In a small room high up in the northernmost tower of the Watcher's Council Headquarters, Buffy lays wide awake on her cot and counts the tolling of a bell. One…two…Buffy stares at one of dim yellow lights in the ceiling. Three...four. Lights out on the last chime, plunging her windowless room into darkness.

Four in the morning, the approved slayer bedtime. The lights will flick back on at twelve-bell noon, by her reckoning.

Needless to say, the weird enforced sleep pattern has been making for one very grumpy Buffy.

And they wonder why I give them trouble.

She deeply regrets joking about joining a nunnery. Who'd choose to live like this? Women made of sterner stuff than she, that's for sure.

Buffy's room is barely better than a prison cell, and she thinks that's probably the point. She's almost certain she's in some old important castle-turned-headquarters in London run by the Council. They don't let her see much outside of her little room, a few hallways, and the interrogation room.

As far as she can tell, no one here is sure how to handle her so they've been trying a little bit of everything. This whole nightmare has been like showing up to her favorite teacher's class only to meet the worst, most out of control substitute ever.

Buffy misses Giles like an amputated limb. Despite their ups and downs, she knows he cares about her. She can trust him. Even when things got bad with Kravic, Giles pulled through for her in the end.

The Council? Buffy doesn't trust them at all. And a grand total of zero of them care about her, Buffy. They're only interested in her, Slayer.

Buffy scoots over to the wall and covers her face with her forearm, trying to force sleep. She's still sick and tired from the drugs they needled her with back in Sunnydale…escape sounds so impossible when she wants to blow chunks. The second she kicks the effect of the Cruciamentum drugs, she'll bust out of here. Then woe to whoever stands in her way.

"Your watcher reports that you still allow civilians to join you on patrol. Explain your thought process for this decision."

"Wesley isn't my watcher. Giles is," Buffy says, tired and sullen. She wonders how long it's been since they kidnapped her. Days blur together.

"Rupert Giles was fired for his misconduct during your last testing. Wesley Wyndam-Pryce is your watcher, and good thing too. If he hadn't alerted us to the seriousness of the Sunnydale situation, who knows how long you might have been allowed to run wild."

Everything the new guy is saying makes Buffy want to punch him in the face. "Yeah, good old Wesley, always with the last minute save."

New Guy Nigel, Creepy Buckley, and Toady Reuben have formed a little panel. They confer notes, swap theories, and generally tag team her during these little sessions until Buffy wants to scream.

After she mockingly praises Wesley, the gutless wonder, the men seem to make an effort not to look at each other. Buffy snorts. "Even you guys know how useless that jerk is, I can tell. Why send me someone like that? Giles might not follow all the rules-which are way outdated and unreasonable, just so you know-but he does know how to keep me alive. If I followed Wesley's advice, I'd be dead three times over by now."

Buckley tsks. "Now, now, young lady. We have inherent confusion here. Mr. Wyndam-Pryce issued orders that you did not follow. His words were not meant to be taken under advisement."

Reuben nods. "It's not your place to decide the plan."

Buffy tosses her hands in the air. "Didn't you just hear me? I had to adapt on the fly. If I followed his orders, I'd be dead. Not that you guys care. Between Wesley and the Cruciamentum, it's almost like you're trying to kill me, not help me."

Her words go uncontested.

Buffy's stomach tightens in a ball of misery. "You're trying to kill me," she repeats so softly, it's no longer a question. Her sluggish senses flutter awake along her neck and down her spine. Enemy? Danger? Like a joke. Last month, she could've broken these guys in half with one hand. Ridiculous that they can seem dangerous to her now.

"Don't be foolish. You are one of the most valuable tools in the Council's fight against evil. We would no sooner kill you then toss aside the armory's finest sword."

Buffy swallows. "Funnily enough? Not really comforting."

Nigel, an Indian man in his forties, levels a stare at her. "We have a serious situation on our hands, Miss Summers. Neither humor nor comfort belong here."

Horrifyingly, she feels tears prick her eyes. Quick, think of something else. What would Xander say? Guess it's a good thing we're not mattress shopping. Or Willow, she'd have her back. Buffy has the right to live her life with as many funnies as she wants! And Giles? If he was here, listening to all this crap, he'd definitely-he'd totally...Buffy clears her throat and shakes her head. When she blinks the tears away, she sees the final addition to her interrogation unit enter the room.

Quentin Travers studies her. "Nigel is correct. Even now, you disregard the severity of what you've done."

Buffy realizes she's the only one sitting. She stands, maybe too fast. Black spots dance in front of her eyes.

He carries on, like a death knell. "You're training record is abysmal and spotty. You scorn true authority and direction in equal measure. You've revealed some of the world's most guarded secrets to several young civilians and placed them in danger time and time again. You consort with vampires and the sorts of humans who do business with demons. You collaborate with dismissed Council employees and conspire against your watcher. You are uneducated, unwieldy, and by all accounts, unworthy of your station."

