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Chapter Text

The phone rang just after nine am, startling Buffy out of the sleep she’d finally managed to fall into around six. She groaned into her pillow and thought about ignoring it, but remembered that she was the only one around to answer right now. Dawn was still going to school, at least for the moment, and with Giles… well, Giles wasn’t welcome in Buffy’s house right now, much less welcome to answer her phone at absurdly early hours of the morning. If she let it keep ringing, one of the Potentials would probably answer it, and gods only knew how that would go.

Rolling to the edge of her bed, she fumbled for the extension phone and picked it up, trying not to sound quite as groggy as she was. “‘Lo?” It wasn’t a very good try.

“Um, hello?” A young woman’s voice on the other end of the phone, not one Buffy recognized. She was getting used to that these days. “Can I please speak to Buffy Summers?”

Buffy sat up and shook herself to wakefulness. If this was another Potential in danger, she’d better be paying attention. “Yep, that’s me,” she assured the girl. “Who are you?”

“My name is Zoey,” she said, and Buffy could hear the caution in her voice. “My niece and I, we’re both, um, we both have potential,” she offered, as though maybe the First Evil were bugging the phone and wouldn’t see through her clever ruse. “Like the kind you’d want to watch…”

“Gotcha,” Buffy said, mostly to end the suffering. “You’re Potentials. Are you close to me? Are you in danger right this minute?”

“Not right this minute,” Zoey told her. “We were attacked, but we got away. We ran away,” she admitted. “We heard that you were gathering up Potentials and that maybe we’d be safe there.”

Buffy laughed, she couldn’t help it. “I don’t know about safe,” she said baldly, “but we’re getting girls together. If you come at least you’re not going to be alone. And we’re working on a plan.”

“Okay,” Zoey said, not sounding any more certain than she had at the beginning of the call. “We’re coming into town, we’ll be there in about four hours. My mom’s getting us transportation at the airport. Can we meet you someplace and talk?”

“Your mom is coming with you?” Buffy asked, bemused. “Does she know?”

“Yeah, um, yeah, she was a Potential too, a long time ago, but the Bringers didn’t go after her, as far as we know, so I guess she’s not anymore. Annie’s mom isn’t a potential, but she’s coming too, and our Watcher…”

Now Buffy was definitely wishing she’d gotten a little more sleep. “Okay, stop with the talking one sec so I can catch up. You’re a Potential and your niece is a potential, and your mom was a Potential, and you’re all coming to Sunnydale with your sister and your Watcher? In four hours?”

Zoey was silent for a moment. “And a few other people,” she admitted.

“Okay first off, we don’t have anywhere near enough sleeping bags,” Buffy told her. “And the shower situation here, it’s not good.”

“We have a place to stay,” Zoey assured her quickly. “There’s a big house on the north side of town that the government seized for tax evasion, I guess? We were able to get access to it, and because it’s a home, it should be better protection than staying in a hotel.”

“Oh, okay then.” Buffy blew out a relieved breath. At least the Clampetts of the vampire-slaying community weren’t going to all be piling into Revello drive. “Yeah, I guess we should meet up. There’s a place in town called the Espresso Pump. You can’t miss it, there are only like seven storefronts on Main Street. Meet me there at three o’clock and we’ll, you know, debrief.” That was a Riley word, and one that had always sounded vaguely dirty to Buffy, but it seemed to fit the moment.

“The Espresso Pump, three o’clock Pacific time,” Zoey said, sounding like she was repeating the information for someone else. There was a brief pause and the susurrus of voices outside Buffy’s hearing. “Um, how many seats does the Espresso Pump have, and how many windows?”

“What?” Buffy asked.

“My friends want to know.” Zoey sounded embarrassed now.

“Ah, maybe eight tables for two, two booths and a conversation area with a couple couches?” Buffy offered, searching her memory. “And it’s got a big window storefront, I guess. Why do your friends need to know?”

“They want to keep us safe,” Zoey replied simply. “They worry a lot.”

