“Why do people in car commercials always arm dance out the window?” Buffy asks thoughtfully. The late afternoon sun shines through the window, flickering through her golden hair as she mimics the arm waving motion she’s referring to.  Santana croons from the Jeep’s speakers, guitar strumming accompanying the clicking of the turn signal.

“Don’t know,” Faith says. “They’re bored because they’re driving around the desert at night.”

“They probably all live in the Inland Empire,” Buffy says, wrinkling her nose at their surroundings. She pulls her arm back in, rolling up her window as Faith guides them onto the freeway. She casts a sparkling smile at Faith, reaching across the console to rest a hand on her thigh. “Have I told you how awesome this idea was?”

Faith snorts, but drops one hand from the wheel to rest atop Buffy’s. “I didn’t invent senior week, B.”

“No, but Vegas was all you,” Buffy says generously.

“Gambling and legalized prostitution,” Faith says with a dreamy sigh. 

Buffy gives her a warning look.

“And you know what they say, what happens in Vegas—ow!”

Buffy smiles sweetly, now rubbing the sensitive spot on Faith’s thigh that she just pinched. “Behave, or I’ll make you bunk with Cordelia.”

Adjusting the mirror to keep the setting sun from shining in her eyes, Faith says, “They probably took our room anyway. I don’t know how Xand is really going to share with her.” She smiles, shooting a quick look at Buffy in the passenger side. “Thanks for waiting for me.”

“Oh yeah,” Buffy says airily, “it was a real hardship. Pack in Oz’s van with the gang or wait for you. Do you know Xander owns every Cher album in existence?”

“Don’t you believe in life after love?” Faith smirks.

“Sure, but only the first three thousand times I heard it.”

“So you’re saying you only prefer me to listening to Xander sing Cher,” Faith deduces. “Hmm.”

“You’re also very, very cute,” Buffy says, poking Faith’s dimple with her index finger.

Faith lunges sideways, teeth nipping after Buffy’s finger as she squeals and retracts her hand. 

Hand safely back in her lap, Buffy grins broadly. “Cutest. Thing. Ever.”

“G warned me not to stop for hitchhikers in Nevada. He said there’s a lot of prisons out there.” Faith looks at Buffy from the corner of her eye. “Maybe I can find someone to adopt you.”  

Buffy raises one eyebrow. “That’s fine. I do like ‘em a little rough and tumble.” 

“I’ll show you rough and tumble,” Faith says with a growl. 

Buffy smiles innocently. “I’m sure you will, but remember that you’re supposed to be resting that rib another few days.”

Faith scoffs. “I’m fine.”

“You were almost snake chow,” Buffy points out.

“B,” Faith says warningly, “I said I’m fine.”

Buffy picks up one of the many, many magazines she’s packed for the car ride. She begins flipping through it casually, not looking at Faith. “You know I only nag you because I love you.”

Faith’s face feels unexpectedly warm. Buffy’s only said that to her a few times, and she still can’t hear it without turning red and twitchy. The first time she said it, she’d whispered it through bruised lips, betrayed by Giles and the Council. Faith had been midway through frantically checking her over for injuries, and hearing those words cut right through the anger and fear swirling through her head. She’d gingerly gathered Buffy into her arms and said it back. It was only later when reality sunk in that Faith started to panic about it. It’s not about Buffy—if there’s one person Faith trusts in this crappy world, it’s Buffy. It’s just that love, in Faith’s experience, only opens you up to a world of hurt.

It hurts less when they leave you if you can tell yourself you didn’t care that much.

Buffy though… she doesn’t seem to have anything holding her back. Since the seal was broken with that initial utterance, she’s kept on saying it. Usually it’s barely a breath against Faith’s hair as they lie entwined in bed, vamp dust in their discarded clothes, dual sated warriors drifting off to sleep, but it’s there. Faith’s typical response is to freeze, but Buffy doesn’t seem to hold that against her.

Ignoring the silence from Faith’s side of the car, Buffy adds, “Nagging is my love language.”

Faith regains her voice. “Have you been reading your mother’s self help books again?”

Buffy looks over at her calmly. “You’re gonna get there.”

Faith turns redder still and cracks her window to let some fresh air in the suddenly claustrophobic car. Buffy’s probably right. She’s gonna get there. As long as Buffy doesn’t kill her when she sees the little pit stop she’s planned on the way to Vegas. 

XXXXX

Buffy awakens with a start, sitting bolt upright in alarm. 

From beside her, Faith chuckles. “You okay there?”

Right. They’re in the car, on the way to Vegas. Just a little nap. Nothing to freak out over. “Forgot where I was for a second,” she admits, looking out the window to get her bearings. The sun’s gone down, and they should be almost there. Rather than the glowing tail lights of other cars on the highway, Buffy’s gaze falls only on trees. “Where are we?” She asks, looking over at Faith, puzzled. “Are we lost?”

“Not exactly,” Faith hedges. 

“How are we not exactly lost?” Buffy asks, as her stomach growls. “More importantly, did I sleep through dinner?”