"Excuse me?" It's too much. She doesn't know what to refute first. "Wha-unwieldy? Unworthy? I fight every night to keep the world safe! What have you done?"

The other men hover behind Travers, ruffled by her direct accusation.

"More than you know, Miss Summers." Travers' cool eyes bore into hers. "And I will carry on this fight for longer than you can imagine. Your service was always going to be brief. I'm aware of the dangers our slayers face. But you have no concept of the long battles that are fought for decades, and over centuries. Your purpose is to put out small fires. The Council manages a dimensions-wide blaze."

He's being so reasonable, so adult, that Buffy almost feels like a little kid stamping her foot in comparison. Too bad for Travers and his cronies-she's been working around that particular mind game for years. "That doesn't mean you get to treat me like this. I'm on the front lines while you get to sit back safe and sound in your fortress. If anything, you owe me for what I do. Even soldiers get that...what's it called? Hazard pay."

Travers crosses the room and gestures to her empty chair. Buffy plants her hands on her hips in silent refusal.

"Do you suggest slayers begin charging a fee for rescuing innocents?"

"Watchers are paid!" As she well knows from Giles' complaints post-firing.

Her opponent's lips twitch. "What could you possibly need that isn't provided by the Council already? And, in your case, your mother? Nothing of significance."

"Do you always answer your own questions? Cuz it sure seems like it," Buffy says.

Travers tips his head to her with a smug smile.

"Whatever. It's not about money, it's about having rights. I didn't sign up to be the slayer, I just am the slayer. You can't take my life choices away like this."

They stare at her like she's said something ridiculous.

"Choice?" Nigel sounds perplexed. "You said it yourself Miss Summers; you are the slayer. That's the beginning and end of it."

Buffy feels a frustrated scream build and catch in her throat. These people lack all compassion. She's gonna have to lower her expectations if she wants to get any answers.

"Okay...okay. Let's drop the Miss Summers this, Young Lady that, and cut to the chase. According to you, I suck at being the slayer and you're trying to fix me. At what point do I get to go home?"

"Simple. Once you've completed your training to our satisfaction. When you demonstrate your willingness to follow your watcher's orders. When you show you can slay while adhering to council protocol. Do this, and you will regain the freedom you once enjoyed," Travers says.

"Oh, goody. Keeping it easy for me," Buffy spits her words like nails. "How long until you're satisfied with my education?"

"Oh, we've hardly begun your education."

She scoffs. "Yeah, and who's fault is that? How long have you creeps been questioning me?"

"We brought you here three weeks ago today. Believe me, the investigative portion of your stay was never meant to take this long. Cooperation is key to your progress home."

Buffy glares until her eyes burn. Mouth drawn in a tight line, she slowly sits down. Behind Travers, her three handlers swell with triumph. "Investigative portion, huh? What sort of portions are left to all of this?" she asks.

"That's none of your concern." Nigel is a hoot. Definitely Buffy's favorite pal around here.

"Not so fast," Buckley interjects, adjusting his glasses. "Perhaps Miss Summers would benefit from hearing the roadmap to her success. Present a plan and the rest shall follow, eh?"

Travers stays at the front of the group, but he's clearly opened the floor to comment. He keeps his eyes on Buffy, as if gauging how well she can listen to his monkeys throw shit back and forth.

"The plan is thus," Buckley says. "We investigate our concerns regarding current slaying practices. You have been most resistant to this, the simplest step of your reeducation. Do you see how your refusal to cooperate has hurt your own aims? We're on the same side."

Reuben chimes in. "And we would all like to move forward, together."

Buffy doesn't blink, staring dully at the wall.

Buckley goes on. "Next, we will identify areas to improve. Then of course: preparation, preparation, preparation."

Buffy feels her eye twitch.

"Rigorous practice and testing, and finally supervised reentry into patrol."

"Who's supervising?"

"None of your concern," Nigel repeats, louder than before.

"Ri-ight."

"A flip attitude won't get you very far," Travers remarks sedately.

"Not in my experience," Buffy mutters. The disapproving stares don't phase her now. She has bigger fish to fry. "So, that's the plan to fix me, huh? What happens if I'm unfixable?" She tracks the shifting expressions between the four men in front of her, but it's like flipping through a deck of unreadable cards.

When Travers speaks, his voice is calm. "Ask yourself, Miss Summers. What happens to any tool that proves broken beyond repair?" He smiles. "It is replaced."

Buffy's heart races faster. "You answered your own question, again," she whispers through numb lips. "Bad habit you've got there, Quent."

His whole face sours at the bastardization of his name.

Someone in the back murmurs, "Really, Miss Summers."

