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This story is No. 6 in the series "Tails From The Slaughtered Lamb.". You may wish to read the series introduction and the preceeding stories first.

Summary: New Tricks/Yes Minister xover. Reworking of an older Fic. The past comes back to haunt Britain’s senior slayer, while Giles crosses swords with the Government.

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Television > New Tricks
Television > Yes Minister
(Recent Donor)DaveTurnerFR15827,7430114,74217 Jun 0823 Jun 08Yes

Chapter One

By Dave Turner.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Buffyverse or ‘New Tricks’.

Crossover: The Buffyverse with ‘New Tricks’ and ‘Yes Minister’. References may be made to other British TV shows and will be noted on a chapter by chapter basis.

Spelling, Punctuation and Grammar: Written in glorious English-English; English idioms are used throughout this Fic.

Timeline: Takes place three or four weeks after the events of ‘Big Girls Rules’. The story is set in the same reality as the ‘Seattle Slayers’ stories.

Words: 8 chapters of 3000+ words.

Warnings: None that I can think of.

Summary: New Tricks/Yes Minister xover. Reworking of an older Fic. The past comes back to haunt Britain’s senior slayer, while Giles crosses swords with the Government.

Check out ‘New Tricks’ on The Internet Movie Database or on clicking on ‘TV’ then ‘N’ and following the links till you get to ‘New Tricks’. If you’re interested you should be able to download episodes from the Internet.

Great Show; highly recommended.


Old Dogs.
By Dave Turner.

Chapter One.

The Slaughtered Lamb Tavern, St. Martins Lane, London.

Giles eyed the ceiling warily as a thin haze of dust drifted down to settle on the coffee table in front of him; he moved his cup of tea off the table and onto the arm of the sofa where he was sitting.

“So,” he looked up at Mrs Fitzsimons, “what do you know about this fellow ‘Hacker’?”

The sound of a headboard rhythmically banging against the wall came from the room above. Giles glanced at his watch; it was only three in the afternoon.

“Hmm? Sorry?” Silvia Fitzsimons looked distractedly across the room at Giles.

“Hacker,” repeated Giles, “new Minister of Administrative Affairs…” his voice trailed off as a girl’s cries of passion drifted down from above.

(“Oh God! Oh Yes! Yes!”)

“Oh yes him,” Silvia sipped her tea, “he seems to be your average hack politician, (Come on big boy harder!) I think he got the job as a reward for voting as he’s been told to over the years, (That’s it…right there…oh yes! Yes! YES!) As-as f-far as I can find out he’s...(AAAAAAGH!) he’s ummm…you know…(UUUUUGH!)”

“Hm, yes I think I do,” Giles took a sip of tea and found he couldn’t look Silvia directly in the eye without feeling like an embarrassed school boy.

“This whole reorganisation (UUUGH! Christ do it faster!) could affect us quite (Huh! HuH! HUH!) seriously.” A small piece of plaster landed on the floor by Giles’ foot, “Putting all Britain’s defences under the control of one Ministry could have…” (OOOOOOH!) Giles could stand it no longer, “Good god Silvia, what the hell’s going on up there?”

“And there was me thinking you were a man of the world.” Silvia gave Giles a world weary smile, “It’s just one of the girls relaxing.”

“Relaxing?” Giles stood up to avoid another shower of dust and plaster, “At three o’clock in the afternoon.”

“What (AAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!) the girls do when they’re off duty is really no concern of ours.” Silvia moved her legs to avoid a flurry of dust. “But I think I’ll take the cost of the repairs out of her wages.”

“I came over especially this afternoon to (oh god) discuss (oh god!) the most (UUGH!) mementos (HUUUH!) change in government policy (YEEEEEES!) towards the supernatural…” Giles paused waiting to be interrupted by more cries from above but was greeted only by silence. “That’s better,” he muttered before continuing, “in a life time and-and…” He waved his arm around helplessly indicating the room above.

“Maybe in future I should come ‘round to your flat,” Silvia smiled suggestively, “that way we won’t be disturbed…whatever we’re doing.”

“What?” Giles looked at her absent-mindedly, “yes maybe that’s best.” Giles glanced once more at the ceiling above before retaking his seat.

The original reason for the meeting between Britain’s head slayer, Silvia Fitzsimons, and Rupert Giles, was to discuss the resent actions of the British Government. The upper echelons of the government had always been aware of the existence of demons, vampires and the world of the weird in general. There were several government run organisations which had dealt with the netherworld threat, in conjunction with the old Watchers Council, for years.

In the gap between the destruction of the old council and the founding of the new Slayers and Guardians Council the lines between slayers and government agencies had become blurred. At one point the government had taken over the direction of all the newly called slayers, for a short period, with tragic consequences.

