as she compulsively rubbed the goo all over both hands.

Her office was dimly lit, the curtains drawn over the lone window. Trophies and citations cluttered the shelves. A panoramic photo of a flooded downtown Cleveland covered one wall. "Never Forget," the caption read. A young female aide shifted nervously on the far side of the Congresswoman's desk.

"Where are we on the press conference?" O'Mara asked as she continued to spread sanitizer over her hands.

"Um, Gerald prepared another draft of your statement, based on your comments," the aide said, placing a sheaf of papers on the desk. "He added the, uh…new information."

O'Mara glanced over the papers. "Good," she commented. "Very good. Darlene, I want to thank you, Gerald, and the rest of my staff for your hard work these past few months."

Darlene looked startled. "Thank you, ma'am."

"I understand it's been difficult on everyone," O'Mara continued as she reached over for another squirt of sanitizer. "Great things don't come easy. But we're so close now…" She looked directly into Darlene's eyes. "After the events of the next few weeks, no one will challenge us. There will a place for you, Darlene, a place for all of you, in the new administration. That's the sort of job security not many can count on these days. Are we on the same page?"

Darlene looked down at her shoes. "Yes, ma'am," she said quietly.

O'Mara went back to rubbing her hands raw. "Good. That will be all, Darlene."

After Darlene meekly left the office, closing the door behind her, O'Mara reached up to the cord around her neck. She pulled out an uneven black stone from where it had hung inside her pantsuit. She fingered it for a moment, staring deeply into its dark interior.

Then she laughed. It was a giggle at first, growing into a loud cackle that filled the room.

Cut To:Int.Faith and Robin's Apartment – Later That Day

As laughter faded to an echo some strange place in the distance, Norman walked through Faith's apartment.

"Hey, Faith!" he called. "The door was unlocked…" He was greeted by nothing but silence. "You said I should stop by for your famous Cheez Whiz and ketchup sandwiches."

Still nothing. Norman kept walking until he entered the living room and saw Faith, eyes closed, sprawled over the couch. Her head rested on a sweatshirt that had been made into a makeshift pillow.

Norman rolled his eyes. "Boy, you slayers sure are deep sleepers," he commented. He walked over to the couch and shouted, "Hey, Faith!"

Faith didn't move.

"Faith, wake up!" Norman shouted, a look of concern growing on his face. He shook her by the shoulders, but this still failed to rouse her.

Norman spoke through the lump in his throat. "Faith?…Mom?"

Faith appeared to be resting peacefully on her old, ratty sweatshirt.

"Mommy?"

Fade Out

End of Act One

Act TwoLos Angeles, June 2003

Fade In:Int.SUV – Night

Faith's eyes were closed. She sat in the passenger seat, completely relaxed, leaning back against the head rest.

"We gonna get there any time soon? I'm startin' to feel wicked retarded."

Robin smiled from the driver's seat. "Keep 'em closed. And yes we're almost there."

Faith sighed dramatically. A few seconds passed before her eyebrows lowered quickly as though an intriguing thought had suddenly popped into her head.

"This is the first time we've been together since we got out of Sunnydale. I mean like alone together."

"You know I think you're right."

The conversation halted as Robin pulled the SUV into a parking lot and turned off the engine. A bright pink light flashed off the hood, its origin a large neon sign that read "Wonders of the World Lanes."

They sat for several seconds, Faith's eyes still shut.

"Robin," Faith asked, "is this a date?" Her tone implied that she was genuinely unsure.

He took a moment to reply. "Do you want it to be?"

"I guess I'm okay with it."

Robin smiled. "In that case, open your eyes."

Faith complied, leaning forward a bit in her seat to get a better view out the windshield. Her eyes found the large neon sign and widened in awe. "Wow." She looked over at Robin. "You win. I'm surprised." Her eyes drifted back to the sign. "We're actually going bowling?"

"Up for it?"

"Yeah," she replied. "It's just so not me. It's way too normal." She smiled. "We gonna go pick out some lawn furniture after this?"

"If you want," he countered, not missing a beat. "I saw a Wal-Mart a few blocks down. I'm sure they're rolling back prices in anticipation of our arrival."

Faith eyed Robin curiously. "So why bowling? You part of a league or something?"

"Not quite," he replied. "Before I moved to Sunnydale, I worked with some youth leagues. We'd take the kids every now and then. I haven't bowled in years, though. You?"

She shook her head.

"Ever?" he asked.

"Nope. It wasn't exactly high on my list of afterschool activities. And then, you know, jail."

"Well, you're in luck then," he explained in a stiff yet cheesy tone, "because here at Wonders of the World Lanes – according to their website – you'll have the time of your life as you bowl in the midst of iconic world monuments while emperors and pharaohs alike serve you nachos and cheese fries."

"With a sales pitch like that, how can I refuse? Sign me up, Mr. Principal."

"Excellent." He opened the driver side door and climbed out. "Oh, by the way," he said, poking his head back into Faith's view, "I hope you're not going to be a poor sport when I embarrass you on the lanes." He slammed the door.

Faith's jaw dropped. She practically catapulted out her side of the car. "Excuse me?" She shut her door and rounded the front of the car. "What makes you think you're going to win?"

"Call it a hunch."

Faith scoffed and pointed back towards herself. "Slayer."

"And your point is?" Robin said as he breezed past her on his way to the entrance.

"Oh, it's on now," she called as she followed after him. "You're going down. You and the pharaohs of Europe."

"You mean the pharaohs of Egypt?"

"Them too."

Cleveland, Present Day

Cut To:Int.Faith and Robin's Apartment – Resume

"Faith, open your eyes." Robin had a hand on Faith's wrist, taking her pulse. He patted her skin lightly. "Babe, come on. Wake up."

Norman stood behind him looking worried. "Should I have called 911?"

"You did the right thing by getting me," Robin said in a soft tone. He retrieved a cell phone from his pocket. "Call Dr. Miller. Speed number 8. Tell him I'm bringing Faith down."

Norman nodded and took the phone. He backed up as Robin lifted Faith into his arms. Limping slightly on his prosthetic, he carried her out the door.

Cut To:Int.Watchers Council – Infirmary – Moments Later

Norman pushed open the double doors, trying his best to hold them open as Robin brought Faith through.

"Over here," Dr. Miller called as he stood by a vacant bed. He went to work as soon as Robin set her down. "What happened?"

"She wouldn't wake up," Norman replied. He stood at the foot of the bed, looking extremely pale. "She was on the couch, and I thought she was sleeping, but she didn't answer."

With the knuckles of his right hand, Dr. Miller pushed forcefully against Faith's sternum. "Faith?" he called loudly. When she still didn't respond, he tilted her head back slightly and watched her breathing. Her breaths were slow but steady.

"How long has she been like this?" he finally asked.

"We're not exactly sure," Robin replied.

Cut To:Int.Watchers Council – Infirmary – Moments Later

Faith was now lying under the covers with an IV in place at the back of her hand. Norman sat in a chair not far away, his eyes gazing back and forth between Faith and a wall mounted television that Robin had suggested he turn on.

Across the room Dr. Miller and Robin spoke in whispered tones with Buffy and Kennedy.

"What do we know?" Buffy asked, looking at Faith in concern.

"Not a lot," Dr. Miller sighed. "She has a moderately high fever and relatively steady vitals. I'm concerned about her pulse, though. It's climbed from 80 to 90 since Robin brought her in."

"That's not that high, is it?" Kennedy asked. "I thought between 80 and 100 was normal."

"For a normal person yes," Dr. Miller explained, "but not a slayer. I'd expect a number in the low fifties."

"Could this be a side effect of Christabel's poison?" Robin asked.

Dr. Miller shook his head. "I doubt it. I detected no paralysis. Her body is responding to stimuli. She just won't wake up." He paused. "I'm tempted to suspect some kind of vi –"

"Robin!" Norman called loudly.

The four adults flooded over to Faith's bedside.

"What is it, Norm?" Robin asked quickly, his eyes never leaving his fiancée.

"Look," Norman replied. He pointed up at the television, on which a local news syndicate had interrupted with breaking news. The scrolling text at the bottom of the screen read: "Mystical virus infects Watchers Council."

Buffy's eyes widened. "Turn it up."

"…new information as soon as it becomes available," the news anchor droned. "To repeat, earlier this morning the Center for Disease Control

was tipped off to a mystical virus present at the Watchers Council home office in Cleveland, Ohio. The CDC has since confirmed that the virus is currently uncontained and that dozens within the Council have been infected. We go now to Washington, DC, where Congresswoman O'Mara is about to speak on this incident."

The image cut to the sunny white steps of the Capitol Building, where O'Mara stood before a cadre of reporters, her speech already in progress. "…Council has been an icon of hope for many people. There is no disputing the good that they have done for the United States," O'Mara looked thoroughly disgusted by the words she spoke, "and the rest of the world. However, recent events force us to take pause and reevaluate our trust in this organization. No individual person, corporation, or governmental…"

Cut To:Int.Giles and Becca's House – Same Time

With Elizabeth napping in Giles' lap, he watched the news feed.

"…institution is above the laws of this country. At approximately 9:36 this morning, the Cleveland field office of the CDC was alerted to what they have termed a 'mystical pathogen.' It is a deadly virus that is believed to have been created by the Watchers Council."

Giles sat up as much as he could without disturbing Elizabeth. "What the…?"

"It is suspected that the Council had planned terrorist actions in order to liberate Council founder Willow Rosenberg, who is currently incarcerated on charges of cyber crimes against the federal government." O'Mara paused briefly as the group of reporters in front of her reacted to the news. "Two hours ago I was informed that the Cleveland Branch of the Watchers Council has been infected and that there has been at…"

Cut To:Int.Federal Detention Center – Willow's Cell – Same Time

Willow stared past the light green field at a television monitor that was mounted high on the wall opposite her cell. Several guards watched as well.