“Now’s the time for it,” Buffy agreed, though her spidey sense was still tingling. Those were not normal questions for people coming to meet somebody they wanted to have help them. “Listen, if this is a setup-”

“It’s not, I swear it’s not!” Zoey exclaimed, sounding very sincere. “We need your help, and maybe we can help you out too, everybody helping each other. Those Bringers tried to break into my dorm room, and they killed people trying to get to Annie. We could go literally anywhere in the world but we have no idea where we might be safe, and even if Annie and Mom and I stay okay, a lot of people could get hurt because of us. I just want a way to stop this, please!”

“All right, all right.” Buffy blew out a long breath. “I’ll meet with you, we’ll talk, you’ll explain a little more about these friends of yours and we’ll go from there. I’ll see you at three.”

“Thank you,” Zoey said, relieved. “We’ll see you then.”

Buffy hung up the phone and stretched, casting one last longing glance at her bed before getting up and heading for the shower. The water was no better than lukewarm and somebody had used most of her really expensive color-protect shampoo, but at least she was able to get clean and wake up a little more. From the sound of things, Kennedy had the girls out in the backyard again for training. Much as she didn’t get along with Kennedy, Buffy had to appreciate her just for the few hours of quiet empty house every day. She was able to go down and eat her breakfast (a carefully hidden Pop Tart) and drink her coffee in peace, then check on Spike (sleeping) and start the laundry (mostly Walmart specials in teenage girl sizes) before anybody started filtering back in. After that, it was mostly mediating squabbles over clothes and snacks, then a quick group lesson in where exactly the heart is located on an average vampire for anyone who didn’t already know. By the time noon rolled around, she was happy to seal herself into her bedroom with the phone for a moment’s peace.

She gave herself five minutes to decompress, then called Xander. Even though she knew he was working, it was still a little weird to hear him answer with a very professional sounding “Xander Harris.” When had they all gotten so grown-up and responsible? It kinda sucked.

“Hey there, pal ‘o mine, how’s the construction business?” she chirped, deliberately trying to infuse some old-Buffy cheerfulness into her voice.

Xander laughed a little. “Banging and grinding all day long, just like my nightclub days. Whatcha need?”

“You’re off at two-thirty today, right?”

“Yeah, they don’t want us working while the kids are getting out of school, otherwise we’d have to give them all little hard hats. Have I got plans now?”

“How would you like to come with me to meet a Potential who’s apparently brought her entire extended family to Sunnydale to hang out? I’m meeting her at the Espresso Pump at three, and something seems just a little hinky.”

“You buying the super-sugary caffeine goodness?”

“I could probably be persuaded,” she assured him. “I’m trying to get better about the whole running into danger alone thing.”

“Speaking as your fray-adjacent-est friend, I appreciate that. I’ll see you then,” he promised.

With meeting set and backup organized, Buffy waded into the mess that was lunch with the Potentials. The meal selection was hardly elegant, bologna sandwiches or PBJs with apples and tortilla chips, but somehow it was still a major production getting everyone fed. Potentials didn’t eat quite as much as a full-blown Slayer, but they still had healthy appetites and most of them hadn’t shown up with any money to speak of. Buffy wasn’t sure what they’d have done if Mom’s last life insurance policy, one Buffy hadn’t even known existed, hadn’t paid out unexpectedly last month. It wasn’t exactly riches, but it paid the bills and bought the groceries and took the money pressure off Buffy’s shoulders for awhile. She was pretty sure she’d have been dangling at the end of her rope if she’d had just one more thing to worry about right now.

Peanut butter and jelly on whole wheat wasn’t Buffy’s idea of a yummy and nutritious lunch, but she felt guilty eating better than people who were in the most technical sense of the word her houseguests. Maybe she’d get a croissant at the Espresso Pump and what the Potentials didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.

She was just getting ready to walk out the door when Dawn came home from school. “You’re all snappy dresser today,” Dawn observed curiously.

“What, you’re saying I’m not a snappy dresser everyday?” Buffy asked.

“Lately you’ve been more Mom jeans and sweatshirts than snappy,” Dawn pointed out with a grin that was positively evil. “To say nothing of the mom hair.”