Until recently all these little secret departments had been run by different Ministries, now, under the recent reorganisation, they were to be run by the so-called Ministry of Administrative Affairs, with its own Minister and Permanent Secretary. Giles was wary of any move that would suggest that the government might be trying to regain some control over the slayers; and while Mrs Fitzsimons was quite willing to work with the government she didn’t trust them as far as she could throw them (even if that was quite a distance since she had come into her powers). Whatever their views on the government’s motives, both Giles and Mrs Fitzsimons were determined that the slayers would never again come under the control of any government anywhere in the world.


Junction 29, M25, Essex.

PC Jack Fuller had worked traffic for five of his eight years in the Essex Constabulary and had seen many spectacular RTA’s (Road Traffic Accidents) in his time. The one he was attending now had to rank somewhere in the top ten most messy.

He watched the traffic on the unaffected carriageways drive slowly by in the fine rain that had made the road so greasy (and had probably contributed to the accident). He glanced at his watch, nearly twenty-one-hundred hours, and wondered where the tow-truck was. Probably stuck in the same traffic jam caused by the accident it had been sent to clear.

Jack ran a professional eye over the cones and lights that had been put out to warn of the accident; he decided there was nothing else he could do. He walked over to the fire tender and it’s flashing lights; the Leading Hand saw him approach and walked over to greet him.

“There’s no-way we’ll be able to get the driver out,” the young woman explained before Jack had a chance to say anything, “not until the tow truck gets here anyway.”

Jack shrugged under his high-visibility jacket, “Got any spare tea in there?”

The fire fighter waved him over to the tender and poured him a ‘cuppa’ from a thermos.


It was fairly obvious to Jack what had happened. The lorry driver had likely as not fallen asleep at the wheel; the chances were that he had probably been driving too fast for the conditions as well. The truck had swerved across the carriageway, the skid-marks confirmed that, and then it had wrapped itself around one of the supports for a bridge that carried a minor road over the motorway.

If this had not been enough, one of the lorry's load of six steel girders had come loose on impact and gone through the driver and his cab like a hot knife through butter. The girder had only stopped when it too hit the bridge support like a battering ram. Jack had been worried that the bridge had been made unsafe so he had requested that the bridge be closed until ‘Motorway Maintenance’ had a chance to check it out.


Eventually the tow-truck arrived having made its way though the traffic, by now it was twenty-one thirty and the traffic volume was easing off a little. The tow-truck was hitched up to the lorry and pulled it away from the bridge support. As soon as there was sufficient space to work the fire crew set about removing the driver’s body. Jack walked up to the bridge support and played his torch beam over the damaged area. It looked pretty bad; this carriageway of the motorway would have to be closed while the bridge was repaired.

As he looked up at area were a large slab of concrete had been removed Jack thought he saw something unusual. He shone his torch and looked closer, his heart started to sink as he called to the fire crew for a ladder. One of the fire fighters ran over with a short ladder, Jack placed it against the support to climb up and examine the damaged area more closely, the sinking feeling he had just got, got worse as his suspicions were confirmed.

“Damn!” he exclaimed.

“What’s up?” the fire fighter holding the ladder called.

Jack climbed down, all thoughts of tea and the bacon-butties for his ten o’clock break receding into the distance, he turned wearily to the fire fighter.

“Looks like we’ve got a body up there mate,” Jack shock his head resignedly.

The fire fighter gazed up to where Jack had been looking, “That’ll be fun getting it out from up there,” he smiled knowing that it wasn’t his problem.


El Tosca Restaurant, St. Martins Lane, London.

Steph, Rachael, Trish and Alice were seated at a table in the corner of the Spanish restaurant one or two doors up from the Slaughtered Lamb Tavern where they all worked. Slayers ate for free here after they had rescued the owner’s daughter from a particularly stupid demon who had kidnapped the girl from under the very noses of two slayers. The fight had been short and terminal (for the demon) and had ended with the girl being returned to her very grateful father.

Mrs F had ordered her slayers not to ‘kick the arse’ out of offers like this. People would often make wild offers in gratitude for the return of a loved one not realising exactly how much a young slayer could eat at one sitting. She had ordered her girls to maybe make one visit in a month and after the first visit to always offer to pay.

The four young women giggled and laughed as Rachael, an Afro-Caribbean girl in her late teens, recounted the tale of her latest slaying activities in Soho, London’s famous red-light district.

“There I was,” she began, “sitting in one of those old clubs…you know the type of place? You order Champaign and you get Cherry Cola.”