"…least one fatality. It is with great sorrow that I report the death of Faith Lehane." O'Mara pauses again as the reporters began barraging her with questions. She held up her hands to quiet them.

Willow sat back onto her cot, her eyes wide with shock and grief.

Cut To:Int.Watchers Council – Infirmary – Same Time

Norman looked like he was going to be sick. He touched Faith's arm as if to confirm that she was still alive.

"But she's not, is she?" Norman asked.

"No, buddy. I don't know what she's talking about," Robin replied.

Buffy and Robin exchanged a meaningful glance.

"Or how she would even know she's sick," Buffy added.

Back on the television, O'Mara had regained order. "Please. As a nation we must put our grief aside and move forward. The Council's virus poses an immediate health threat to the people of Cleveland. As stipulated by the O'Mara-Holton Disease Control and Prevention Act, the Center for Disease Control has direct authorization to quarantine the Cleveland branch of the Watchers Council. They have advised all residents of the Lake Erie area to stay…"

Buffy didn't wait for O'Mara to finish her speech. "What the hell is going on?"

"We've got company," Kennedy said from her spot by the window. Looking down, she saw a half dozen white vans pull up to the street in front of the building.

"Robin," Buffy commanded as she reached for her cell phone. "Seal the building. Until we figure this out, no one gets in this building."

"Are you sure that's wise?" Dr. Miller asked tentatively. "If this is some kind of virus…"

"If it is mystical, and that's a big if, then the last thing we need is guys in white suits running around telling us what to do." Buffy looked back to Robin. "Have Jeff start working on some kind of shielding spell. I have a feeling we're going to need it."

Robin nodded, cast one final glance at Faith's unconscious form, and sped out of the room.

Buffy's phone rang. Before she answered it, she turned to Dr. Miller and barked, "Find out what's wrong with Faith." Looking down at her cell's caller ID, she opened the phone. "She's not dead, Giles." Buffy summoned Kennedy to follow and headed toward the door still talking into her phone. "We're working on it…"

Once the slayers were gone, Dr. Miller retreated to his office leaving Norman alone with Faith. He glanced back up at the television where O'Mara was now fielding questions from the press. He turned it off.

Cut To:Int.Giles and Becca's House – Moments Later

After exhaling a deep breath, Giles closed his cell phone and quickly reopened it. He pressed several buttons and waited, glancing down at his daughter's sleeping form. After two rings the call connected.

"Giles?" Rowena said.

"Faith's alive," Giles blurted.

"Uh, Okay…"

Cut To:Int.Washington, DC – L'Enfant Plaza Hotel – Same Time

Rowena scratched her head as she held her cell phone to her ear. "Is something wrong?"

Silence.

"Ro, are you near a television?"

Rowena sat down on the edge of her stiff hotel room bed and clicked on the TV. Congresswoman O'Mara appeared before her, talking animatedly while text scrolled below her face. Rowena's eyes widened, and she jumped to her feet. "I've got to get back."

"No, stay put," Giles ordered. "I've spoken with Buffy. We're not sure what O'Mara thinks she's doing, but if there is a virus, you and the twins need to stay away." He paused. "Extend your trip until it's safe to return."

Rowena's eyes darted to the adjoining room's door. She hesitated for only a second. "Yeah, you're right." She was quiet for a few seconds. "Is Faith okay?"

"She is ill," Giles replied. "But according to Buffy they made no announcement of her illness and certainly nothing stating she was dead."

"I should head back – tell Willow that Faith is really alive," Rowena told him.

Cut To:Int.Giles and Becca's House – Moments Later

"I'll go to Willow and explain what's going on," Giles assured. His phone beeped, and he looked down at the number. "Listen, Becca's calling me from her bookshop. You stay in Washington for now. I'll call in a few hours or if there's any change with Faith."

Cut To:Int.Washington, DC – L'Enfant Plaza Hotel – Same Time

"Thanks, Giles." Rowena closed her phone and sat back down on the bed, her shoulders heavy with the weight of the situation.

Just then Grace and Andrew entered through the adjoining door, each with a twin in their arms. Grace spoke, "Ro, your kids poop like my cousin Sam did after he ate a whole tub of Crisco when he was five. What are you feeding…?" She trailed off when her eyes fell on the TV screen.

Andrew's voice was quiet as he read the screen. "Council virus attack goes awry? When did this happen?"

Rowena looked toward the floor lost in thought. She raised her head and announced in a soft voice, "She wouldn't touch us."

Grace looked confused. "Who touched huh?" she asked.

"O'Mara. Remember when we saw her today?" Rowena asked. "She avoided us like we had the plague."

"You're thinking maybe she knew we had the plague?" Grace asked.

Rowena gave a short nod. "Yeah, I thought she was just a mega-bitch, spouting about 'what we did' and how Willow erased Faith's record…but…maybe there was more to it all."

Rowena looked back up at Grace and Andrew. "Are you guys feeling okay?"

Grace and Andrew now looked at each other with concern.

"Yeah," they both replied.

"I guess so," Andrew added. "Of course, now that you mention it, my throat feels scratchy." He began to rub his neck.

"It's all in your head," Grace told him. "It's like when someone mentions lice, and you automatically scratch your head. We're all fine, but the Council obviously is not." As Andrew began to scratch his head subconsciously, Rowena seemed to be staring again, not listening. "What are you thinking?" Grace asked her.

Rowena looked up again. "The Council never contacted the government according to Giles, so how did they know?" Grace didn't have an answer. "Still believing Occam's razor?" Rowena asked skeptically when she didn't reply.

Grace still didn't have an answer.

Fade Out.

Fifteen Hours Later

Fade In:Int.Watchers Council – Conference Room – Early Morning

Once more, Buffy, Robin, Kennedy, Jason, and Lori sat at various points of the too-large conference table; however, this time Faith's chair was occupied by Dr. Miller. The group looked tired, though none more so than Dr. Miller, who had dark circles beneath his eyes.

Buffy spoke, her tone grave. "Jeff's shielding spell is holding for now," she sighed, "but he can't keep O'Mara's lackeys out forever."

"How long do you plan on keeping them out?" Lori asked from her place beside Jason. He looked over at her, an eyebrow raised at her question.

"For as long as I'm still standing," Buffy replied irritably.

"You're serious?" Lori shot back just as irritably. "It's the CDC, not some invading army. The longer we keep them out, the guiltier we look to the public. It's all over the news."

"Lori," Jason warned.

"No, Jason. Don't tell me you're on her side about this." Lori stood up. "Those people outside are here to help us, but she's so set on keeping control of the situation that she's going to put us all in danger."

"Sit down," Kennedy ordered.

Lori hesitated for a moment before acquiescing.

Buffy looked at her wearily. "Those people outside, the ones you think are here to help, seem to know an awful lot about what's happening to us. According to O'Mara, they knew it before we did. Now I may just be a control freak of a slayer, but that tells me that they could be responsible. So excuse me if I don't go downstairs and greet them with open arms. Don't ever doubt for a second that my first priority is the safety of everyone in the building. Even yours." Buffy's eyes found Kennedy's. "What's the tally at?"

"Ten," the dark haired slayer replied. "So far."

"What about our non-slayer personnel?" Robin asked. "Do we know if this is isolated to slayers?"

"It's not," Buffy replied, rubbing her eyes. "Jason?"

Lori, still looking annoyed, slid a piece of paper over to Jason, who took it and read. "Ethan and Cam Rayne, three secretaries, and a janitor from the custodial staff have reported symptoms within the last three hours."

Dr. Miller took up the thread. "All of them are exhibiting the same symptoms: high fevers, elevated pulses, and a few had developed nose bleeds. Nothing life threatening, but en masse this is certainly cause for concern." He paused and removed his glasses. "Faith's condition has begun to deteriorate."

"How bad?" Kennedy asked quickly. Next to her Robin didn't react, his expression grim as if he already knew the answer.

"She's having trouble breathing," Dr. Miller replied. "Unless I can find an effective treatment, I may need to put her on a ventilator."

There was a moment of silence before Buffy spoke. "Doc, you've been working on this all night. What is it?"

"A pathogen," he replied.

"So the Congresswoman is right. It is a virus," Jason concluded.

"I believe so," Dr. Miller continued, "though I doubt it's mystical. All my testing leads me to believe that this is biological. I've been in contact with a few ex-colleagues at the University of Maryland medical school. They've helped me refine a theory."

The group looked on expectantly.

Flash To:Ext.Atomic Lanes – Lane 30 – Night

Faith took off Norman's cap and tousled his hair quickly before stuffing it back on again. Norm tried to get away from the onslaught but failed. Faith then pulled on her left bowling shoe.

Voiceover, Dr. Miller: "Faith was ground zero. She was the first to be infected."

Faith still smiled at the boy. "If you're gonna fall for a slayer, though, just remember they're good at every-OUCH."

"Every-ouch?"

She pulled off the bowling shoe. "I think there's a rock or something in here." She shook it upside down in hope of dislodging the offending pebble. Nothing came out.

Voiceover, Dr. Miller: "The virus would need time to incubate before becoming contagious."

Flash To:Int.Faith and Robin's Apartment – Bedroom – Early Morning

With a large yawn Faith blinked the sleep from her eyes as she stretched beneath the covers over her bed.

Voiceover, Dr. Miller: "A few hours, given the rapid progression of Faith's symptoms."

Slowly, and with her eyes half closed, she rolled over to Robin's side of the bed and gave him a quick peck on the lips. His skin glowed gold at the spot of the kiss.

