Leveraging The Council by cjsplace

Leveraging the Council ~ 1 [PG-13]

I'm walking the streets of Chicago alone tonight wondering how, the hell, I ended up here. Six months ago, my mother learned there was a tumor pressing on her brain. She waited another two months before telling me, which was also when some magical monks whipped up my younger sister, Dawn. They created her using my blood and sent her to me. It turned out some fashion disaster hell-god named Glory needed Dawnie, who's actually a mystical key, to return to her hell dimension.

I tried everything to help Mom get well and keep Dawn safe, but it was all for nothing. They're gone. Gone, and me, the Slayer, who's supposed to the kill the bad guys to protect the innocent couldn't do squat to save them.

I sat for hours in my empty house praying I'd hear Mom call me down for dinner, or Dawn slam the door as she came into the house. My beautiful, stubborn, brave Dawnie won't ever slam doors again, at least not on this physical plane.

When I close my eyes, I see her standing at the end of the scaffolding. She was so calm and the most serene expression came over her face as she looked at me. She started to turn around when I screamed for her to stop, begging her not to do this.

Looking back, Dawn smiled at me, and then said, "I love you, Buffy. Remember me, when everyone else has forgotten, remember."

She stepped into the portal and hovered at its center. Her face remained serene as she faded away into an ever-growing ancient green mist that encompassed the portal and pulled it back through time. I wouldn't understand her words fully until I stumbled down from Glory's platform. Somehow, Dawnie knew the spell would end with her death. My heart was laying in a thousand pieces on the ground and my friends and Watcher were congratulating me on a job well done. They asked me how I closed the portal, wanting to hear the details of how I had once again stopped the world from ending. They didn't remember her at all.

I hated them in that moment as I gently pushed my way through them to stumble home alone, forever alone. Oh, I didn't really hate them, I never could they were my lifeline and had helped me more than I could ever say. They called after me to come back not understanding what had happened, what they had done or said for me to snub them this way. I remembered calling back over my shoulder something Spike had told me once before, "Blood, all it ever takes is blood."

It took my blood, my heart, my soul and my family. Despite what Dawnie started out as, some ancient mystical Key, to me she was my little sister, my only remaining family after Mom's death. And, she was gone and I'm the only one who remembered her.

The only thing I had left was my life and I didn't much want it anymore. I'm not sure how I got home, pure luck or bad. My feet could barely keep moving one in front of the other, but somehow I ended up back at 1620 Revello Drive. Walking back inside without Dawn beside me, knowing my Mom wouldn't be there to greet me almost had me ready to turn and run the other way. I slipped inside like a thief in my own home, and that was as far as I got as I slid down the door and cried until I had no more tears.

The next morning I woke up tired and achy from sleeping on the floor and crawled upstairs on my hand and knees. My body took quite a beating last night. I welcomed the pain, thinking it appropriately matched the ache in my heart. Too bad Slayer healing wouldn't mend the deep gouges rendered to it from losing my family. I felt like someone had staked me, except no convenient dustiness for Buffy. The stake seemed to move deeper with each breath I took. There was no relief for it. I couldn't remove it, there was no one to vent my pain and fury on, and even my tears seemed to have abandoned me. Perhaps, my heart had died with them.

I almost jumped out of my skin when the phone rang while someone banged on the front door. Some Slayer I was, startled in my own house. I started to answer the door, when the answering machine picked up and the caller started speaking. My steps faltered, as I listened to a call I never expected, one which sent me down a path I had never seen myself following.

"Mrs. Summers, this is Dr. Havershem's office. I'm calling to remind you about your post-op check up tomorrow at 2:00. The Dr wanted me to apologize for missing your previous appointment. Please, call if you need to reschedule or are having medical difficulties."

Most people think I don't have more in my head than the latest shoe sale. I admit to perpetuating the dumb blonde persona for everything its worth. It worked to my advantage more times than I can count. My grades lowered when I became an active Slayer. I'm not sure anyone, no matter how intelligent, could patrol until two or three, rush home to some sleep, go to school for eight hours, followed by training, research, eat, possibly some homework and studying, occasionally dancing at the Bronze with my friends, only to repeat it all again.

Maybe, I should have followed Cordelia to LA and tried my hand at acting. Everyone seemed blown away with my SAT scores. They were amazed and proud, like it was a fluke. I was almost afraid they would pat me on the head when they saw me like the puppy that finally learned to pee on the paper. They forgot about my scores all too soon and I was back to dumb ole Buffy, see evil, go and kill.

