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Summary: A simple collection of plot ideas, one-shots, and add-ons to my already existing stories.

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Multiple Crossings > General
Miscellaneous > Surprise Crossover
zTiamaTzFR18826,9312188,3167 Jan 117 Nov 11No

A Hundred Will Do

Title: A Hundred Will Do

Author: zTiamaTz

Email: WMullen78@Yahoo.com

Beta By: Starway Man

Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, along with the other characters from the show, are owned by Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy.

Description: After Faith is assassinated by Travers and the Council, Xander is offered the opportunity to even things up.

Continuity: None

A/N: This story will be entirely from Xander's POV.

A/N 2: This story takes place some time during season 4 of Buffy, after “The Freshman” but before “Something Blue”.

:-:-: - Denotes the beginning/end of a flashback.


=====
"You have to come out sometime, Travers," I whispered to the man I wanted dead as he sat, safe and protected, within the Council’s London headquarters. He couldn't hear me, of course, but that was okay.

Faith never saw coming whoever it was that’d killed her, either. Comas were a real bitch like that.

According to the man that had set me down this path, a girl named Violet Anderson - from Bayonne, New Jersey - was the new Slayer. Most likely, the Watchers had tracked Vi down by now - like Faith and even Buffy, she was someone they’d missed grabbing as a little kid, and so the Council types were no doubt busy trying to turn her into an emotionless robot, just like Kendra had been.

And that was part of why I was in this London park, straddling Great Russell Street, andtaking cover under a tree as the rain poured down. According to my supplier, I had one hundred untraceable bullets, and what’s more, any kind of investigation regarding their use would be instantly squashed, no matter where in the world I used them.

Good thing, too, on account of I planned on using them here in London as soon as possible.

:-:-:
I sat on a stone bench, near Faith’s grave. I'd only been back in Sunnydale a few hours, and hadn't even seen Buffy or Willow yet. After getting the wonderful news that I'd have to 'rent' my parents’ basement, I'd been eager to see some people I actually liked.

I'd stopped by Giles' place to catch up on things, and that's when I'd gotten the news. Someone had gone into Faith's hospital room one night a few weeks ago, and suffocated her with a pillow. She hadn't even woken up from her coma to fight back.

Bottom line, there was a new Slayer out there somewhere, and no one apart from a couple of gravediggers had attended Faith’s funeral.

I sat there, wondering...what could I have done different? Despite how evil she’d become, despite the fact she’d tried to choke me to death, despite how she’d tried to strip away Deadboy’s soul and she’d even held a knife to Willow’s throat, Faith had been my first.

Call me naïve, but it wasn’t just a meaningless lay for me, even if that was all it had been for her.

I couldn’t help wondering - if I had kept it in my pants, would she have listened to me after she’d killed Finch? If I hadn't treated her just like every other guy she’d met in her life, could Faith have brought herself to trust me?

Probably not, if the way she was so loyal to the Mayor afterwords was any indication, but a guy can dream.

I heard a branch snap somewhere behind me. Just perfect. "You picked the wrong guy to snack on tonight, leech, so walk away before you get dusted," I threatened, as I carefully palmed a stake from my inner-jacket pocket.

"I’m glad to see you haven't lost your balls over the last two or three months, Mister Harris. I wouldn't want to think I'd come all the way out here for nothing," a gravelly voice replied.

I turned as I got to my feet, stake at the ready. A few feet away was an old man, he was probably in his sixties - older than Giles or my dad, anyway. He wore a business suit and trench coat, and the only thing resembling a weapon was the steel briefcase in his right hand.

"And since surviving in this town often necessitates jumping to conclusions..." He dipped his left hand into his coat pocket.

I tensed, not sure what to expect. If the guy pulled out a gun, I was screwed.

Instead, he pulled out a small gold cross. "As you can see, I'm not a 'leech' as you so charmingly put it," he told me, before stuffing the cross back in his pocket.

That didn't make me feel any better. He obviously knew about the Sunnydale nightlife, and worse, he knew me. "So what do you want?"

"What I want isn't strictly relevant, Mister Harris." He nodded toward Faith's grave. "It's more about what you want."