Flash To:Int.Watchers Council – Buffy's Office – Late Morning

Buffy sat at her desk, a look of intense concentration upon her face as she studied a pale gray piece of paper. A knock on the door made her look up.

Voiceover, Dr. Miller: "From there the process continues."

Buffy hid the crossword in her desk drawer and said, "Come in."

Robin entered and marched over to the desk. He handed her a folder, their hands momentarily touching. Buffy's hand glowed.

Flash To:Int.Watchers Council – Joan's Office – Early Afternoon

Buffy walked into Joan's office without knocking. Joan sat at her desk with a pair of headphones on. The music was loud enough for Buffy to hear. She tapped Joan's shoulder.

Voiceover, Dr. Miller: "And continues…"

Buffy handed Joan the same folder that Robin had given her. She raised an eyebrow. "Little Mermaid?"

Joan looked offended and shook her head. "Cinderella."

Joan's shoulder luminesced.

Flash To:Int.Watchers Council – Cafeteria – Late Afternoon

Voiceover, Dr. Miller: "And continues…"

Joan moved into line at the dinner counter. She grabbed an orange plastic tray and slid it down to a rack of pre-made sandwiches. Kennedy stepped next to her. They both reached for the same sandwich, bumping elbows.

A wave of light passed from Joan to Kennedy.

Flash To:Int.Watchers Council – Slayer Gym – Early Evening

Voiceover, Dr. Miller: "And, well, you get the idea…"

Kennedy supervised a sparring session, watching as the slayers paired off and began low-contact fighting. She walked from group to group, correcting techniques and applauding successful tactics. Soon the whole room glowed brightly, all inside it infected.

Cut To:Int.Watchers Council – Conference Room – Resume

"Can we stop it?" Buffy asked, looking more tired than she did when the meeting started.

Dr. Miller shook his head. "I don't think so."

Flash To:Int.Faith and Robin's Apartment – Bathroom – Later

Robin stood in front of the bathroom mirror. He rubbed his exhausted eyes.

Voiceover, Dr. Miller: "It's likely that everyone in this room, possibly the entire building, has already been infected."

A small trickle of blood trailed from his nose and dripped into the sink.

Flash To:Int.Buffy's Apartment – Living Room – Later

With her eyes closed, Buffy sat on the floor with her back to the front of the sofa. Xander sat beside her and pressed a moist cloth to her forehead. He coughed into the arm of his tee-shirt.

"This sucks," Buffy concluded. "If we get out of this, I promise I'll never make fun of you for getting sick when you ate that ham cake."

"It was chocolate, shaped like ham, and I didn't really get sick."

"Yes, you did." She smiled.

Unseen by Buffy, Xander opened his mouth as if to say something and then closed it again. He closed his eyes for a brief moment and took a deep breath as he opened them again.

"How 'bout this instead?" Xander countered. His nerve seemed to falter for a moment.

"What?" Buffy asked when he said nothing.

Xander licked his lips and pressed on. "If we get out of this, you let me take you out on a date – a real date." She looked up at him. "Just one, and I swear I'll never ask again."

"Xander," she whined. "I thought we were over this…like a decade ago."

"Hey, you're delirious," he told her. "This is my one shot to get you to agree." He gave her a teasing grin, which she soon mimicked.

"I think you're the one who's delirious," she snorted.

"You have nothing to lose and everything to gain," he told her as he waved at himself, up and down. Buffy smacked his knee playfully. "You are sick – that didn't even hurt," he teased. "Come on, whatta ya say? You got the guts, Summers?"

"Trying to use my ego against me, are you?"

"Is it working?" Xander asked.

She smiled and turned her back to Xander again, resting against the sofa. After a few seconds she nodded. "Okay, you're on," she said and then coughed into the sofa cushion.

Xander smiled for a moment and then quickly had a sad look. Buffy noticed.

"Changing your mind already? I wouldn't blame you."

"What?" Xander asked automatically. "Oh, no. I was just thinking I can't wait to see Will and tell her. Then I realized I can't just 'see Will' without traveling hours in a car and practically having a body cavity search."

"We'll get her out, Xander," Buffy told him and then fell into a coughing fit.

"Maybe we should just focus on trying to stay as healthy as possible right now," he suggested.

"Good plan."

Flash To:Int.Watchers Council – Infirmary – Later

Every bed in the infirmary was occupied. Several slayers lay on the floor, while others sat against the walls. Dr. Miller and a pale looking nurse hurried from patient to patient.

Voiceover, Dr. Miller: "We don't have the resources to treat the entire Council."

An alarm sounded at Faith's bed.

Rushing over, Dr. Miller opened an intubation kit.

Voiceover, Dr. Miller: "And until I know conclusively exactly what we're facing, I can't effectively treat anyone."

He stepped over another slayer as he rounded Faith's bed and began the procedure.

Flash To:Int.Watchers Council – Coven Room – Later

Jeff sat in a ring of multicolored sand, looking extremely pale. Beads of sweat trickled from his forehead, and his hands shook as he fought a moderate tremor. Eyelids heavy, he struggled to mumble a spell beneath his breath.

Voiceover, Dr. Miller: "Ms. Summers, it's only a matter of time…"

Jeff's words faltered, and his eyes blinked several times. He struggled to continue, but each word proved exhausting. Finally, his energy drained, he fell back to the floor unconscious.

Flash To:Ext.Watchers Council – Front Entrance – Same Time

With a great shimmer of light, Jeff's protective shield fell.

Voiceover, Dr. Miller: "…until we are completely defenseless."

Several waiting teams, clad in hazmat suits, approached the building with caution. One brave soul waved a hand where the shield had once been. He met no resistance and continued to the door and into the building. The others quickly followed.

Fade Out

End of Act Two

Act Three12 Hours Later

Fade In:Int.Watchers Council – Slayer Dorm Hallway – Evening

"I am in charge here," Buffy said softly through clenched teeth. Sweat dripped over her pale face, and deep dark bags hung under her eyes. "I am the Chairwoman of the Watchers Council, and I'm ordering you to…"

She blinked a few times, eyes rolling upwards, then caught her breath. "I am ordering you to –"

Buffy's legs gave way, and she collapsed sideways in the middle of the hallway. She stayed down, her body a pathetic lump on the carpet. After a moment, two large white gloves pushed her to the side, keeping her out of the way until they could get to her later.

Eerie figures in white, full-body hazmat suits moved in twos and threes through the corridor. Two of them rolled Hadley along on a gurney.

"No, you don't understand," the slayer managed blearily. "Tonight's my turn to bake the enchiladas…"

Another team of two emerged from one of the rooms lining the hallway holding an unconscious Casey, a smear of blood on her face. No one had gotten to Denise yet…she lay awkwardly in a corner, unconscious but breathing hard. Her sweaty face was a sallow white, almost blue.

Nearby, two of the white-suited figures stood next to one another, discussing the situation.

"We're moving all the infected to the cafeteria," said one of them, a youngish man with a goatee. "It'll be more efficient for everybody that way."

"Good," agreed his companion with a female voice. "That will make it easier to keep an eye on them." She turned towards him, revealing, through her clear plastic visor, the manager of the bowling alley Faith and Norman had visited the night before.

"Er…right," the man agreed after some hesitation. "We're keeping Lehane in the infirmary since they've got her on a ventilator."

The manager of the bowling alley nodded. "What's our infection rate?"

"Nearly 100%," the man told her, moving to the side so that a gurney carrying Chamique, her eyes closed and her lips moving inaudibly, could pass by. "We've only managed to find three people who were inside the building at the time of the quarantine who aren't infected. None of them are slayers or witches. We're confining them to one of the Council's interrogation rooms for the time being. Hopefully that'll be enough to keep them healthy."

"If they don't have it yet, they're not going to get it," the manager sighed. She sounded somewhat disappointed. "You did the right thing. I'll go check on them immediately."

She turned to leave, but one of the young man's white gloves caught her arm. She whipped around.

"Miss Long…we are going to help the slayers, aren't we?"

Miss Long licked her lips behind her mask. "James…you know there's nothing we can do."

He released her arm, and her bulky white suit paced on down the hallway. She stepped around Buffy on her way.

Cut To:Int.Washington DC – L'Enfant Plaza Hotel – Same Time

"What do you mean, the airport's closed?!" Rowena shouted into her cell phone. Andrew paced on the room's balcony, carrying one of the twins in his arms, while Grace looked up at Rowena warily from a pressboard desk, a laptop open and humming in front of her.

"I don't care who ordered it," Rowena continued after listening for a moment. "Unless Yahweh herself rides down here on a shining cloud, I want a team of slayers in there right now."

Someone spoke on the other end of the line. Rowena hardly waited for them to finish talking. "Yes, it's been contaminated. That woman's people are crawling all over that place like a roach infestation. Our first priority is to regain control of this situation…Well, put 'em on a bus, then. Detroit is only three hours away, tops…Yeah, maybe you should get on that."

She snapped her phone shut with a huff.

"Did I ever tell you how masterful you are when it comes to inspiring the troops?" Grace asked her with a small grin.

Rowena sat down on the end of the bed, grabbing the bridge of her nose compulsively with one hand. "The New York group was re-routed to Cincinnati. Wibberley's getting them on a bus, but that's a minimum four hours. Detroit might get there quicker if they get off their asses."

"We've already been out of contact for over ten hours," Grace sighed. "Do you believe O'Mara yet?"

Rowena gave Grace a hard look. "Faith's not dead," she said flatly. "That woman planned this. I don't know how or why, but she did, and I'm going to take her down, one way or the other."

Grace raised an eyebrow. "Which woman?"

"I'm not going to say her name," Rowena replied, and Grace gave her a baleful look before turning back to her computer.