Even though Buffy knew, knew for one hundred percent sure that Dawn was messing with her, her hand flew to her head anyway as her mouth formed a perfect O of outrage. “I do not have mom hair! Or mom jeans! I don’t even own mom jeans! I have an every-so-slightly square-waisted frame!” she protested.

“Whatever, mom-jeans,” Dawn shot back, still grinning. “But hey, I said you looked nice today. What’s the occasion?”

“Got a meeting at the Espresso Pump, which you’re about to make me late for. I’ll be back in a couple hours, gotta go!” Buffy brushed past her, only for Dawn to drop her backpack in the middle of the foyer and follow her out the door.

“I’ll come with you!” Dawn decided cheerfully. “If you’ve got a meeting, you need backup. Who are we meeting? Gonna shake down a source? Local witches? How about Clem? He’ll tell you anything he knows for a bag of Funyuns and some coffee.” She trotted along after Buffy like an enthusiastic puppy. “Will you buy me a cappuccino? I haven’t had one in ages!”

Buffy sighed. “I already have Xander for backup,” she informed Dawn, “and I’m meeting a couple of Potentials who just got to town today. They’re a little weird, weirder than usual,” she added when she saw Dawn’s mouth opening, “and I want to see what’s up with them before we bring them in on anything. They’re bringing their Watcher and everything.”

“They still have a Watcher? That is weird,” Dawn agreed. “Maybe Giles could sound out the Watcher, see what’s going on… or not,” she added, obviously seeing the “hell no” written on Buffy’s face.

“I think we can muddle through this one on our own,” Buffy told her. “And Xander should be plenty of backup. You have homework, right?” Dawn’s guilty look gave her away. Buffy pointed firmly back towards the house. “Go, do homework. One of us has to get a college degree someday, and it really-really isn’t going to be me. Remember that if you flunk out of high school, I take that insurance money we set aside and go on a spa trip to Paris.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dawn muttered, but she slunk off in the direction of the house. Dawn’s rebellious phases waxed and waned these days, but right now she was being at least superficially compliant. Buffy was glad, she had more than enough to deal with right now. She hoped it wouldn’t take too long to sort these new Potentials out, she still had to figure out dinner tonight and then take the gang out for slay-practice. No rest for the slayers of wickedness, she decided as she headed off at a brisk walk towards the coffee shop.

Ante Bellum: Before the war

Inveniemus Viam Aut Faciemus: We will find a way or make one.

Chapter Text

There were worse things, Xander decided as he stowed his tools in his truck, than getting off work before three every day, even if it meant getting up super-early in the morning. It was dark in the morning, sure, but the vampires were less active and even a guy with a houseful of teenage girls might get a hot shower. Or a cold one, depending on what his moronic subconscious had queued up for his dreaming mind to watch that night. He was absolutely not the type of guy to take advantage of any of the girls in his care, but even a good guy couldn't control his dreams, just his actions. Hence the showers. At least being done early meant he could go home and catch a nap... or accompany his best Buffy-shaped bud to bring in yet more girls. Where in the world were they going to get more sleeping bags?

He peeled off his sweaty work shirt and tossed it in the passenger footwell, then sprayed himself down with deodorant before tugging on a faded Dingos Ate My Baby shirt. Anya had always been fastidious about the amount of sweat she permitted in her hugs, and the habit turned out to be hard to break. Maybe part of him was still hoping that if he could just make himself into a better man, somehow it would, he didn't know, fix things. Probably not, but wearing a clean shirt had never hurt anybody.

The weather was beautiful enough that he locked up the truck and headed downtown on foot, remembering countless times he'd done the same thing after school or while skipping school, or when sent to procure supplies for a research party. As he came around the far end of Maple Court he caught sight of Buffy and waited on the corner for her to catch up. She looked tired, he thought, really tired, the kind that came from down in the soul. Not like she had after her resurrection, the sort that he'd only figured out in retrospect was “tired of being alive,” but as tired as she'd looked after her mom died and with Glory still on the prowl. At least back then she'd let them help her, as much as they'd been able. Now she covered over the exhaustion with a shell of cheerful resolve that was practically a mockery of the Buffy he knew, and conserved her energy as though standing really still would make up for the sleep she wasn't getting.