“Snacks are in the cooler,” Faith says, hiking a thumb toward the backseat. “I know where we are, but we’re not in Vegas.”

“Okay…” Buffy says, leaning over the seat to rummage in the cooler. “So where are we?”

“Well,” Faith says, as the road under their tires becomes bumpier, “promise you won’t get mad.”

Buffy freezes, a half sandwich in her hand. “Faith,” she says warningly, slowly sinking back into her seat. “Where are we?”

Faith slows the car to a stop and puts it in Park. “Surprise?” She says, gesturing for Buffy to look through the windshield. A giant banner is strung across the road, high enough for cars to drive under. 

“The Fairweather Retreat,” Buffy reads in disbelief. “We were uninvited! We quit the Council!” She turns accusing eyes at Faith. “Oh no. No, no. We are not crashing the retreat!”

Faith turns to face her more fully, putting on a very reasonable face. “Look, B,” she says, “we always do the last speech of the retreat. This year, somebody told us not to. So I'm gonna do my kind of speech—”

“That’s Dirty Dancing,” Buffy says in stark disbelief. “You’re quoting Dirty Dancing.”

Faith reaches across the console, takes Buffy’s hand in her own, and says in complete seriousness, “Nobody puts Buffy in a corner.”

“Oh. My. God.”

With a sparkling grin, Faith says, “Come on, B. Think about the potentials. They deserve to see a real slayer, not some Council stiffs up there talking about sacred duty. This is our gig, and I’m not letting anybody tell me I can’t go.”

“Did you even have to work today?” Buffy asks accusingly. “Is this why we left late?”

“I did have to work…because I volunteered.” 

“I’m going to kill you,” Buffy says through gritted teeth.

“Then we’ll really give ‘em a show,” Faith says, clearly excited in spite of Buffy’s reluctance. 

Buffy shakes her head harder.

“Okay, wait,” Faith encourages, gripping Buffy’s fingers firmly so she can’t pull free. “Listen to me for a second.” When she’s confident Buffy’s paying attention, Faith says, “This is where we met. This is ours. Those girls in there are just like us. If we don’t tell ‘em how the world really is, how the Council really is, how many of them are gonna get put through the cruciamentum? How many of them are gonna live out their lives in secret because the Council says they have to? We have a chance to show them something different. Don’t you think we owe them that?”

Buffy stares at her for a long moment. “You want to stage a coup.”

“Just a little one,” Faith says with innocent eyes.

XXXXX

Buffy shifts uncomfortably, the seam where the seat folds down digging into her back. Beside her, Faith seems unperturbed, her hands laced behind her head, staring out the back window into the trees. “Tell me again why your plan involved arriving the night before the final speech, forcing us to sleep in the car,” Buffy grumbles. 

Faith sits quickly, pulling the blankets off Buffy as she does so.

“Hey!” Buffy protests. 

“I have an idea,” Faith declares. “Let’s go.”

“Go where?!” Buffy sits up, trying to pull the blanket back to her chest as Faith unlatches the Jeep’s back gate. 

“We’re going to get a lay of the land,” Faith says. “Get our hands on a schedule; figure out where they’re doing the final speeches tomorrow.”

“But what if we get caught?” Buffy asks, aghast. 

Faith slips out the back of the Jeep, holding her hand out. “Buffy, we’re slayers. The only two slayers out here. Do you think anybody’s going to see us coming before we see them?”

Fair point. Buffy releases her hold on the blanket and slides out of the car, taking Faith’s hand. 

“For the record,” Faith says, as she slowly closes the gate, careful not to let it slam, “we came tonight because driving up in broad daylight would be a little noticeable.”

Also a fair point. 

Faith pulls Buffy toward her so they’re flush against one another. “Hey,” she says softly, dipping her head so she’s staring into Buffy’s eyes. “If you really don’t want to do this, we can leave. Just say the word.”

Buffy wants to say a lot of words, mostly about how public speaking makes her queasy and about how the last time she got on a stage in front of a large group of people, she forgot her own name and needed Faith to bail her out. But… there’s another part of her that knows Faith is right. Like it or not, they’re the slayers. In Buffy’s case, it’s mostly in the ‘not liking it’ column, but that doesn’t change the fact that they’re the only two people who can air the Council’s dirty laundry. They have the power to warn these girls, and don’t they owe them at least that much? Don’t they owe it to the memory of all the girls before them who never got the heads up? Girls like Kendra. “We’re here now,” she says reluctantly. “We might as well go through with this crazy plan of yours.”

“That’s my girl,” Faith whispers before kissing her softly. 

“If we get arrested or something,” Buffy starts to say, only to be cut off by Faith kissing her again. 

“We’re not getting arrested,” Faith says. She tugs Buffy forward, grinning as she walks backward. “And even if we do, I’ll protect you from those big Berthas.”

“My hero,” Buffy says dryly, following her. 

A few steps into the woods, Faith freezes. She looks over her shoulder at Buffy with wide eyes. 