Cut To:Int.Cleveland – CDC Mobile Command Center – Day

"Congresswoman O'Mara," a middle-aged man in a sleek headset acknowledged as Autumn O'Mara stepped into what was essentially a

large trailer being used to coordinate what was being billed, at least publicly, as the "containment efforts." O'Mara surveyed the ten or so people working a bank of monitors, laptops, and phones. Every possible news channel played on one of a wall of TV screens, while other monitors displayed security feeds, helicopter shots, etc.

She gave the man who had greeted her a slight nod. "Dr. Brogan. What's the current situation?"

Brogan swiveled in his chair to look up at the Congresswoman. "Everything's running smoothly. They're just now completing the process of moving all the slayers to a central location. There hasn't been any substantive resistance during that process…"

"What's the current fatality total?" O'Mara asked, cutting him off.

Brogan bit his lip. "Er…there isn't one. We have no reported deaths. Yet."

O'Mara took this in without expression. The fingers of her left hand tapped against her hip once, twice.

Then she grabbed the laptop open in front of Brogan and threw it into the bank of TV screens, breaking a few of them. The resulting small shower of sparks sent several of the trailer's workers scrambling for cover.

O'Mara grabbed Brogan by his graying hair and forced his shocked face upwards to stare at hers. "Dr. Brogan, I recall someone assuring me that under this scenario deaths would begin to accrue with 24 hours of initial infection. We are now approaching 48 hours. Who was that someone, Dr. Brogan?"

"I-I did," Brogan stammered, eyes huge.

"That's right, I remember now, it was you," O'Mara agreed. "Because of you, I told the entire world that one of the most famous women on earth is dead, when in fact that is not the case. Why is it not the case, Dr. Brogan?"

The other workers in the trailer huddled silently in twos and threes, staring in fear.

"I don't know," Brogan admitted. "There are simply too many variables to…gain an accurate reading…"

O'Mara stared at him disdainfully for a moment longer, then released her grip on his hair. Dr. Brogan collapsed into his chair in a broken heap.

"Lucky for you, Dr. Brogan, replacing you would prove…inconvenient at this stage," O'Mara sighed. Around her, the rest of the workers hurried to return to their duties. She licked her lips, taking a moment to rein in her anger before continuing. "What about containment?" she finally said. "Did anyone exit the building during the window of infection?"

Brogan blinked a few times, realizing he wasn't going to die right away, then sat up. "We, um, we picked up two women who claimed they worked there…not slayers. They're in holding."

Cut To:Int.Quarantine Tent – Same Time

Kadin and Tracey sat around a portable table in the center of a huge plastic bubble, the walls repeatedly marked "Quarantine."

Tracey placed a queen of spades down on a pile of cards and proclaimed "Ha!"

Kadin sighed. "This is getting to be stupid."

"That's how we play Hearts in Cali, bee-atch!" Tracey shouted.

"The west coast has changed you," Kadin observed.

Cut To:Int.CDC Mobile Command Center – Same Time

"Neither of them has shown any trace of the virus," Dr. Brogan continued. "There haven't been any reports of cases at local hospitals, either."

A thought struck Congresswoman O'Mara. "And Rowena Allister? She was never in the building during the window of infection?"

"Uh…not that we're aware of," Brogan replied, shuffling through some papers in front of him.

O'Mara's tone became very short very quickly. "She wasn't in the building that you're aware of or she wasn't in the building?"

"She wasn't in the building," Brogan said quickly.

"Are you sure?"

Dr. Brogan gulped loudly. "Yes."

O'Mara leaned back, visibly relaxed. "Good." She nodded a few times. "Good."

She slapped Dr. Brogan on the back, though he flinched away from her touch. "Keep up the good work. I have another press conference to get ready for."

Cut To:Ext.Outside Trailer – Moments Later

As the trailer door shut behind her, Autumn O'Mara leaned back against the white metal outer wall, gasping for breath. Her fingers scrabbled at the cord around her neck, eventually pulling out the Loathestone from beneath her blouse. She opened her mouth wide, gulping the air. Her outline fluctuated briefly, drifting into her demon form.

"I can't do this forever," she gasped, in two voices at once.

"Congresswoman?"

Autumn O'Mara looked up to see her aide Darlene waiting expectantly.

"Is everything okay?" Darlene asked.

"Yes," O'Mara nodded. "Everything's fine. Just a little…light-headed, I think. Could you get me a Diet Coke?"

Darlene nodded and ran to get the beverage, while O'Mara watched her go.

Cut To:Int.Watchers Council – Interrogation Room – Later

The smacking noise made Dr. Miller grit his teeth. It was coming from Joan, her jaw moving rhythmically as she slumped in her chair. Norman took no notice. The diverse group sat tiredly in uncomfortable-looking plastic chairs, which along with a bare wooden table were the only furnishings in the white, soundproofed room.

"Are you chewing gum?" Dr. Miller asked acerbically, all pretext of politeness having long since melted away in the close confines.

Joan looked over at him. "Yes sir, I am."

"Must you?" Dr. Miller asked.

"Ten hours we've been cooped up here," Joan replied. "That long without food, I get weird, okay? I need something to take the edge off." She paused, then held up a half-used yellow pack in her non-braced hand. "You want some?"

"No, thank you," Dr. Miller said.

"Could I have a piece?" Norman asked.

Joan turned and held out the pack as Norman selected a foil-packaged stick. Before he could unwrap it, however, the door opened, revealing a hulking guard wearing a hazmat suit standing just outside. He stepped aside, and in walked a slimmer figure, though similarly suited. When the door closed, the figure removed its headpiece to reveal Miss Long standing before them.

Norman's eyes widened. "You're the…you're the lady from the bowling alley."

"You know this woman?" Joan asked.

"You must have me mistaken for someone else," Long told him. Norman didn't look convinced. "I am here to apologize for the inconvenience the three of you are being put through," Long announced. "We are doing everything we can to stop the spread of the

virus, but until we're confident that we've done so, all of you are just going to have to remain in quarantine."

"I've been waiting to speak to someone in charge," Dr. Miller told her. "I understand your intentions, but I'm a licensed medical professional. I should be out there helping to fight this thing."

"Yeah," Norman piped up. "He's, like, my mom's personal doctor. He knows stuff."

"I'm sorry, you're just going to have to stay here," Long said. "All of you. It's just too much of a risk. You're the only Council members who have not yet contracted the virus, and we would like you to stay that way."

"Wait." Joan sat up. "The only Council members. You mean everyone…"

Long just pursed her lips and nodded. "It's interesting, actually. What our doctors can't figure out is the common thread between the three of you…" She paced from one side of the room to the other. "Dr. Albert Miller, wife, children, runs the Council infirmary. Joan Arkham, like the saint…"

"Like the asylum," Joan corrected.

"No family to speak of," Long continued. "Twice divorced. You're personal assistant to the Chairwoman. And Norman Hansen…" She stopped across from Norman, looking down her nose at his slight frame. "I've heard so much about you."

Silence crept over the room…even Joan's smacking had stopped. The corners of Long's mouth curled slightly upwards.

"I'll try and see if I can have the guards bring you some food," Long said as she turned and strode toward the door. "Wouldn't want you to starve…"

The door closed behind her with a pronounced thud. The three remaining occupants of the interrogation room sat quietly for a moment that stretched significantly. Then Dr. Miller turned toward Joan.

"Like the asylum?"

"Am I the only one who thinks that lady's totally evil?" Norman said. "She's totally evil, isn't she?"

"Yep," Joan said, getting back into her gum-chewing. "Snidelina Whiplash and her hazmat monkeys are definitely up to something. So, Doc, what's the plan?"

"Call me Al," Dr. Miller told her with a sigh. "And since when am I the one who thinks of the plans?"

"Well," Norman said, "you do have to go to school for like a bazillion years to be a doctor, right? That has to be handy sometimes."

Dr. Miller thought about this then shook his head. "Well, I suppose our first step is to find a way out of here."

"Into the infection?" Joan asked dubiously.

"He's right!" Norman insisted. "We need to help Faith…and everyone. We have to fight our way out."

Dr. Miller held up both hands. "Wait, hold on. That's not what I meant. Look at us. We can't fight our way out of anything."

"There's one guard out there," Norman argued. "There's three of us."

"One guard that we saw," Dr. Miller corrected. "I'm on pain medication for my back, she's got a bad wrist, and you're just a little kid who…"

"Who what?" Norman asked when Dr. Miller didn't say anything more.

"Wait a moment," Dr. Miller said as he went over to a computer. He began to type in some information. "No one has reported being sick or injured in the last two weeks…at least no one in the building."

"I don't get it," Norman said.

"That makes two of us," Joan agreed.

"Don't you see? This virus is attacking healthy people. No one in this room can say they're entirely healthy."

"But I'm not sick," Norman said. "Not anymore…not that I know of. Are you saying I'm sick again?" he asked, sounding a bit concerned.

"Maybe not again, Norm," Dr. Miller told him. "But you've spent years fighting cancer – most of your life. Maybe that makes you immune to what this is."

"Well, fine then." Norman crossed his arms angrily. "I guess we'll just sit here and wait while Smiley Hipflask lets all our friends die because we're not superheroes."

"Snidelina Whiplash," Joan said absent-mindedly as she pushed her chair back and got to her feet.

"Look, all I have at this point is a theory," Dr. Miller replied.

"And it's a nice theory, Al," Norman continued. "But what's the plan? How on earth are we going to help everyone?"

Dr. Miller blinked. "You know, you really remind me of your…what is she doing?"

Joan wasn't paying attention to either of them. She now stood at the door and rapped on it hard with her good arm. The others just watched her.

"Hey!" she called. "Hey! I need to go."

There was a pause on the other side of the door. Then: "Go where?"