“Hey Buff,” he greeted casually as she approached. “Long morning?”

She rolled her eyes. “If Andrew doesn't die before the end of this apocalypse, it won't be for lack of trying on his part. He's just lucky he can cook, or the girls would probably beat him like a pinata twice a day.”

“And by girls you mean “you and Will?” Xander guessed.

“I'm not going to answer that on the grounds that I might incriminate myself,” she said primly.

“See, when somebody says that, you know right away that they're guilty.” Xander fell into step with her as they crossed the street at a leisurely pace. “I don't know why anybody bothers.”

“It preserves the mystery of what you're actually guilty of,” Buffy pointed out, flashing him a quick grin.

“Point,” he conceded. “So what's the sitch with the new girl? You said it was something sketchy?”

She see-sawed her hand. “The whole thing seemed weird over the phone. She says she's a Potential, and she's with her niece who's a Potential, but her mom used to be a Potential and is in town too, and maybe her sister? And a Watcher, god help us all.”

Xander's eyes widened. “We do not have that kind of room,” he managed.

“She says they've got a place, didn't say where. I figured we'd better meet up on neutral ground before I let them get anywhere near the house. This could be some kind of setup with the First.” Buffy's face was grim. “Middle of the day in the middle of town's about the best I can do.”

“Well hey, maybe it'll work out and we'll have another place to park some girls,” Xander suggested, trying for optimism. “Or at least some moms around to make everybody do their own laundry and wipe the counters.”

“I can't believe anybody comes to Sunnydale trying to be safe,” Buffy admitted, shaking her head. “Talk about jumping out of a frying pan.” She paused suddenly, putting out an arm to stop Xander. It was like running into a steel bar, but she didn't even seem to notice. “Look over towards the Pump,” she murmured. “The two guys in polo shirts.”

Xander followed her gaze, focusing in on the two guys on the sidewalk. They seemed normal, but some small and foreign part of his brain that had once gone to war recognized training, recognized a possible threat. “Two of these things are not like the others,” he hummed under his breath. “Can you tell if they're human?”

“Well they're not on fire,” she offered, then shrugged. “We're too far away. But they've got cars, too. In front of the theater and another in front of the dress shop, those big black SUVs. The girl said she could go anywhere in the world. I wonder if they're like super rich or something and brought their bodyguards along.”

“That could get pretty sticky.” He grimaced. “This is not a great time for more complications.”

“You're telling me. But what are we supposed to do, throw them out of town? If they're here and staying, we better find out now. They've got earpieces,” she added suddenly, still watching the men. “Definitely security types, and I think they've just made us.” Both the men were looking in their direction now. “Well, let's not keep our audience waiting.”

“You owe me extra caramel and whip for this,” Xander informed her as he followed after her. “And maybe a cake pop.”

“Cake pops are terrible, and I don't think I can buy you one and still face myself,” Buffy replied, and just like that they were in patrol banter mode, the thing they'd used to do when he or Willow would go out with her at night just to keep her company and make her look more harmless. All of them could do it without thinking, so it was handy for heading into danger. They parried the cake issue back and forth all the way to the door of the Espresso Pump, where one of the men looked them over but made no move to stop them going in.

“Maybe it's the mob,” Xander murmured, sotto voce. “That might actually be useful.” The place was empty, he noticed right away, very unusual for the after school hour. Two pushed-together tables in the corner were occupied, but that was it. That had to be their girls.

Buffy stopped in front of him, suddenly enough that he nearly ran her over. “Oh shit,” she whispered. “Complicated doesn't even start to cover it.”

Xander looked over her shoulder at the newcomers. A tall young woman who looked oddly familiar but like in a TV way, a young teenager he didn't recognize at all, a prim middle-aged woman whose bearing screamed Watcher, and- “Oh man.”

Abigail Bartlet, the First Lady of the United States, rose to greet them with a wry smile. “You must be Buffy Summers,” she said pleasantly. “I've heard so much about you. Won't you sit down?”

Ducunt Volentem Fata, Nolentem Trahunt: The fates lead the willing and drag the unwilling