Buffy nods. She heard it too. Something is moving nearby, and it’s not the rhythmic movements of an animal. A sharp scream pierces the night air, and the two slayers turn as one, racing into the woods and toward the sound. 

Branches whip past them as they run. The ground under their feet is soft and disguises their noise easily, at least until Faith bursts into the clearing and almost plows directly into the humanoid creature bent over a prone young girl. The creature jumps to its feet and lunges at Faith. 

“B!” Faith yells as she punches the thing square in its pointy mouth.

“On it!” Buffy yells back, dropping to her knees beside the bleeding girl. She quickly presses her fingers to the girl’s throat, finding no trace of a pulse. Buffy can smell her blood in the air. When she catches sight of the gaping wound in her neck, she already knows it's no use. She forces herself to look at the girl’s face. 

Big brown eyes stare upward, unnaturally wide. Her brown skin has lost its luster, paling as her blood pumps free of her body. She’s already gone. Buffy sits back on her heels.

Faith comes to her side, her concerned gaze immediately taking in the situation.

Looking up, Buffy shakes her head sadly.

“Demon disappeared,” Faith admits, raking one hand roughly through her hair. “Like, poof, gone.”

“They must be doing the hunt tonight,” Buffy says. 

“Yeah, but this isn’t how it’s supposed to go.”

“No, it’s not,” a new voice says, and both slayers look over. The newcomer does a double take before her face settles into a severe frown. “Faith?”

Faith swallows, half surprised and half filled with dread. “Oh, hey, Ingrid.”

XXXXX

Ingrid leads the way through the woods, her sturdy shoulders knocking branches back with ease. Her blonde hair is pinned back in a long braid, sensible for slaying. She looks exactly the same as when Faith last saw her.

Buffy and Faith follow in her footsteps. Something about being around Ingrid always makes Faith feel like a chastised child. From the look on Buffy’s face, the feeling isn’t exclusive to Faith. Ingrid is like Principal Snyder without the charm.

Buffy leans in close to Faith’s ear, not missing a step. “I thought she would have aged out by now,” she says, barely audible. 

“Me too,” Faith mutters back. 

Ahead of them, Ingrid turns her head, the grainy moonlight illuminating her stark profile. “I did. I’m in training to be a watcher now.”

Faith gives Buffy a disbelieving look. How could she possibly have heard them?

“That’s great,” Buffy says back, trying to be polite.

Ingrid stops so abruptly that the two of them almost walk into her back. She holds a hand up as though shushing them. “Cory,” she calls quietly through the woods. 

There’s a slight rustling behind them, and then a feminine voice answers, “I’m here.” 

The three of them turn. Standing in the path behind them is a wisp of a woman, all angled cheekbones and sharp hips. She looks at Buffy and Faith in complete shock. “The slayers. What are you doing here?” 

Buffy squares her shoulders better than any general in the army. She draws herself to her full height and it almost always makes the other person feel immediately smaller. This time is no exception. “The same thing you’re doing,” she says, making an educated guess. “You’re another watcher?”

Cory nods, still appearing perplexed. “Second year, still training.”

She doesn’t exactly look like she fits the bill. Cory’s wearing black lycra, tucked into ass kicking boots. The gleam of a knife is visible where it’s strapped to a thigh holster. She’s gonna need all the help she can get, if she sees any real combat, Faith thinks. She’s so skinny. “Watchers don’t go on the hunt,” Faith says. “Why are you both out here?”

Cory looks past them to Ingrid, who nods, signifying her to tell them. “We suspected someone might be trying to sabotage the hunt. We hoped it wasn’t true, but…”

Ingrid steps around Buffy and Faith to join her fellow watcher. She says quietly, “Jonelle is dead.”

Cory closes her eyes for a moment before opening them back up wearily. “Valeria too.” Focusing on the two slayers, she says, “I didn’t see what happened, but something had”—she swallows hard before finishing—"eaten her. That isn’t how Ghora kill.” 

Ingrid grips Cory’s arm in silent sympathy.

“Ghora were on the menu for tonight?” Faith asks. Off their nods, she turns to Buffy. “I know them. Lizardy, three heads. Look scary but pretty easy to take down, just gotta slice the heads off. Easy enough when you’ve got this many teenagers amped up.”

“That wasn’t what we saw with Jonelle,” Buffy says certainly. “It looked almost human.”

Cory and Ingrid exchange worried glances. “What else do you remember?” Ingrid asks.

Faith thinks for a moment. “Chubby, big hair. Robes. Teeth like a piranha.” 

Ingrid’s face becomes harder as Faith talks. “That sounds like a Davric,” she says. “I need my books to be sure.”

“If it’s a Davric,” Cory says, “then we’ve got motive. Do we know anyone about to celebrate his fiftieth?”

“That bastard,” Ingrid says, clenching her hands into fists. “I’ll tear him limb from limb.”

“Umm,” Buffy tries to pipe in.