"To the little girls' room, numbskull!" Joan said. "You've kept us locked in here for a little too long."

Another pause. "I'm not sure that's a good idea, ma'am."

"Well, fine then. I'll just go in here. Then you'll have to clean it up, not to mention deal with the traumatized child cancer-survivor…"

The door opened.

As soon as the man in the hazmat suit stuck his head inside the room, Joan grabbed it. She pulled him forward and kneed him right in the groin. She then clocked him hard over the head with her braced wrist, sending him tumbling to the floor, out cold.

Both Dr. Miller and Norman looked stunned.

"What just happened?" Dr. Miller asked.

"You're not a slayer, are you?" Norman asked skeptically. "'Cause that would be…new."

"Just a brown belt in jiu-jitsu," Joan told them. "I thought I could maybe, y'know, help out more in a pinch, but Miss Summers just said she'd 'let me know'…So, are we escaping or what?"

Dr. Miller rose to his feet. "I suppose so."

Cut To:Int.Watchers Council – Hallway – Moments Later

Norman poked his head around a corner, making sure the coast was clear. At a nod from him, the trio ran across the gap and kept right on going down the hall.

"So," Joan whispered to Dr. Miller, "what's your story? I mean, with your degree, you could be set up in Miami giving models boob jobs."

"Strangely, I find this job more fulfilling," Dr. Miller replied. "I did not go to school for 'a bazillion years' to make people pretty."

"And I guess not for money alone either, huh?" Joan said. "Have you ever asked Miss Summers for a raise? She turns colors. I think she had a bad financial experience or something."

"Guys!" Both adults looked to see Norman turned around ahead of them, one finger to his lips. "Jeez, have either of you ever heard of stealth?" He pointed at Joan. "And throw out the gum!"

Cut To:Int.Watchers Council – Joan's Office – Moments Later

Joan hung up the receiver to her office phone with a sigh. "No signal, like our cells. Figures."

The room was full of knick-knacks, most notably a large number of collectible Disney figures arranged across one shelf. The portion of the gunmetal desk that wasn't taken up by Joan's computer was strewn with papers, envelopes, and invitations of all shapes, colors and sizes.

"So what do we do now?" she asked Dr. Miller, who appeared to be closely examining a figurine of Belle from 'Beauty and the Beast' in a poofy yellow dress.

He looked up at her, scratching his forehead. "If we can't call for help, I suppose we'll just have to exit the building somehow and bring back help."

Joan gave him a dubious look. "It's the 'somehow' that worries me, Al. They've got this place surrounded."

"Someone's coming," Norman whispered urgently from the doorway.

"What now?" Dr. Miller asked.

"Quick, under the desk," Joan urged them, kicking her swiveling office chair out of the way.

"But, my back…" Dr. Miller protested. Norman didn't give him the opportunity to argue, though, jerking him down by the hand as he went past. With a groan, Dr. Miller followed him, and in a moment the three of them were hunched in close quarters under Joan's desk.

The space was made even smaller by a burgeoning stash of boxes of crackers and cookies that made Norman grin.

"Hey, Nilla Wafers!" Norman reached out a hand, but Joan slapped it away.

"Shh…" she urged. "Haven't you ever heard of stealth?" Norman rolled his eyes at her.

They all went quiet as the voices of two men could be heard as they walked past the door.

"So, all the slayers are contained in the cafeteria at this point?" one asked.

"Yeah, except for Lehane," the other agreed. "But she won't be any trouble. She's in the infirmary, circling the drain. It's sad, really."

"Yeah," the first man agreed, as the footsteps and voices began to fade. "I mean, all these people are going to die, just because…"

The rest was inaudible. Underneath the desk, Joan, Dr. Miller, and Norman stared at each other.

Suddenly Norman took off toward the door.

"Norm, stop!" Joan called in an urgent whisper as the boy in question bolted from under the desk. He charged out the door and out of sight.

From the hall voices could be heard.

"He broke quarantine!"

"Stop!"

A man grunted loudly.

Joan scrambled from under the desk while Dr. Miller climbed to his feet, albeit somewhat slower than his younger counterpart. He turned to see Joan already out the door.

Cut To:Int.Watchers Council – Hallway – Seconds Later

One of the men struggled to keep hold of Norman, who was thrashing violently in his arms.

"Let me go," Norman yelled as he tried to kick the other man. His foot slid off the man's white hazmat suit.

"Just calm down, son," the first man yelled back. "We're here to help you."

"Let him go," Joan said as she rushed toward them.

"Where did you…oof," Norman's feet found the second man's solar plexus, causing him to double over in an attempt to catch his breath.

Joan used the momentary distraction to lunge at the man holding Norman. Locking her fingers together, she raised both hands high above her head and brought a powerful

fist down on his head. Most of the blow was deflected by the baggy hazmat suit, but it held enough force to allow Norman to slip from the man's grasp. A sharp elbow to the back of the head, courtesy of Joan, finished the job, knocking the man unconscious. He hit the ground with a thud.

"See, I can kick ass like any slayer," she looked at Norman. "You're my witness when I tell Ms. Summers about this."

The second man leaped from the floor and charged. Joan pushed Norman out of the way and took a shoulder to the chest. She flew back into the hallway wall and slumped to the floor.

The second man turned to Norman. "You little brat," he roared. "You and your friend are going back to –"

A loud crash cut off his words.

Eyes wide, the man fell to his knees and then forward to the floor. Dr. Miller stood behind him holding the cracked torso of a ceramic version of the Hunchback of Notre Dame.

"You broke Quasimodo," Joan moaned from the floor.

"I'll buy you a new one," Dr. Miller replied as he knelt down next to her.

"It's a collectible from the Wonderland Music Company – number 36," she argued. "It plays 'Out There'…or at least it used to."

He checked her vitals and motor function. "Where does it hurt?"

"Everywhere," she started to stand. "Come on, let's go."

"Don't move," Dr. Miller ordered. "You could have a concussion. You're lucky you didn't break your neck."

"I'm fine," she shrugged him off and stood up.

"No, don't listen to me," he huffed. "I'm only a doctor after all."

"We should take their suits," Norman said, breaking the thread of conversation. "As camouflage."

"We absolutely will not," Dr. Miller protested. "If the virus is airborne –"

"– then Snidelina wouldn't have taken off her mask when she popped in to muah-ha-ha," Joan concluded, rubbing her sore head.

"That's true. I hadn't considered that," Dr. Miller said after a short moment.

"And I'm the one with the concussion, huh?" Joan teased. "Look, we'll tie 'em up and lock 'em in my office. They'll be safe, in the off chance we're wrong, and we'll be able to get to the infirmary."

Norman was already pulling off one of the men's helmets. He did the math. "Two suits. Three of us."

"You guys take 'em," Joan replied. "I can play the role of the infected slayer." She pushed off the wall and stumbled. Dr. Miller caught her before she fell. "I won't have to act too hard obviously."

Dr. Miller sighed.

Cut To:Int.Watchers Council – Infirmary – Moments Later

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

KNOCK. KNOCK.

A man in a hazmat suit looked up from Dr. Miller's laptop computer, where the scores from several Major League Baseball games were displayed. He rounded the doctor's desk and glanced over to Faith's bed. She did not move.

KNOCK. KNOCK.

The man moved to the door. "Who is it?"

"Who do you think?" replied a male voice. "We've got another slayer for you. Found her in the hall trying to escape. You're supposed to sedate her."

The man rolled his eyes. "With what?" He opened the door to reveal two hazmat-clad men supporting Joan under the armpits. "Just 'cause Ms. Long ordered me to baby-sit doesn't make me a doctor."

Dr. Miller and Norman carried Joan in and put her on the nearest empty unmade bed. The other man approached as Dr. Miller moved to a nearby cabinet.

"She looks pretty out of it," the man continued. "Are you sure Jones wants –?"

He didn't finish his thought as Dr. Miller injected a syringe of clear liquid into his arm.

Fade Out

End of Act Three

Act Four Fade In:Int.Watchers Council – Infirmary – Moments Later

With a loud click, Norman locked the infirmary door. He turned and saw Dr. Miller by Faith’s bed examining a heart monitor. The machine beeped slowly, out of sync with the audible breaths supplied by his mother’s ventilator.

Faith’s skin was ashen and in places held a tinge of blue.

"Her fever’s gone down." Dr. Miller sounded confused by this.

"Is she going to be all right?"

Dr. Miller didn’t answer.

Norman took a step closer. He looked at Joan, who was sitting up on the bed they had placed her on. Her head was resting against the wall behind her, and her eyes were closed. Norman took another step and spoke to the room in general, his voice slightly raised. "Tell me what’s happening. What can we do?"

Dr. Miller removed his glasses and met Norman’s eye. "This is a very complicated situation."

"But you’re her doctor," Norman said, staring at Faith. "You’re supposed to help her." His voice grew very quiet. "You have to."

The room was silent for a moment.

"S’let’s talk it out," Joan suggested, her eyes still closed.

Dr. Miller frowned and moved to her side. He took out a pen light and checked her pupils. "Look straight ahead."

"I’m fine." She looked away from the light. "We need to figure this out."

"You’re not fine," Dr. Miller replied. "You have a mild concussion." He sighed. "But you’re right. We need to start looking into a cure. Now look ahead!"

Joan scowled at him, but complied. "It doesn’t make sense, but let’s start with what we know. The healthy people are the ones getting sick."

"Yeah, and shouldn’t a slayer be able to fight off a virus a lot better than me?" Norman asked. "I get sick all the time, but slayers never do, so... how did they make the bug?"

Dr. Miller clicked off the penlight. "Maybe I was wrong, and O’Mara was right at that news conference."

"Meaning?" Joan prompted.