I got a sick feeling, hearing that. It had been months since I saw her running away from Sunnydale, but you don’t easily forget a girl like Anya - who’d made no secret of the fact that I was scum like the rest of my gender. Yet for some reason, was an acceptable date for Senior Prom as well. "You aren't some kind of wish demon, are you?"

"Let's just say I won't be putting on a pretty dress, just so you can take me to your high school prom." There was literally no humor in his tone.

Okay, so he knew a lot about me. This could get pretty bad, considering I was the one who’d set up that bomb for Graduation. If he knew about the little stuff, I was afraid of what else he knew.

He must have sensed my unease. He stepped forward, and carefully placed the case onto the bench I'd been sitting on. At the same time, I took two steps back.

"My name is Agent Graves, and I'm here to make you an offer that you can either accept or decline - the choice is yours, free of reward or reprisal," the man said evenly.

"And what exactly is your offer?"

"We both know that Quinton Travers was the man who ordered the killing of Faith Lehane a few weeks ago. I'm giving you the opportunity to amend the mistake he made."

Who was this guy, a renegade Watcher? I couldn’t hear any accent in his voice, like with Giles and Weasley Wesley. "And how exactly am I supposed to do that, huh?"

He gestured toward the steel briefcase. "Inside this attaché case is irrefutable evidence that what I'm telling you is true. Also present within is a gun, and one hundred rounds of ammunition. All untraceable. All yours. Do with it as you see fit."
[See A/N 3]

"Wait, wait, wait," I said, not believing what I'd just heard. "You're seriously telling me that you're offering a hundred bullets to kill Travers, and they're untraceable?"

"That I did."

"Great, they're untraceable, but that doesn't mean crap if someone sees me do it. Or are there so many bullets you’re offering me in that briefcase, on account of I’m gonna have to kill any witnesses too?" I accused.

"Witnesses are not an issue. Suffice it to say there will be no investigation for any killing involving these bullets. None whatsoever. Both now, and any time in the future. You have my word on it."

Right, like I was just going to take his word for something like that. Still, there was one question I was interested in asking. "Why me?" I had to say it, I had to know why this man came to me of all people with an offer like this.

"Because here you are, sitting in a vampire-infested cemetery, mourning a dead girl that tried to strangle you to death," Graves said in that even tone of voice. “Who better than you to avenge her murder?”

Well, with that kind of logic, how could I say no to this guy’s offer of a gun with 100 bullets?


:-:-:
Finally, Travers’ Rolls Royce pulled out through the gates of the Council headquarters. I'd been watching the place for a couple of days, so that I'd know exactly when to strike. Seeing that pompous bastard in that car pissed me off no end, though.

Faith had lived in that fleabag motel, while he was getting driven around in a chauffeured car worth a couple hundred grand at least. Him and his organization had been that stingy with a girl who’d needed a decent home, instead of living somewhere where hookers turned tricks? The more I saw of him, the more I couldn't wait to finish the job.

Leaving my cover, I made my way to the rental car a few minutes later. No more waiting; tonight was going to be the night.

=====
With a little bit of speeding - how the hell did the Brits do it driving on the wrong side of the road, and with the steering wheel on the wrong side of the car? - I managed to catch up with them, but they were still two cars ahead of me. Timing was going to be a bitch, as I needed to be behind the Rolls Royce in order to make this work.

Just as we were about to leave the zone I'd designated to make this happen, luck was finally on my side. I was directly behind the Rolls, and the car had gotten caught by a red light. Knowing this was probably the best opportunity I would get, I made my move.

I came up on the Rolls and stopped just a little too late, giving the very expensive car a hard bump on its fender. It didn't take long for Travers' hefty driver to get out, and boy was he pissed. Perfect.

Grabbing a map of London from the passenger seat, I used it to cover the gun up as I got out of the car. "I am so sorry!" I was going for an air-headed tourist vibe, and judging by the look on his face, it was working.

"You stupid effing Yank!" the Council chauffeur screamed as he stalked toward me. "Do you have any idea how much this car is worth, you bloody git?!"