“What?” Ingrid demands. “You think you’ve got the market cornered on slaying? I’ve aged out but I’m not in the ground yet.”

Buffy raises her palms in a non-threatening gesture. “I was just going to ask what these Davrics do, and who you think is behind this.”

“Davrics bestow power to their groupies, usually on their fiftieth birthdays,” Cory answers. “I’m guessing the more virgin sacrifices you give ‘em, the more power you get.”

Buffy and Faith look at one another. If there was ever a fertile ground for virgin sacrifice, the Fairweather retreat would be it. “All these girls,” Buffy says softly. 

“Who would do this?” Faith asks.

Ingrid’s teeth are bared when she responds. “Only one person I can think of: Quentin Travers.”

XXXXX

Faith pauses at the edge of the treeline, her eyes scanning the open space ahead of them for signs of danger. Behind her, three potentials wait obediently, although whether it’s because they’re impressed to be in the company of one of the real slayers, or because they fear Ingrid, Faith doesn’t know.

From behind the girls, Ingrid stands on alert and ready to slay, having divested one of them of her long sword. When Faith catches her eye, she nods. She’ll protect the rear.

Faith heads into the clearing at a jog, keeping her head down and making herself compact. The girls behind her follow suit. They’ve been scouring the woods and herding the potentials back inside for the past half hour. 

Buffy and Cory are somewhere inside the hulking lodge building the Council has rented for the retreat, trying to find out where Travers has set up his shop. Faith was mostly not listening to the explanation of how this whole Davric summoning process works, being more preoccupied with scouting the grounds for stray potentials, but she knows there was something about a summoning statue. They find the statue, smash it up, Davric goes boom, seems to be the general gist. As for what they’ll do with Travers after that, Faith hasn’t a clue.

They’re half way through the clearing when they all hear a shriek from the woods behind them. “Keep going!” Faith orders, immediately breaking formation and running back the way they came.

“Faith!” Ingrid yells, tossing her the long sword.

Faith catches it as she runs, nodding her thanks. In mere seconds she’s back to the edge of the woods, keen eyes scanning the trees for the source of the scream they heard. A low moan of pain comes from her left, and Faith darts toward it, sure feet moving over the damp forest floor silently.

In the dark, she can see the creature’s back rippling as it eats, crouched over a thrashing young girl. Faith squares up as she comes upon them, lifting the sword, and then slices downward with all her might. The thing takes notice at the last second, diving away, so her sword digs into its shoulder rather than cleanly beheading it as she had hoped.

The Davric cries out in pain before disappearing into thin air. “Shit,” Faith mutters, dropping her sword and falling to her knees beside the still moving girl on the ground.

“Hey,” she says, eyes frantically sweeping the kid over. “You’re gonna be okay.”

The girl’s shirt is torn, and there’s a giant gash in her side, skin peeled away to reveal torn muscle and what might be part of her hip bone. In response, the girl shakes her head, sobbing.

“Yes, you are,” Faith insists, stripping off her jacket. She wads it into a ball and shoves it directly against the gaping wound in the girl’s side.

A scream bursts from the potential’s mouth, and then she goes quiet, still awake but seemingly going into shock.

“I got you, kid,” Faith promises, scooping the girl up in her arms. She holds her close, letting her body keep pressure on the jacket and the wound in the kid’s side.

The girl’s head lolls, long hair streaming over Faith’s arm. She struggles to focus on Faith’s face for a moment, then frowns. “Faith?” She asks in a confused voice. “What are you doing here?”

Faith chuckles grimly. As the night’s gone on, it hasn’t gotten any less weird that all these potential slayers know her face and her name. “I’m here to help you kick demon butt, kid, what’s it look like?”

“I didn’t kick very much butt,” the potential says, her eyes sliding closed.

“Sure, you did,” Faith says, picking her way quickly through the trees. “You lured its ugly mug in, and then I stabbed it. Couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Hmm,” the girl exhales noncommittally.

Faith doesn’t like the pallor the girl is taking on. “Hey, what’s your name?”

The girl doesn’t answer until Faith repeats her question, louder this time. “Lily,” she says quietly.

Lily can’t be more than 90 pounds soaking wet—before the Davric took a chunk out of her. Fury boils in Faith’s belly, but she swallows it down. There will be time to deal with Travers and the Davric later. Right now she’s got one job.

Her feet hit the clearing, and Faith starts to run as fast as she dares toward the building. Ingrid waits at the door, peering anxiously into the dark until she spots Faith coming.

“Need a doctor!” Faith yells, still coming toward her.

Ingrid nods and turns away, yelling behind her for help.

“Hang on, kid,” Faith says to the limp girl in her arms. “Hang on, Lily.”

XXXXX

Buffy waits behind Cory as she peers down another hallway. They’ve searched four floors so far and have found no sign of Quentin Travers or this statue Cory told her about. He isn’t in his assigned room or any of the offices on the main floor. “Let’s go,” Cory says, and the two of them steal down the hallway on light feet.