"Didn’t she say it was mystical? Maybe they’re targeting the slayers," Norman suggested.

Joan sat up. "But everyone thinks we did this. We need help on this. We need to get out of here."

Dr. Miller put an arm on her shoulder. "You need to lie back and rest." He sighed. "I’m nearly positive that this virus is not mystical, and that

means if we leave, we could risk infecting the city. We could hurt a lot of people if we go. I won’t be responsible for that."

"And what about the people in here?" Joan argued, anger etched on her face. "They need help. Will you be responsible for their deaths?"

Norman’s face fell. "We shouldn’t—"

Dr. Miller’s loud reply cut Norman off. "I’m trying to do the right thing here. We don’t know where this virus came from, and I haven’t found any way of slowing it down. At this point, leaving would be reckless – an action for the sake of action."

"So you’d rather just sit here and watch all our friends die?" Joan countered.

Dr. Miller was silent.

"Please don’t say that," Norman whispered.

The anger fell from Joan’s face when she spotted Norman. "God, Norm I’m sorry. I didn’t—"

Norman turned and moved to Faith’s bedside. He sat down in the chair he’d occupied over a day prior.

Joan hung her head. "Well, I feel like a jerk."

"We’ll blame it on the concussion," Dr. Miller assured kindly. He sat down on the bed. "We’re missing something."

Joan let her head fall against the wall. "I take it back. I don’t know how the slayers do it. This saving the day stuff kind of sucks. What I wouldn’t give to be in my office typing out one of Ms. Summers’ ‘I don’t want to micromanage but...’ memos." She looked at her wrist brace. "Well, maybe not typing. My wrist’s been killing me ever since I popped that guy in the hall."

"I’ll prescribe you—" Dr. Miller’s eyes widened.

"How long does carpal tunnel take to heal anyway?"

He ignored her and jumped up, rushing across the room to a tray of instruments. "It makes perfect sense," he mumbled to himself as he grabbed a stethoscope and moved to Faith’s bed. With a long practiced

motion he listened to her heart while watching the monitor above her bed.

"What is it?" Norman asked.

Dr. Miller didn’t answer. He hung the stethoscope around his neck and disappeared into his office.

Norman met Joan’s eye from across the room. She shrugged in reply.

Dr. Miller reappeared carrying a ring of keys. He stopped at a large glass cabinet, fumbling to find the appropriate key.

"What’s going on?" Joan said loudly.

"Come on," Dr. Miller said to the ring of metal in his hands. "Ah, there you are." He unlocked the cabinet and slid the door open. "I have a theory," he said, finally addressing Joan’s question. He removed a small box from the case and closed the door.

"Care to enlighten us?" she replied as she watched him cross to Faith’s bed.

Dr. Miller opened the box and removed a small vial of liquid. He opened the bedside table and found an individually packaged syringe. "I slipped a disc in my back – an incredibly painful ordeal that caused a great deal of swelling around my spine. So much so that I lost feeling in my right foot." He unwrapped the syringe and began filling it with the liquid in the vial.

"What does that have to do with my mom?" Norman asked. He was now on his feet.

Dr. Miller injected the syringe into Faith’s saline IV bag. He continued, "As a treatment I was prescribed oral steroids to help decrease the inflammation."

Joan sat up at this. "You gave me a steroid injection when I came in for my wrist."

Dr. Miller nodded. "It’s the easiest method of correctly diagnosing carpal tunnel."

"Is this the common link?" Joan asked.

"I believe so," Dr. Miller replied. "Up until this point I’ve been operating under an incorrect assumption. When I first examined Faith, I assumed that her body was attempting, and failing, to fight off the virus. But now I believe I had it backwards. Her body isn’t attacking the virus; it’s attacking itself."

"How is that possible?" Norman asked.

"Well it’s not unheard of," Dr. Miller replied. "Autoimmune disorders are not so uncommon; diabetes, for example, has greatly increased in prevalence over the last ten years. No doubt due to the ever-expanding epidemic of obesity in this country. With or without trans fat, wolfing down order after order of McDonald’s French fries will kill you faster than—"

"We get it, America’s fat," Joan interjected. "Move on."

"Sorry," Dr. Miller said, concluding his diatribe. "The point is, that autoimmunity is quite common, though I’ve never heard of it stemming from contact with a virus." He shook his head in anger. "You were right, Norm. The slayers are under attack. What better way to neutralize a slayer than to attack her with her own super powered immune system."

"Okay, so you’re saying someone made a virus that makes your body kill itself?" Joan asked for clarification.

"In short, yes."

She continued, "And because we both took steroids, we’re fine? How does that work, and how does it explain Norman?"

"It’s rather simple," Dr. Miller replied. "Steroids are commonly prescribed with chemotherapy regimens. And yes, that’s why we’re all right. It wasn’t about being ill, but what was used to treat our illnesses. Most clinically used cortical steroids result in a suppression of the immune system," Dr. Miller replied with a shrug. "Our body’s defenses were too weak to do any damage."

"Well, that sucks," Joan replied. "I mean…given the circumstances it’s good, but still…lame."

"What did you give my mom?"

Dr. Miller handed him the box that the vial came from. "Cortisone, a steroid."

"It’ll make her immune system weak, too?"

"Norman, your mom is very sick," Dr. Miller’s tone was soft. "I believe the virus forced her immune system to target her heart. The area around it swelled up, and it’s making it hard for it to pump. The drug I gave her should help decrease the swelling."

"And she’ll be okay?"

"I hope so."

"Now what?" Joan asked.

Dr. Miller looked down at Faith. "Now we wait."

"So steroids really are a good thing then?" Joan asked.

"The kind used to save a life, yes," Dr. Miller said. "Now, those used to cheat at baseball…" Dr. Miller shrugged.

"Not so much," Norman added.

"Exactly," Dr. Miller said as he nodded.

Fade To:Int.Watchers Council – Infirmary – Two Hours Later

Everything was pink and fuzzy.

A small black knob rolled forward. Then back. Then forward again.

A sea of small concave discs appeared, highlighted against a darker ocean of red behind them.

"Huh," Dr. Miller said as he sat back from the viewfinder of a high-tech microscope. His desk was cluttered with papers, and it struggled to hold a laptop computer, a small television monitor, and a collection of

slides along with the microscope. He looked up and spotted Norman still sitting by Faith’s bed. "Norman, could you come here please?"

Across the room Joan dozed. She did not stir at Dr. Miller’s voice.

Norman hesitated for a few seconds before complying. He stopped at Dr. Miller’s side.

"I’ve been examining some samples of your mother’s blood," Dr. Miller explained as he opened his laptop and scrolled around the screen. "Take a look at the monitor. I recorded this a few hours after you brought Faith in. What do you see?"

The monitor blinked on, displaying a microscopic image of a group of sporadic pink cells. Affixed to each one was a collection of much smaller black blotches. "The black, is that the virus?"

Dr. Miller nodded. "It’s really quite ingenious. It used the blood like a transit system to lead back to the heart, ignoring all other body systems along the way. The engineer of this virus certainly knew what they were doing."

"Who would make a virus if they knew it was going to hurt other people?"

"Unfortunately, Norman, a lot of people will do truly horrible things when given the chance." Dr. Miller sighed. "But there is some good news." He plugged a small cable into the base of the monitor in front of him. An image instantly appeared on the screen. "I took this sample ten minutes ago."

The monitor displayed a line of pink cells. There was not a single black blotch among them.

"There’s nothing there." Norman looked at Dr. Miller. "Did the drug you gave her kill the virus?"

"I don’t think so," he replied with a shake of his head. "Not this quickly. It’s possible that the virus was simply programmed to terminate itself after a certain amount of time had passed, possibly to avoid a large scale contamination if it were to reach the general public." He paused to change the slide on the microscope. "I’ve tested my own blood as well." The monitor displayed an image similar to the previous. There were no signs of black blotches. He continued, "I dare say that the entire building is probably virus free. It might have been before the CDC ever got inside."

"So the bowling lady knew it was safe," Norman concluded. "The slayers would still have the symptoms, but not be able to transfer the virus anymore. But in order to save them now, we need to treat the symptoms."

"Right. The threat of spreading the virus has certainly passed," Dr. Miller replied. "However, its effects are ongoing. The rest of the Council will need treatment very soon. I would seek out help within the building, though I feel our friends in the hazmat suits would be far from accommodating."

"Could we contact another Council?" Norman asked. "One of the other branches nearby maybe? Have them bring steroids?"

"We’d need to get out of here first," Dr. Miller replied. "As for how, I’m open to suggestions."

Suddenly, a small crumpled piece of paper bounced off the side of the monitor and landed on the keyboard of Dr. Miller’s laptop. They both stared at the paper. Standing up, Dr. Miller leaned over the table and peered onto the floor where a small pile of crumpled pieces of paper had amassed.

Another piece of paper collided with his head.

"Mom!" Norman raced from his seat.

Dr. Miller looked up to see Faith staring back at him. She was already taking aim with another ball of paper. Rushing over, the doctor looked astonished. "I didn’t expect results so soon. How do you feel?"

Faith stared at him, her brow lowered. She indicated the intubation tube in her mouth.

"Oh, of course," Dr. Miller grabbed a pair of gloves from a nearby medical tray and set about removing the tube. Once it was out, Faith coughed forcefully.

"W-What happened?" she managed to say, her voice raspy.

"What’s the last thing you remember?" Dr. Miller asked as he removed his gloves.

"Feeling pretty crappy," Faith answered as she rubbed her sore throat. "I crashed on my couch. Why? How long have I been here?"

"It’s a long story," Dr. Miller began.