"I-I was trying to read my map, plus hey, you people drive on the wrong-" Before I could finish, he was right in my face. That was all I needed to pull the gun from under the map and pistol-whip him.

The driver dropped like a stone; no matter how big a guy is, you catch them in the temple like that, and they'll go down like a big sack of potatoes. Since he was just a driver, I didn't want to kill him; the odds were that he personally hadn’t had anything to do with Faith's death.

I ignored the nearby witnesses; even at this time of night, people seemed to just love strolling around on the streets here. Guess that seems weird to me because, hello, product of a Sunnydale education here. Plus, with all those cameras that were installed all over the city, I knew the cops would be here soon enough.

Putting all of that aside, I turned my attention to the Rolls Royce, as its sole occupant the whole reason I was here. Tonight was gonna be Travers' last night on earth, and I wanted to make sure it was memorable.

=====
I got in the driver's seat, and immediately locked all the doors; I wasn't going to chase him down the damn street like a runaway dog.

"Did you take care of-" Travers stopped when I looked back, and he realized I wasn't his hired gorilla. He hit a button, and the glass partition between the front and back of the car started to rise up, but I simply smashed it with the pistol.

Seeing the gun, he froze for a second before making a mad attempt to open the door.

"Ah-ah-ah," I warned, pointing the gun at his head. “Don’t move.”

"Who are you, a-a-and w-what do you want?" Travers stuttered.

"Be a man for once in your life, Quinton. You don't want to go out like the Countess of Salisbury, now, do you?" I asked him with a smirk [see A/N 4]. Since Travers had spent all day in the Watchers compound, I'd done some sight-seeing; including the Tower of London.

"Whatever they're paying-"

"This is in no way about money," I growled at him. "My name is Alexander Harris."

Travers musta known who I was, as the look on his face said it all - he knew he wasn't going to get out of this by talking, or offering bribes.

Police sirens cut through the air, they were still in the distance though. I could see hope coming into his eyes, so I decided to crush it immediately.

"They're not going to get here in time." I pulled back the hammer. "This is for Faith, and Buffy, and every other girl who didn't fit into that mold of yours. Of what you and yours thought a proper Slayer should be."

"No, please-"

I put one round into his chest, and then another slug in his forehead. I was ready to leave the car, when I thought better of it. I emptied the entire damn clip into his throat, almost decapitating him.

Better safe than sorry. Who knew what kind of spells the Watchers had in that headquarters of theirs?

Finally exiting the Rolls, I had just enough time to stand upright, before I was surrounded by three police cars. I dropped the gun, and put my hands up. Even if Graves had been lying to me, this was still worth it.

=====
Less than a week later I was a free man, walking through the streets of New York City. It was all as Agent Graves had promised; the evidence had disappeared, the witnesses suddenly got amnesia, the police investigation had been abruptly terminated - oh, I’m sure the Watchers were still howling with rage over that one - and I’d caught the first red-eye back to the States.

I wasn't sure what the deal with that attaché case was, but when all the different airport people scanned it, they never had a problem with its contents. Graves had thought of everything, apparently.

Right now, though, I was looking for a gun store. While the gun Graves had given me was taken away, luckily I'd stashed the briefcase in a storage locker at Heathrow Airport. The Council was almost certainly on my tail, and I needed to re-arm myself.

The gun didn't matter, though, only the bullets. If I could take out the number two man of the Council with no repercussions using them, I decided - why not put the rest of the bullets to good use?

Never mind the Council’s wet works teams coming from merrie olde England, there were plenty of scumbags here in New York, and I still had eighty-four bullets to use up...

=====
Disclaimer 2: Agent Graves and the comic '100 Bullets' was created by writer Brian Azzarello and artist Eduardo Risso. It is owned by Azzarello, Risso, Vertigo, and DC Comics.

=====
A/N 3: This is a quote taken directly from the comic.

A/N 4: Margaret Pole, the Countess of Salisbury, was executed at the Tower of London in 1541, for treason. She refused to lay her head on the chopping block, and instead, ran. She was chased down, and struck eleven times by her executioner before finally succumbing to her wounds.


=====
THE END
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