They search this last remaining wing of the building methodically, opening one door at a time. This area seems to be storage, with a few older looking rooms that haven’t yet been converted. Cory’s not a bad search buddy; she’s quiet and determined, and she doesn’t flinch from charging into each room with her knife up and ready. Thinking about Faith with Ingrid, Buffy’s certain she got the better deal.

When they’re almost at the end of the hall, having found nothing but empty rooms, a door across from them opens abruptly.

A tall Black man fills the entryway, his eyes widening in surprise when he sees them. Cory reacts before Buffy can, shoving the man against the doorframe, her knife at his throat.

“What is going on here?” He demands in a heavy Jamaican accent.

“Like you don’t know,” Cory hisses, digging her blade a little harder against his Adam's apple.

“I don’t,” he responds indignantly, keeping his head back as far as he can. He looks away from Cory, his face draining of color when he spies Buffy in her stead. “Buffy Summers,” he says in a hushed voice.

“Who’s this guy?” Buffy asks.

“Zabuto,” Cory responds with some disdain.

“He’s a watcher?” Buffy asks, puzzling over why his name sounds so familiar.

Cory nods. “Been around a long time, definitely has some seniority.” Her unwavering gaze doesn’t leave her captive’s face. “Though he doesn’t train anymore since—”

“Kendra,” Buffy supplies, having put it together.

“Yes,” Zabuto says.

“Let him go, Cory,” Buffy says.

Cory barely glances at her. “He could be in on this,” she says. “No way Travers pulls off something like this without help.”

“Like what?” Zabuto asks.

Buffy clocks the way he makes no move to shove Cory back, even though he’s got a good eight inches of height on her and probably a hundred pounds. She meets Zabuto’s eyes. “There’s a Damrick feasting on potentials in the woods,” she answers.

“Davric,” Cory corrects automatically.

Zabuto looks appropriately appalled. “And you think Travers is the one who summoned it.”

Buffy nods, stepping forward to touch Cory’s elbow gently.

Cory frowns, but reluctantly pulls her knife back. She doesn’t sheathe it.

Zabuto swallows, bringing a hand to his throat as though checking to make sure it’s still there. “I know nothing about this,” he says, meeting Buffy’s eyes, “but if it’s true, we must find him.”

“Any idea where he could be?” Buffy asks. “We checked the main floor offices, but nada.”

Zabuto considers for a moment, then waves them to follow him back inside the room he’s just come out of. He flicks on the light as they enter, illuminating a small office. The desk overflows with charts and notebooks, an abandoned mug situated precariously on the edge. He ignores the mess, stooping to a messenger bag beside the chair. He unearths a laptop, opening it as he stands to his full height once more. “There’s a floor plan,” he says. “The admin team sent it out when we were planning the retreat.”

Cory waits at the doorway, her arms crossed in front of her chest, a scowl on her face. Buffy drifts closer to the desk, watching the watcher as he balances his laptop on a pile of books and initiates his log in. He glances at her as they wait for it to boot up.

Buffy gives him a slight smile. “Kendra spoke highly of you,” she says softly.

Zabuto inclines his head. “And you,” he says, turning back to the computer with shining eyes.

“We’re wasting time,” Cory complains from the doorway, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet.

“Just a moment,” Zabuto says, clicking through his files.

Buffy gives Cory a pointed look that she hopes conveys that Cory needs to chill out. Cory presses her mouth together in a thin line, but ceases bouncing.

“Here it is,” Zabuto says, turning the computer so that Buffy can see it as well.

Pointing at the map, Buffy touches the places they’ve already checked. “We’ve swept these floors, and here.”

Zabuto frowns at the map, then touches a small room in the bottom left corner of the map. “Did you check the basement?”

Now Cory joins them, frowning as she looks over Buffy’s shoulder. “What basement?”

“Basement is maybe too strong of a descriptor,” Zabuto says. “It’s an unfinished space, accessible through a door here,” he points to a section on the map showing the ground floor.

“Sounds promising,” Cory says, looking to Buffy.

Buffy nods grimly. “We’ll go,” she says, then meets Zabuto’s gaze. “You go downstairs, look for Ingrid. We need all hands on deck to protect the girls.”

Zabuto inclines his head in agreement and immediately heads into the hall to follow her instructions.

Buffy and Cory move after him. “Why is it always a basement?” Buffy mutters under her breath.

XXXXX

Faith paces anxiously, waiting for Ingrid to return. At the moment she’s charged with keeping an eye on about a dozen potentials who are crowded into what seems to be a cafeteria. One of them is crying quietly, while another sits beside her, mechanically rubbing her arm in comfort. At the back of the room, Lily is laid out on a table, unconscious from pain meds given to her by the scared nurse who’s hovering over her. Her side is bandaged and there doesn’t seem to be any fresh blood seeping through. Ingrid’s gone for reinforcements, rounding up a few other watchers she trusts. They’ll gather the remaining potentials, those too young to have joined the hunt. Now that the Davric’s picnic meal has been interrupted, she may choose to move the festivities inside. According to Ingrid, there are upwards of 30 younger slayers still tucked in their beds.

