Disclaimer: Don't own Buffy. But I do own… Tuesday! Not the day, the girl silly! :)

Note: Okies, this fanfiction has a slight AU because I love Anya and Amanda so. Therefore, they aren't dead.


"Do you love me, Auntie?"

A pair of sullen dark gray eyes lost in thought stared down the figure before her. They were unusually large, multifaceted and beautiful things, but cold and fatigued.

"Auntie?" the five-year-old repeated. "Auntie Beth?" she began to shake the still-laying woman vigorously, tears washing down in face in a constant torrent.

"She's gone, Tuesday. There's nothing for you here, sweetie." A voice from behind remarked coldly.

The little girl acknowledged her name by turning her head slightly. "Granpa?" she called through the dark alleyway, clinging to her mother's cousin, whom she called her aunt.

The stench of a deposited cigarette filtered through the rain, the only thing keeping the small flame to spread was that very fall of water, so it extinguished quickly in the darkness of the city of Los Angeles.

The tall man kneeled close to his granddaughter, cuddling her as she buried her face in his trench coat. "Aunt Beth is gone, Tuesday." He rephrased, but she obviously didn't want to hear it.

"She ain't gone!" Tuesday shrieked. "She didn't go… she didn't…" the girl lost the sentence in her constant sobs. A sudden, bright flash of light illuminated the scene, thunder thrumming gently in their ears.

Tuesday couldn't be the last.

First, Mr. Maclay lost his wife, then his daughter, and now his niece? And his granddaughter was the last. She couldn't be the last.

He ran his fingers through Tuesday's long, ash blonde tresses. Just like Tara's. Mr. Maclay reminded himself. Just like Tara's.


"You have a caller, milady Willow." Kava, one of the Brazilian potentials announced in a rather whiny tone. Ever since she, Kennedy, Willow and the other Slayers had arrived in Wales alongside the remnants of the Scooby gang, Kava had been, well, kind of whiny. The group was housed in a large and long since abandoned home nestled in the Welsh countryside, although Buffy did miss Rome, she admitted it was rather suitable for the purpose. That being to train the potentials.

The 'original' potentials, with the exception of Kennedy, Amanda, and Vi had left the manor to train others in their homeland. That was working well, too, and was the recruiting and 'graduating'.

Approaching the door with a certain state of caution she'd always carried around with her, Willow allowed Kava to open it for her. She was sure they weren't vampires; especially considering the Slayer would've done some sort of spider-sense thingy and attacked with that trademark kick-ass perception and a quip to finish it off. Of course, one of the two was a kindergartener, and she'd never heard of a five-year-old vampire before, but then again…

The woman opposite of the little girl was obviously a watcher; she was clad in a crisp cream and dark brown business blouse, a long skirt the same color, and a pair of snippet little glasses. "Greetings, Miss Rosenberg." That sharp British accent singled her out, too. "My name is Jillian Red." She extended a hand out, but didn't seem surprised when no one took it. "And I've got quite a surprise for you. May we come in?"

Uh oh. Not another one. Surprises generally weren't good.


"Miss Rosenberg," Jillian began, stirring a spoon in her teacup as the little girl sat in the living room with a few of the younger slayers-in-training, along with Anya and Xander. Willow and Jillian had retreated to the kitchen, each curling their fingers around a cup. "This will come as a bit of a shock, but that girl in there"–she nodded to the now shrieking girl chasing around Xander and the Slayers-"she's very special. Tuesday is the daughter of Tara… and yourself."

Whoa… okay… that's a bit of information that failed to come to Willow.

The first thing she wanted to say was, "Tuesday?" but her throat constricted and she couldn't form that single word. Instead she managed to stammer, "H-how?"

Jillian released a long breath wanting to be a sigh. "This is going to be a very long day."