All the other girls nodded in agreement, Mrs F, had made various arrangements with club owners; which involved her girls making regular visits to their clubs to keep them free of vampires and demons. These ‘arrangements’ would usually involve a purely voluntary cash payment or donation to the AUSG (the Amalgamated Union of Slayers and Guardians), of which Mrs Fitzsimons was the democratically elected general secretary.

“Well.” continued Rachael after taking a sip of wine, “this guy comes up to me and asks me to dance. He was kinda tall, dark an’ handsome so I thought, ‘yeah, why not?’ It was a slow night so I thought I might be in with a chance there, y’know what I mean,” her friends certainly did and they all nodded their heads.

“I should have realised there was something wrong,” she explained, “when I noticed how strong he was; he squeezed me so tight I thought he was going to break me ribs!”

The other girls gasped in mock shock and leaned closer so as not to miss a single word.

“Then there was this other thing,” explained Rachael, “when he went for more drinks…I mean I’m not stupid but how come I didn’t notice how he talked like a man but walked like a woman?” She looked questioningly at her friends; no one had a plausible answer so Rachael carried on with her tale.

“Anyway, we drank Champaign and danced all night, under electric candle light, he picked me up and put me on his knee an’ said ‘pretty girl, why don’t you come home with me?’ I don’t know why but I said yes!”

The girls around the table giggled giddily, by this time of the night they were all slightly drunk.

“Magic!” Trish nodded her head knowingly, like her friend she was in her late teens, but she came from the north of England, “He musta put a hex on you or some such.”

“So, he takes me out to his car,” Rachael continued with a shrug, “nice car too, expensive. Mrs F got quite a bit for it when we sold it. Now,” Rachel leant forward and lowered her voice, “we’re in the front seat of his car and things are getting a bit, you know ‘heated’? An’ I puts me hand down the front of his trousers an’” Rachael paused for dramatic effect, “there’s nothing there!”

“You mean he was a she?” Alice, the American girl in the group, asked, “Lucky you!” she giggled at her friend’s expression.

“Yep!” Rachel refilled her glass from one of the wine bottles on the table, “An that’s not all!”

“I would have thought that was enough!” smiled Steph the oldest girl at the table, “What did you do?”

“I looked up into her face,” Rachael continued after taking a sip of wine, “an’ I couldn’t help but notice the lumpy forehead the yellow eyes an’ the really prominent fangs!”

“VAMPIRE!” screamed the girls in pretended terror, this drew a few odd looks from the other people in the restaurant, but did not stop Rachael from finishing her story.

“Y’known I don’t know what I was most upset about,” she explained sadly, “that he was a she or that she was a vampire.”

“Some girls get all the luck,” complained Alice, “what’d do next?”

“Oh I staked him…poof!” Rachael mimed staking a vamp, “Odd thing was when she was nothing but a pile of ash I found this Chinese looking charm thing. I gave it to Mrs F an’ she sent a picture of it to that Willow Rosenberg in the States. She says it’s some ancient charm that enhances disguises or something. That must be why I never noticed him…sorry she, was a vamp!”

“Well let that be a lesson to you all,” announced Steph sagely, as the oldest of the group she felt she had a duty to ensure that the younger slayers learnt from their mistakes, “always check down the front of a guys trousers before you start with the kissing and such!”

The slayers burst into another fit of giggles, before going back to their meal.


The Slaughtered Lamb Tavern.

Mrs Fitzsimons looked up at the clock above the bar; it showed a couple of minutes short of eleven o’clock. She’d already called last orders and the fifteen minutes ‘drinking-up time’ had passed. She took a deep breath that threatened to burst the buttons of her blouse.

“TIME GENTLEMEN PLEASE!” she called in a voice that brooked no argument.

The last of the Slaughtered Lamb’s customers drank up the dregs of their beer and started to head for the door calling their ‘goodnights’ to the women behind the bar. Mrs F turned to Kimberly, a ‘temp’ barmaid who was working at the Slaughtered Lamb so the slayer barmaids could have some time off together.

“Lasha will lock up love,” Silvia referred to her second in command, “I need to be off…business.” Mrs F winked knowingly at the barmaid who giggled for quite the wrong reasons.

“What time shall I say to expect you if…” Lasha called from the back of the bar, not adding ‘if anything goes wrong’, but Silvia knew what she meant.

“Shouldn’t take more ‘n a hour or two,” Silvia walked over to her friend, “if we’re not home or haven’t called by one, one-thirty. Send help, hmm?” smiling she patted the young Indian woman on the shoulder.

Mrs Fitzsimons walked into the staff kitchen behind the bar where she found Tina who would be accompanying her tonight.

“You ready Tina luv?” Silvia asked the tall blonde girl.