In the meantime, Faith’s left with a bunch of traumatized kids who’ve just learned the hard way that they can’t trust the adults they thought were here to protect and train them. She looks around the room, clocking the confusion and fear on their faces. Rallying the troops with a speech is usually more of Buffy’s thing, but Buffy’s not here, so Faith steps into the center of the room and clears her throat. “Uh, hey, listen up.”

A sea of faces rises to hers.

“You guys know who I am?”

The girls nod. She hears a few of them whisper her name.

“Right,” she says, and pulls back her shoulders the way she’s seen Buffy do so often. “I’m Faith Lehane. Buffy Summers is here too. She’s looking for the demon that attacked you right now, and she’s going to find it.” She pauses, trying to make eye contact with each of them. “Then we’re going to kill it,” she says, “but we’re going to need your help with that.”

“What kind of help?” One of the girls asks.

Here’s where she might lose them. “Right now, the younger girls are on their way downstairs. They’re not as experienced as you. They don’t have as much training as you do, and they’re going to be sitting ducks if this demon attacks us again.” She gestures toward them. “We have to protect them.”

“How are we supposed to do that?” Another girl asks, sounding angry. “You saw what the thing did to Lily. We’re not strong like you.”

“You’re not as strong as I am,” Faith agrees, meeting the girls’ defiant glare, “but you’re potentials. You have strength, speed, instincts. You’re not some bumpkins I picked up on the way in. You’ve trained for this.” She flicks her gaze to another girl. “It’s okay to be scared—Hell, I’m scared too—but the only way we’re all going to get through this is if we work together. So… who’s with me?”

This time it’s the crying girl who responds. After a long sniffle, she lifts her head. “I’m with you.”

“Me too,” the girl next to her says, although she looks terrified.

From behind her, Faith hears a strong voice say, “Me too.” She looks back to see Ingrid shepherding a new crop of girls through the doorway. She gives Faith a grim nod and mouths ‘Nice job.’

Faith feels her cheeks grow a little warmer and she ducks her head.

“Weapons,” Ingrid announces next. As she holds the door open, two men carry a big trunk through and set it down at Faith’s feet with a thud. Ingrid sidles up beside her and gestures at the two newcomers. “Zabuto and Hernández,” she says.

Hernández is young, handsome, and looks slightly terrified. Must be a new watcher, she thinks. The other one is older. She’s pretty sure she’s met him before but can’t quite place him.

“They trustworthy?” She asks Ingrid, still eying the two of them.

Ingrid glowers at the pair for a moment, as if she’s still trying to decide on a response. Finally, she nods.

“Okay,” Faith says, inclining her head at the watchers. Gotta take what we can get. “We got more kids on the way down?”

“Yes.” Ingrid motions at the two men, and they disappear back through the door.

“Okay, group A,” Faith gestures toward the potentials who were participating in the hunt, “come suit up.”

“Group B,” Ingrid barks right after her, commanding the attention of the confused and frightened new girls, “back wall. Stick together. Everything’s going to be okay.”

“Any word from Cory?” Faith asks, as she unlatches the trunk and pulls the lid open.

“Not yet,” Ingrid says, reaching in the trunk and beginning to pull out weapons.

As the two of them distribute the available pieces to the oldest potentials, Faith asks, “You worried about that?”

“No,” Ingrid says. “Cory can take care of herself, and she has Buffy with her. She’ll be fine.” She gives Faith an unreadable look, then adds, “And we have you, so we’ll be fine too.”

A brief flash of pride passes through Faith’s chest, but she smothers it down and focuses on the task at hand. In the end, they have a cluster of scared kids (and one nurse who seems to have no combat skills) surrounded by a ring of only slightly older, slightly less scared kids holding swords and stakes. Two watchers, one watcher in training, and one actual slayer round out the bunch. Faith just hopes that whatever Buffy’s doing, she does it before the Davric gets here.

XXXXX

“But why would anyone build a trap door to an unfinished basement in a hotel?” Buffy whispers as they make their way down the hallway. “It just smacks of evil! There’s no legitimate reason to have a secret basement entrance.”

Cory’s tapping each floor board with the toe of her boot, looking for signs of the doorway Zabuto indicated on the map. “It wasn’t always a hotel,” she says. “I think it was a school before that.”

“That’s even worse!” Buffy says. “Why does a school need a secret basement?”

“To keep kids from going down there to smoke?” Cory suggests distractedly.

Buffy considers that. The last time she heard of someone smoking in the basement of Sunnydale High, the girl was attacked by the manifestation of a little kid's coma nightmare, so maybe Cory has a point.

“Travers is on the planning committee,” Cory says, just as her tapping pays off. The board below her foot sounds distinctly strange. “He probably had some signs removed or changed the door or something. He knew he’d need a good hiding spot.”

Both women get to their knees and begin feeling around for a way in. Up close, Buffy can see the outline of the door in the floor. This is definitely the right spot, but try as they might, they can’t figure out how to get it open.