Cut To:Ext.Onramp for Exit 170B, Interstate 90 East – Same Time

Two police cars sat parked, completely blocking the ramp for exit 170B. Few cars passed, and the road was all but empty. Inside one of the squad vehicles, two officers sat looking bored.

"How much longer is the quarantine in effect?" asked the man in the passenger seat.

"Till we hear otherwise," his partner answered without looking over from the driver’s seat. He’d clearly been asked this question already.

"Think they did it?" the first asked. "I mean what the TV is saying. That they made the virus?"

The second looked annoyed. "Who knows?"

"I hope they didn’t," the first replied with a frown. "My niece loves the Watchers Council. If they had trading cards, she’d own every one of ’em." He thought for a moment. "I wonder if they make acti—"

"We’ve got company," the driver said as he pushed open his door.

Outside a long yellow school bus approached. It stopped in front of the police car.

The officers reached the bus just as the sliding door opened. Wibberley stuck his head out. "Officers? Is there a problem with the road?"

"Sir, we’re going to need you to turn around," one of the officers said. "We’ve set up a u-turn at the next exit."

Wibberley looked exasperated. "B-But you don’t understand. We’ve got a meet this afternoon." He indicated the girls in the bus, who were all staring at the officers through a line of rectangular windows. "It’s the track and field state qualifier."

The other officer held up his hands in a calming gesture. "Sir, there is a biohazard situation within the city. No one is allowed in. Your ‘meet’ will have to wait."

"I-I, uh. I need to make a call." Wibberley pulled out a cell phone and retreated to the first seat. The bus driver closed the door in the officer’s faces.

The officers exchanged a look. One of them knocked on the glass of the bus door. "You can’t be here!"

Wibberley looked out his window and held up a finger indicating that he needed a moment.

Cut To:Int.Washington, DC – L’Enfant Plaza Hotel – Same Time

Rowena answered her phone on the second ring. "Yeah?" Her tone was akin to a bark. She listened to the voice on the phone. "What do you mean a blockade? How many cars?"

Rubbing her eyes, she sighed. "You won’t be able to get by without attracting unwanted attention." She checked her watch. "I’ll check in with other team. Stall Cleveland’s finest. I’ll call you back."

She hung up and dialed.

Cut To:Int.Watchers Council – Infirmary – Minutes Later

Faith watched the wall-mounted television as an anchor reported on her death. "Just to clarify," she began, "I didn’t die again, did I?"

"Not this time," Dr. Miller informed her. "You were very lucky."

"I don’t doubt that," she replied, sitting up. She immediately grabbed her head. "Whoa, head rush."

Norman steadied her shoulder to keep her from falling back.

"Your body is going to need some time," Dr. Miller said. "You’ve been unconscious for over 48 hours."

"Then I must be well rested." She moved to leave the bed, but was held back by an IV cable. "Unplug me so I can get out of here."

"I’ll do no such thing," he replied. "You’re in no condition—"

"I’m fine," she insisted just before a loud pounding sounded throughout the infirmary.

The noise startled Joan awake. "No Frollo’s evil!" She rubbed her head and looked at the others. "She’s conscious," she said, pointing at Faith. "What’d I miss?"

The pounding returned.

Dr. Miller approached the infirmary door tentatively. "Uh, who’s there?" he called to the person on the other side.

"Who do you think?" a male voice replied. "Come on let me in. The boss wants an update."

Dr. Miller quickly grabbed one of the hazmat masks and pulled it over his head. "Just a minute." His nervous breathing fogged up the clear plastic of the mask. "The, uh, the lock is stuck. Maybe if you come back—"

"Are you crazy? Just let me in."

Dr. Miller looked around the room. The other three had disappeared from view.

"Come on!"

With a brief hesitation he unlocked the door.

The other man pushed it open, knocking the doctor out of the way. He paused in the middle of the room.

"Where’s Lehane?"

"Right here," Faith said from the man’s left. She leaned against a wall near the medicine cabinet Dr. Miller had liberated her Cortisone from.

"But…" The man’s expression jumped from confusion to fear when Faith took a step forward.

"I know," she commiserated at his befuddled reaction, "you’re just some lackey, and this whole situation is difficult to grasp. Allow me to simplify. The virus your boss infected us with, it didn’t work." She took another step forward. "I’m fine. Kinda pissed though. And you bein’ the only villain in the room, I’m inclined to take it out on you."

"Please I-I didn’t know." He stepped back, nearly tripping on a fallen medical tray. "I just did what they told me."

"You’re not really earning my sympathy vote." She was now only a few feet away from him. "Take off the hat."

"But the virus—" His tone was one of panic.

"—is gone," she replied. "Helmet off. It’s not a suggestion."

Reluctantly, the man complied. The mask came off rather easily, revealing a head of messy brown hat hair.

Faith continued when the man looked up. "So here’s the deal. You’re going to tell me where everyone else is being kept, and in return I won’t knock you unconscious. I think it’s pretty fair. Doc?"

Dr. Miller stepped forward his mask now gone. "More than fair." His tone was just as threatening as Faith’s. "You’ve done enough damage here. And I have the cure…so where are they?"

The man looked back and forth between them several times before settling his gaze on Faith. "The cafeteria. That’s where we brought them all."

Faith nodded. "Thanks." She looked over the man’s shoulder. "Go ahead, Norm."

Before the man could turn, Norman appeared behind him and brought a metal bedpan across the side of his head, knocking him unconscious.

Faith fell back suddenly, caught only by Dr. Miller’s quick movement. She looked exhausted but managed to quip, "I didn’t lie. I said that I wouldn’t knock him out."

"I’ll remind him of that when he wakes up," Dr. Miller replied as he steered Faith to the nearest bed. She sat but refused to lie down. She looked at Dr. Miller. "You got enough juice to treat everyone?"

"It’s not ‘juice’ – that’s a different type of steroid," he replied with a roll of his eyes. "And no. We’re going to need a lot more, but at least I can get started with what I have."

Joan appeared from behind an adjacent bed and moved to stand next to Norman. "We should head for the cafeteria and treat whoever we can."

Faith shook her head. "We’ve got to get out. I can get a hold of Giles, maybe - tell him the supplies we'll need and let the other branches know what’s up."

"A few problems with that idea," Joan began. "One, we can’t call out. Two, no one's cell phone in here is working. Three, this place is crawling with Snidelina’s henchpeople. And four, no offense, but you couldn't fight your way out of a paper bag right now, much less this building."

Faith looked ready to object, but Norman spoke first. "I have an idea." They all looked at him. "Everyone thinks mom’s dead, right? If we could show them that she isn’t…"

Joan moved to the window. "There are a few news vans about a block down the street behind the quarantine tape."

Norman turned to Faith. "I know you hate reporters, but do you feel like making the evening news?"

She smiled at him. "It wouldn’t be the first time."

Cut To:Int.Watchers Council – Hallway – Moments Later

Faith, Norman, Dr. Miller, and Joan moved away from the infirmary. All of them were dressed in the hazmat suits they had previously re-appropriated. Dr. Miller carried a handful of small boxes and wrapped syringes.

They reached a stairwell and stopped.

"Good luck," Joan said, patting Norman on the shoulder.

"You too," Norman replied as he pushed opened the stairwell door for Faith.

Dr. Miller nodded to the pair and continued down the hall with Joan in the direction of the cafeteria.

Together Faith and Norman descended several flights of stairs, the latter helping the former along the way.

"I feel old," Faith said as they finally reached the bottom.

"No comment," Norman replied as he pushed open a door that led to the main lobby.

Cut To:Int.Watchers Council – Main Lobby – Seconds Later

"So far so good," Faith whispered as they passed a pair of people in identical suits.

They moved quickly, weaving around another intruder. Five feet from the front door a loud voice called them back.

"Hey!"

"Keep walking," Faith said.

A hand grabbed Norman’s shoulder and pulled him back toward the reception desk. Faith went as well, as her son’s support was a big reason she was still upright. She lowered her head so that the mask hid a majority of her face.

Norman’s eyes widened when he saw it was Amanda Long, sans mask, who had stopped them. He avoided her eye, instead staring down at a cup filled with cheaply made Watchers Council pens.

Long spoke harshly. "We’ve moved decon to the other side of the building. Fox News wanted a segment on decontamination procedure, and there was more room for the lights over there."

"Our mistake." The rasp still present in Faith’s voice helped disguise the fact that she was the most recognizable person in the city.

Long stared at them for a few seconds. "I haven’t seen either of you two before. What are your names?"

With as much speed as she could muster, Faith brought her knee hard into Long’s abdomen. She went down hard, emitting a loud groan of pain that drew all attention to the spot. In the process Faith might have fallen too, but Norman steadied her. He moved quickly, pulling Faith to the front entrance. He pushed the glass double door open and came to a halt in front of a wall of plastic.

Faith let go of Norman and turned to close the door they’d just passed threw. 

"We’re sealed in," Faith gasped through labored breaths as she struggled to hold the door in place.

"Not for long," Norman said as he uncapped a Council pen and attacked the barrier, puncturing a hole about five feet above the ground. He dropped the pen and ripped the plastic apart.

"Don’t," yelled one of the hazmat behind the glass door. "You’ll expose everyone."

"That’s the idea," Faith said as she let go of the door and followed Norman through the hole into the daylight.

Cut To:Int.Washington, DC – L’Enfant Plaza Hotel – Same Time

Rowena closed her phone and threw it on her bed with enough force to send it flying to the floor.

"More bad news?" Grace said as she retrieved the phone.

Rowena quickly took it back. "The Detroit team’s near Lorain." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Wibberley’s closer, but stuck at a blockade fifteen minutes outside the city."

"What are you going to do?" Grace asked as she sat down on the bed, pinning the television remote between the cheap velure of the comforter and her left butt cheek.