Both women were dressed in jeans; Tina wore her signature long black leather coat, a ‘Spike Coat’ as it was known amongst slayers. Silvia put on a denim jacket over her white blouse.


Tina picked up and hefted a sports bag which ‘clanked’ a little as it moved.

“Right then,” Silvia gestured towards the door, “we’d better be off.”


The two women left the pub by the front door; they crossed St. Martin’s Lane and headed down an ally between some shops until they came out on Charring Cross Road. Turning north they walked briskly up the road until they came to Tottenham Court Road tube station. Touching in with their ‘Oyster’ cards they walked down to the platform and caught the first train going out to Stratford. Silvia had some unfinished business in Stratford, and now the time had come to settle some old scores.

As they sat in the carriage heading out through the darkened tunnels, the tube train would not come out above ground until they actually arrived at Stratford station. Silvia thought back to what had happened a few nights before. She had been in Stratford late one night, dealing with some ‘business’ she hadn’t really wanted her girls to know about, when she had been jumped by an eight foot tall demon.

Silvia was the first to admit that she hadn’t been paying attention before she had been jumped, and it was only pure luck that she was sitting here today. The beast was tall and very strong and didn’t appear to be bothered by the best attempts of Britain’s oldest known slayer to beat it to a bloody pulp. Mrs F took a deep breath, and felt the buttons on her blouse strain; looking at her reflection in the window opposite she noticed the scowl that had formed on her face. What was done was done, learn from your mistakes she told herself…maybe she was getting old and she should start taking someone on patrol with her.

She had asked Giles about the demon; it had one of those unpronounceable names that sounded like you were sneezing and coughing at the same time. Giles had done the research; this type of monster cropped up every generation or so, he had told her, it would wander around impregnating human women with its young.

The unfortunate women would then be eaten from the inside out by the demon’s offspring who would then fight it out amongst themselves until there was only one left. Then the whole cycle would start again twenty years later. As with so many things demonic it didn’t seem to have any rhyme or reason to it. Giles had not been able to tell her how best to kill the creature. But, he had reasoned that cutting it up into small pieces and throwing it in the river was probably effective. Tonight the women had come equipped with their favourite swords and axes.


Silvia and Tina tracked the demon to an area of derelict warehouses that were going to be demolished to make way for the 2012 Olympics. Silvia walked along the ill lit rubbish strewn street to draw the demon out. She had done her best to look like just the sort of woman the demon would want to impregnate. Sure enough the demon had pounced from the shadows to attack its seemingly helpless prey. Silvia had confronted the creature with a wicked looking axe; the demon hadn’t hesitated for a moment, as it sprang into action and leapt at Silvia. Tina had sprinted from across the road, where she had been shadowing Silvia; she drew her razor sharp Katana from under her coat and slashed at the demons legs.

Unfortunately the demon had not gone down. It turned to confront Tina only to have Silvia crack it over the head with her axe. Still it didn’t go down; it did in fact give every impression of enjoying the fight. It looked down at the two women with its milk white eyes and laughed as it parried their attacks with its hands.

“Damn!” Silvia cried angrily, it probably had some type of magical force field that turned their attacks.

This is why we need witches, she thought getting more and more annoyed. Her anger added strength to her blows, and it was only when the demon howled in pain did she realise she had just lopped off one of its arms.

Tina came in low and swung at the beast’s knees again, this time the demon screamed in fear and pain as its left leg was severed at the knee and it fell over squirting ink black blood all over the street. The two slayers closed in for the kill chopping at the demon until it was just a pile of body parts lying in the middle of the deserted road.

“Y’know?” panted Tina with a smile as she wiped demon blood from her blade, “I think we got it.”

“Yeah,” agreed Silvia leaning heavily on her axe, she was going to have to sew on a few new buttons to her blouse, “yes I think we did.”

“What shall we do with the…” Tina was going to say ‘body’ but that no longer really described what lay at their feet, “Umm…bits?”

“Throw the big bits in the canal over there,” Silvia pointed to one of the old canals that criss-crossed this part of London, “the rest…” she shrugged, “leave it.”

“You think?” Tina picked up a leg and carried it carefully so she wouldn’t get any more blood on her coat than there was already she dumped the leg with a splash into the water.

“Yeah no one will notice,” Silvia heaved the monster’s head into the canal.

The clean-up done, the two slayers cleaned their weapons and themselves of demon blood the best they could before trudging wearily to a main road where they were able to hail a cab. They were home in less than half an hour; little knowing the chain of events that had been put in motion earlier in the evening when PC Fuller had examined the motorway bridge.


Additional Xovers.

‘Lola’, The Kinks.
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