Her laugh comes out shakier than intended. "Your priorities are completely whacked. I dusted Lothos. I defeated the Master. I sent Angelus to hell. I patrol every night. I do my job, or I did until you trapped me here. The only reason I'm not anymore is because of you. How can you sleep at night knowing you took away Sunnydale's slayer?"

"Soundly," Travers says. "Because I know the benefits of restructuring your education outweigh the risks of taking you off active duty. And I have the assurance that young Faith now protects the Hellmouth."

"Oh yeah, Faith, now she's a shining example of reliability. Did Wesley happen to snitch on her, too? No? Because she's not walking the straight and narrow these days. In fact, I'd be shocked if she's patrolled once since I disappeared. Faith isn't exactly cut out for rules and order-"

"Perhaps you deliberately misunderstand me." Travers straightens his cuffs in preparation to leave. "All slayers are replaceable."

Buffy runs out of words entirely. She watches him exit the room, apparently comfortable with ending the conversation on that note.

The others gather up their paperwork.

"You all really believe that, don't you." Buffy's whole face feels numb.

Reuben glances over to her. "That's the reality of slaying, Miss Summers. The sooner you accept it, the easier it will be." The three men file out behind their boss.

"Easier for who?" Buffy asks the empty room.

One of her guards ducks his head around the doorway. "Get up. Time to go."

Do as they say, or fight at all costs? Buffy's hands are shaking. Isn't this familiar? I promise I'm not crazy. I never actually thought vampires existed, come on. Just joking around guys. Let me go home and I'll never talk about monsters again.

When the slimmer of her two guards grabs her arm to drag her out, Buffy experimentally yanks back, trying to free her arm.

She can't break his hold. Instead, he grips tighter until her arm goes numb from the pressure, pain streaking down from her elbow. "Ow!"

"Quit struggling. Just walk already."

Her strength isn't coming back. Three weeks, Travers said. She should be stronger by now, unless…

Buffy stumbles into the hallway. Her food. The oatmeal stuff, the stew, those lonely dinners in her room. They've been drugging her every day.

"What's wrong with you? Don't have asthma, do you?" the goon shakes her a little. Buffy gasps for breath, panic setting in. "Can slayers get asthma?" he asks the other guard who shrugs.

Asthma attack or not, her shortness of breath isn't enough to make her guards take her anywhere but back up two flights of stairs, down a hallway, and into her room. As usual, they lock the door behind her.

The walls seem to be closing in. "Oh my god," Buffy chokes out loud, just to hear a non-pompous voice. Then adds, "This isn't okay. I am so screwed," just to hear the truth.

How bad would it be to give in?

Buffy huddles on her cot, heels against the wall, head hanging off the mattress edge. Under her hand, her stomach gurgles.

She skipped the basic meat and veggie dinner tonight, but how long can she last doing that? They've really tied her hands. She can eat the drugs and stumble around, sick and weak. Or else there's the always-fun starvation option...which leads to more of the same.

Can she force her way out? She's just a regular girl right now, and one that feels like crap to boot. Ugh, it's hard to think. Door is locked. Guards outside. Castle is probably a huge confusing maze and if she makes it that far, she'll still have to get from London all the way back to Sunnydale...somehow.

"Not exactly the slaycation I wanted," she mutters. Seriously, first time in a new country and her whole future hinges on getting the hell back home.

Focus, Buffy. Right, say she gives in. What's the worst that can happen? She has to dance to the Council's tune, play perfect slay-girl, and suck up all the criticism and belittling lectures. But then-home. Worth it?

Might have to be.

"Where are you guys?" Buffy wonders aloud. Her friends, Giles, Angel...three weeks and no one's come for her. There has to be a good reason for that. "The Mayor," Buffy assures herself. "I bet they're dealing with him right now. Can't be jetting off to rescue a girl who should be able to rescue herself."

Depressing thought. What else could be happening at home? "Oh, and Faith!" Obviously. "Gotta keep Faith under control. They wouldn't just leave Faith to take her crazy out on the Hellmouth. That'd be totally...irresponsible...oh my god, I sound like them!"

Keep her under control? What's the definition of out of control? What the Council says? Those tweeds think Buffy is out of control. What do they know? Who's to say Faith's actually out of line? Well, she killed a man, that's not okay-it's the opposite of okay. But should she be tried by human law? A regular court couldn't possibly understand, especially since slaying has to be so top secret. And the Council, would they even give her situation fair treatment if Faith came here for a trial? Doesn't seem like it. They'd probably skip straight to the replacing part!

Maybe the only person who can play checks and balances with a slayer...is another slayer.

Buffy sits up, legs pretzeling in a heap. Her spine stiffens, body on high alert, but the room is so silent she only hears buzzing. No, all the action is breaking in her own head.

You know in your gut we don't need the law. We are the law.

Faith, Faith. Was Faith right about everything all along?

Buffy shivers. "I have got to get out of this place."