The volume on the formerly muted TV blared through the room. Grace quickly adjusted the sound to a reasonable level.

"—now take you to Cleveland, where contamination has been broken on the Watchers Council building." The picture changed to a live handheld view of the street outside the Council.

Rowena and Grace both watched with rapt attention as two figures, both wearing white hazmat suits, struggled toward a police barrier. It looked as though one of them was supporting the other.

"Stop where you are!" called a man with a bullhorn. Behind him, several officers stood with their service revolvers drawn. The figures kept moving, prompting the man to shout, "Stop or you will be fired upon!"

Cut To:Ext.Watchers Council – Street Outside HQ – Same Time

"Norman," Faith warned as she pulled on his arm until he stopped moving. "This is close enough."

They stood less than twenty feet from the police barrier, all law enforcement and media personnel staring directly at them.

"Go ahead," Faith said, releasing herself from Norman’s grasp. There was a collective gasp as she dropped to one knee. Norman moved to help, but she shrugged him off. "It’s your show now, kiddo."

Norman hesitated before facing the crowd. Quickly, he removed his mask, eliciting another gasp from the crowd. He licked his lips and spoke, "My name is Norman Hansen." His voice was too soft to be heard.

"Speak up, buddy," Faith said.

He tried again, much louder this time. "M-My name is Norman Hansen." There were a few whispers in the crowd. "Faith Lehane’s my birth-mom." A lot more whispers. If it hadn’t been daytime, the flashbulbs would have been blinding.

"The Council didn’t do anything wrong." He paused and reworded. "They didn’t make the virus. I-It was a lie." No one moved. "It’s gone. We aren’t contagious anymore, but people are still sick, and Dr. Miller needs steroids like I got when I had cancer. No one is being treated, and the ones in the suits aren’t helping. They’re going to let people die." Still nothing. "You have to listen to me! You’ve been lied to, and I have proof. Faith Lehane’s still alive."

There was a brief silence until the man with the bullhorn spoke, "Son, stay where you are. Someone will come and take you back inside."

Faith pulled off her own mask.

"No one touch him," she shouted, her voice strained. "As you can see…reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated. The Watchers Council is under attack by the CDC." Each word was a struggle. "You have to listen to us."

To this the crowd responded.

Cut To:Int.Washington, DC – L’Enfant Plaza Hotel – Same Time

Rowena was yelling into her phone. "Take the exit and then have the girls run the rest of the way to the Council so they can get Miller the meds he needs…Look, they can outrun Rogits Demons so they can certainly outrun the Cleveland Police Department for Pete’s sake! Just get them there now!"

On the television, police and paramedics swarmed to Norman and Faith, the quarantine tape ignored.

Fade To Black.

One Week Later

Fade In:Int.Faith and Robin’s Apartment – Living Room – Day

Faith lounged on the couch staring at the ceiling. She looked better, though her skin was still a bit pale.

Norman entered from the kitchen with two sodas. He handed one to Faith and then fell back onto black leather recliner. Both cans were opened, bringing on two metallic clinks followed shortly by simultaneous slurps.

Faith set her drink down between an empty pizza box and an uneaten plate of sandwiches.

"Sorry. I remembered those things tasting a lot better."

"It’s okay," Norman assured as he hung his legs over the side of the chair and took another loud slip of his drink. "You just need to perfect the recipe. A little relish might nail down the fabled condiment trifecta."

Faith rolled her eyes. "Cheez Whiz is not a condiment." She thought for a moment. "Or is it? Whatever, I’ll make sure I get your input before I write my long awaited cookbook."

They were quiet for a moment.

Faith grinned. "So…Robin stopped by the newsstand this morning."

Norman groaned and let his head fall back against the arm of his chair. He hung his arm over his eyes.

Faith’s grin increased as she produced a hidden issue of Newsweek from behind one of the sofa cushions. She examined the cover on which a week old photo of Norman, clad in a hazmat suit, stared up at her. The headline above the picture read: "Like Mother Like Son: A Family of Heroes."

"Your first Newsweek," she teased. "I’m so proud. When I was your age..." She paused then said, "Well, when I was your age, I was having you." She looked at him quickly. "I know you’re tryin’ to be like me, but please don’t make me a grandma before I’m thirty."

"I’ll do my best. Besides, the girl I like thinks I’m a kid," he replied sarcastically as he snatched the magazine away from her.

"After this she might not," Faith replied. "But like I said…no babies. Just remember – no glove, no love."

Norman looked through the magazine, trying to ignore her. "I really don’t want sex advice, okay?"

"Okay, I just want you to get an education first – a good job. Then have kids," Faith conceded. "I’ve had lots of regrets…but one of my biggest was you."

"Gee, thanks."

"No, that came out wrong," Faith said quickly. "I mean I’m sorry I wasn’t able to keep you, to give you the life you deserved…I don’t want you to go through that, so like I said. No glove—"

Norman covered his ears. "I get it. I get it," he said. "Please stop."

Faith grinned. "By the way, you can keep that," she said, motioning to the magazine. "I’ve got more, you know," she replied as he stashed it in a duffle bag near the chair. "Gonna frame ’em."

"Argh, please don’t."

"Aw, come on. It’s my given right to tease you about this." When he didn’t look up, she frowned. "I thought you’d be thrilled. Weren’t you telling me a week ago about how ‘cool’ being famous is?"

"That was before it happened," Norman sighed. "I didn’t really do anything."

"Bullsh—" Faith censored herself. "You saved a lot of people, kiddo, myself included." She sat up when he didn’t reply. "Norm, do me a favor? Enjoy this for a little while. And, wait till you’re my age to be as cynical as me." She stood up, grabbed the pizza box, and headed for the kitchen. She stopped and turned around. "Actually, never be as cynical as me," she added before continuing on her way. 

Norman grabbed his now empty soda can and followed her into the kitchen. He placed it on the counter as she was gracelessly shoving the pizza box into an undersized trashcan. When she finished, she looked up to see him grinning.

"You need to visit more often," she said. "Preferably when we’re not under attack." There was a nice moment of silence before Faith spoke again. "We should get ready to go if you want to say goodbye to everyone."

"Yeah," he nodded, biting his lip as though he wanted to say something else. Faith was almost out of the kitchen before he spoke, "I was thinking…I mean if it’s okay with my folks…" She turned to listen as he continued slowly. "...about asking Buf—" He caught himself. "—Ms. Summers if I could enroll in watcher training in the fall."

Faith’s face would have been unreadable had the corner of her mouth not twitched upward ever so slightly. She cleared her throat trying to hide her smile. "Well, I suppose I could put in a good word for you with Ms. Summers." Her pronunciation of Buffy’s surname name could only

be described as overly professional. Faith paused. "Are you sure about this?"

"I am," he replied with a smile.

"Good." She pulled him into an embrace. "I’m glad."

Norman pulled back after a few seconds. "We better get going."

"Yeah," Faith agreed. She ushered him into the living room where he grabbed his duffle bag from its place by the couch.

"Norm," Faith said as Norman swung the bag onto his shoulder. She waited for him to meet her eye. "Thank you," she said sincerely.

"For what?"

"For being you." Faith smiled and shook her head. She steered him to the door. "One more thing, when you see Shannon, show her this." She opened the bag on his shoulder and retrieved the Newsweek. She placed it in his hand. "Fame beats wheels any day of the week."

He grinned.

Cut To:Ext.Washington, DC – National Mall – Later

The dome of the Capitol rose high in the distance behind Autumn O’Mara. A bank of multi-colored microphones rose in front of her.

"The investigation into the virus outbreak at Watchers Council headquarters is now closed," she said as a barrage of flashbulbs burst. "Investigators have determined that a local woman, Amanda Long, was solely responsible for the outbreak. Her motivations at this time are… unknown."

O’Mara paused, looking out over the press corps. "Obviously this and other developments contradict previous statements made by myself and other members of this office. I was given inaccurate information,

but I take responsibility for that and apologize for any undue confusion or concern. However, I do not want that oversight on my part to distract from the real truth of this matter."

"The truth is that this is just another in a long string of incidents involving the Watchers Council. They say they’re keeping us safe. I respectfully disagree. I think the events of this past week are one more example amid a score that all lead me to the same conclusion…the public would be safer, our children would be safer, if the Watchers Council did not exist. They cannot protect us if they cannot even protect themselves."

O’Mara’s hair blew in the wind over the green expanse of the National Mall. Flashbulbs popped, and she straightened her posture. "With that in mind, I will be introducing legislation in the House of Representatives that will force the Watchers Council to close down…forever."

Cut To:Int.Watchers Council – Buffy’s Office – Same Time

With a blink of light O’Mara’s face disappeared from a large wall mounted flat screen. Buffy set down her remote control and looked to Rowena, who was occupying one of the two chairs opposite her desk.

"I hate politicians," Buffy sighed. "According to Jim, Amanda Long has already been convicted and sentenced."

Rowena sat up. "After just one week? Willow’s been—"

"I know," Buffy cut in. "Ms. Long confessed. She pled guilty to all the charges." She paused. "It was all very convenient."

Rowena’s face was unreadable. "What are we going to do?"

"I know about your suspicions," the blonde slayer replied with a frown. "Right now we have no proof that O’Mara was involved in what happened."

"But…" Rowena led.

"But I trust her about as far as I can throw her." Buffy made a face. "That’s probably a bad example, though a fun mental image."

Rowena cracked a ghost of a smile. "We need to be ready. She’s shown what she’s prepared to do."

Buffy nodded and leaned back in her chair, her gaze reaching the window. The sun was high in the sky, illuminating a picturesque day. "Summer’s coming."

Rowena followed her eyes. "‘Once more unto the breach.’"

Fade to Black

         

End of Unlikely Heroes