“Step back,” Buffy says. She waits for Cory to move away, then punches directly through the floor beside the door, splintering the wood. Her fist encounters some resistance on the way, but it’s not much for a slayer to manage. Once she’s got a sizeable hole, she feels for a handhold on the door itself, managing to find one. Tucking her fingers in, Buffy yanks upward.

The door holds for a moment, then gives way with a loud creak, coming wholly off its hinges.

Smiling at Cory’s surprised expression, Buffy gently props the mangled door against the wall.

The two of them peer into the newly revealed space in the floor. There’s a short flight of stairs down to a dirt floor. No sound comes from below.

“Well,” Cory says with a sigh, “he’ll definitely know we’re coming now. You first.”

Privately, Buffy thinks she deserves a little thanks here—she did get the door open—but she bites her tongue and heads down the stairs. At the bottom, she glances around. The ceiling is probably less than six feet tall here, adding a claustrophobic feel to the place, and roughed out walls narrow their options into one of two directions. She listens carefully for any noises, and thinks she detects the faintest hint of something coming from the right. When Cory steps down beside her, Buffy points right.

Cory moves in front, possessing their only flashlight. As they move down the passageway, Buffy has to admit she’s impressed. Cory’s feet are nearly as silent as her own, and she has good reflexes, stopping sharp when she hears the faintest sound. That sound turns out to be a rat, and Buffy nearly screams, but slayer instincts prevail and she holds it in. They come to a four way junction, and Cory looks questioningly at her.

Buffy mentally calculates how far they’ve walked and tries to map out where they are in relation to what she remembers about the first floor. After a moment’s hesitation, she takes the option to their left.

It pays off before long, when Buffy catches a faint whiff of smoke.  A little farther along, she starts to see dim light coming from around a bend in the passage. She pauses, glancing back at Cory who nods and turns off her flashlight.

They start toward the light.

XXXXX

The problem with demons who can teleport is that even if you successfully pin them to the wall with a sword through the stomach, they can still escape. Faith learns this the hard way when the Davric merely disappears around her sword. As she’s yanking her weapon free from the wall, the thing reappears behind her and sinks long taloned claws into her back.

Faith screams, getting the sword free and swinging behind herself, but the Davric is gone again.

It pops up several yards away, and Hernández and Ingrid run out to engage it. Faith can see the Davric’s position for the ploy it is, but by the time she shouts a warning to them, it’s too late. The Davric remains corporeal long enough for Hernández to get in a solid hit with his quarterstaff, then it blinks away, reappearing right at the hole created by the two watchers’ absence. It snatches one of the younger potentials to it, but the girl struggles. The other potentials close ranks, and the Davric only manages to get a bite into the kid’s arm before it’s being stabbed and smashed from all sides.

The thing roars in anger, dropping the girl it was grasping and pulling another toward it. Faith yanks a dagger free from her belt and flings it across the room. It embeds in the Davric’s back before the thing disappears once more.

In spite of the warm blood she can feel oozing down her back, Faith squares her shoulders and faces the terrified group again. “Let’s get that arm wrapped,” she orders, looking at the younger potentials. Several of them spring into action, ushering the wounded girl toward the back of the group where the nurse is already rifling through her bag for supplies. “Everyone else, hold your positions! Don’t move unless she’s in hitting distance, you got it?”

The older potentials nod, and Ingrid and Hernández look chagrined. “It’s gonna be okay,” Faith says a little gentler, mostly for the two of them. “Just stick together!” She falls back in position, putting her body between the girls and the empty room.

XXXXX

He’s not particularly well hidden, when all is said and done. Quentin Travers kneels on the floor, rocking back and forth as he mutters under his breath. Every third or so rock, he bends into a deep bow in front of the small statue on the floor in front of him. The statue is about a foot high, cylindrical in nature and covered in writing. It doesn’t bear any indicators of its purpose that Buffy can make out, but she also can’t read whatever language the symbols on the totem represent.

“Is this a private demon worshiping, or can anyone join in?” Buffy asks, startling Travers.

He moves closer to the statue as he turns to face them. “Ms. Summers,” he says primly. “I’m surprised to see you at any Council sponsored events.”

“What, just because you poisoned me and got my mother kidnapped by an insane vampire?” Buffy asks sweetly. “You thought I’d hold that against you?”

“Well, I rather got that impression when Ms. Lehane told me that if either of you ever heard from us again, she would ‘Tear my face off my head and shove it up my own ass.’”

Buffy smiles. “That may still be on the table tonight. You’ve been a naughty boy again, haven’t you Quentin?”

Travers makes a confused face. “I don’t know what you—”

“Save it,” Cory barks, sounding absolutely furious. “We know what you’re up to. Now hand over the statue.”

Travers is a snake through and through, but he doesn’t have much of a poker face. His decision is clear on his face a second before he lunges for the totem.

Buffy stops him easily, catching the back of his suit jacket and tossing him across the room. Cory stoops to pick up the statue. She looks at it a moment, then shrugs and raises it over her head.

“Stop!” Travers yells. “There’s another way to end the ritual! You don’t have to—”

The totem hits the ground with as much force as Cory can muster, shattering upon impact. Strange, colored gasses escape, dissipating rapidly in the air.

“No, no, no!” Travers cries, crawling to the broken statue and pawing at the remnants. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

Before either of them can respond, there’s a crack of lightning in the air between them. The demon Buffy saw outside appears, its face twisted in a snarl of rage.

“It wasn’t me! It was them!” Travers pleads, gesturing at Buffy and Cory. “Please, Yeska, I—gmlmdubh—!”

The demon’s hand wraps around Traver’s throat, lifting him into the air.

Buffy moves forward—he’s a monster, but she’s not going to watch a demon kill a human—but before she can act, the Davric disappears, taking Travers with her.

“Hmm,” Cory says, as the two of them stare into the space Travers has just been occupying, “I guess there’s gonna be an opening on the leadership team.”

A laugh escapes Buffy’s lips. “That’s probably long overdue.”

Cory nods, her face finally losing some of the tension it’s been carrying all night. “It is,” she agrees. Looking at Buffy, she adds, “There are plenty of us who don’t agree with the cruciamentum. Plenty of us who thought you were right to quit.”

Buffy’s a little surprised to hear that. To her, the Council has always seemed to be a monolith of dusty old men, hiding behind their dusty old books while they send girls to die for them. “Thank you,” she says.

“Thank you,” Cory says softly.

“Let’s go find the others?” Buffy suggests, gesturing back the way they came. They set off together, their lone flashlight leading the way.

XXXXX

Buffy lets out a contented hum against the back of Faith’s neck, nuzzling her nose into the sweat damp hair. “You bummed we don’t get to do a big speech?” She asks.

The two of them have been given a room in a quiet wing of the building and have spent the last hour de-stressing together. Faith’s voice is husky when she responds, still slightly out of breath from the vigorous workout Buffy’s just given her. “Nah,” she says, “can’t blame them for canceling the rest of the festivities after what happened.”

Tracing her fingers along the flushed skin of Faith’s stomach, Buffy says, “You did good tonight.”

Faith pulls Buffy’s arm tighter around her middle, snuggling backward against her. “We did good.”

 “Mostly you.” Buffy kisses her shoulder. “Your rib okay?”

Faith groans into the pillow.

Buffy harrumphs. “I just worry because—”

“Because you love me,” Faith says. “I know.” She releases Buffy’s arm and carefully rolls over, mindful of the healing claw marks in her back. She looks at Buffy’s flushed face, her hair sticking up inelegantly where Faith was tugging on it just a few minutes prior. She takes a deep breath, then lets it out, letting all her fear go with it. “I love you too,” she says, pressing her mouth to Buffy’s.

She can feel the curve of Buffy’s lips forming a grin even as they kiss.

XXXXX

After Travers’s attempted murder of most of the potentials, the retreat has wrapped up quickly. The remaining upper echelon of the Council seems eager to start an investigation into who else may have known about or assisted with Travers’ scheme.  The watchers whose potentials are present at the retreat begin hustling them away after first light, as if distance will make their charges forget the aforementioned attempted murder. After a few hours of sleep, Buffy and Faith stay the day, talking quietly to the potentials who approach them, encouraging them, consoling them when needed. Strangely, Buffy finds her thoughts wandering not to the girls in front of her, but to the past. Did they all look as young to India Cohen as they do now to Buffy? Did she look at the sea of them all watching her on stage at the retreat and feel overwhelmed with the knowledge that some of them would die, and there would be nothing she could do about it?

She isn’t the only one feeling introspective. Once the crowds have departed, those that remain gather in the clearing behind the building. Cory presses them into service gathering tinder for a bonfire. Ingrid appears with a stack of plastic cups and three full bottles of rum, handing one each to the slayers before she passes the final one to Zabuto.  Sitting around the fire, they toast. To Jonelle. To Valeria. To the girls who came together to defend those smaller and weaker than them, in spite of their fear.

“To old friends,” Ingrid says, raising her plastic cup and offering a small smile to Buffy and Faith.

Buffy lifts her bottle. “And new ones,” she adds, looking at Cory.

They all sip.

Faith says, “To the ones who came before.”

No one says their names, but no one needs to. Kendra’s never far from Buffy’s thoughts to begin with, and it takes little effort to conjure her face, one unimpressed eyebrow raised at Buffy’s slaying techniques. As Buffy watches the sky turn from blue to purple black, she thinks of India, and all the nights she must have spent watching the sun go down like this. For two and half years, she fought alone. She’d died that way too, just like all the slayers before her, used and discarded by this Council.

But not anymore, Buffy thinks, reaching for Faith’s hand beside her. We’re not alone anymore. And maybe there’s hope for the Council too, with Travers gone. Maybe change is possible.

Buffy’s throat feels a little full as she drinks to that.