I must have lost my mind along with my heart. The message from the doctor's office had frozen everything, locking me in place. I had often wondered how Willow's mind worked, and now I felt like I was inside my own as it pulled information together. The world phased outward as colors swirled around me. The synapses arced and jumped one from another as they relayed the data across the neurons. It joined into larger clusters as it continued its journey upward always gathering more information along the curving highways in my brain. The information buried in my subconscious, long and short-term memory coalesced into a horrific picture.

No one had rescheduled mom's appointment. She religiously went to each one. Feeling came back into my legs as I rushed into the office and there on the desk lay her calendar. I flipped through the pages until I found what I was looking for. I think Dawn and I got our journaling bug from Mom. She came home after each appointment and jotted down notes. It helped her keep up with everything and us as well. There written in my mother's looping script mere two days before her death were her appointment details, including the doctor's name underlined - Dr. Winston Chesterland. It wasn't her regular doctor. She noted how an associate had filled in for her doctor. Sunnydale was small, and lucky enough to have one neurologist. Mom's doctor didn't have an associate.

I dug through the stacks of mail I had ignored while I worried about keeping Dawn away from Glory, when I found the letter. My fingers shook as I tore it open. The return address listed London and the outside writing appeared feminine. I'm not sure how I knew what I would find inside the seemingly innocent folded pages, but some inner alarms went off immediately.

Miss Summers,

Forgive me for interrupting you during your time of bereavement, but I write to you on behalf of my husband Winston Chesterland. He was an associate of the Watchers Council, which I'm to understand you are intimately familiar. My husband died due to complication from an automobile accident caused by a drunk driver. This is his deathbed confession, although he cannot take back what he did to you and your family. He can only hope in some small way to right the wrong he played in the Council's machinations with regards to you. Winston wanted me to inform you that he was responsible for you mother's death. It was not by natural causes. I'm so sorry my dear. My husband was not an evil man, though I know this does not lessen the hatred you must feel toward him. What the Council asked him to do ate away at his soul, until he became a shadow of the man, I knew and loved, so much so he stepped off the lane into an on-coming auto. I hope this news can somehow bring you peace as it did Winston in ensuring you the truth was to do with, as you will. His last words were of you, saying 'You would do what's right for you and those yet to come.' I hope my words and dear Winston's help you in some way, dear.

Peace be with you
Cecily Chesterland

Tears dotted the pages, smudging the fine script as I stared at the words. Divine intervention finally decided to lend me a hand. As I sat in numbed shock realizing the Council had ordered my mother's death, the phone rang endlessly leaving messages that would rearrange my life.

The Scoobies and Giles continued to call since I refused to answer the door. Giles equally reprimanded and encouraged me to take some time to mourn, before finally getting around to telling me that closing Glory's portal had permanently closed the Hellmouth. Thank you, Dawnie. I could hear him cleaning his glasses over the phone as he cursed having to talk into an infernal machine. My watcher hated having to step into the twenty-first century.

Willow's messages were full of peppy "atta girls, yay with the slaying, missing yous", all babbled together with updates on Tara's slow recovery from Glory sucking her brain out and Willow putting it back with magic. She spoke so fast I had push replay several times to decipher it, and I had always prided myself as an expert on Willow babble. Must have been my preoccupation with Dawnie being gone and finding out the Council murdered my mother. Her last message surprised me, since Giles hadn't mentioned it in his calls. Giles was taking her and Tara to Devon. He knew about a Coven there that could help with Tara's healing and teach Willow how to better control her magic.

I laughed when I listened to Anya's calls. She told me she didn't understand why Xander and everyone else wouldn't leave me alone, although she had been looking forward to the post-apocalypse party because she was bringing the dip. Xander always wanted to hang out with her and Willow, but Anya fully understood why Buffy wanted some alone time. She didn't understand why she didn't want more of it, and how she didn't get sick of having them around all the time. She knew she was tired of always hanging around them, but that was what Xander wanted and she was afraid if she didn't go along, then Buffy or Willow might change their mind about not wanting her Xander and she would lose her orgasm partner. Beside, she found even though she hadn't been human for that long, she loved him.

Xander's calls finally allowed the tears to come back full force. His soft voice came over the line as he told me how much he missed my mom and thanked me for sharing her. He knew I was hurting and asked me to let him help share the pain. He reminded me that I would always be his hero, not because I beat up the bad guys, but because I fought for those who couldn't.

The final call was from someone I thought I'd never hear from again. Deep, soothing base tones came across the recording. It took me back to the time when I was safe, cherished and loved.

"Princess, are you there. Please, baby-girl pick up the phone. It's Daddy. I know I've been out of touch for quite a while, even I had no idea so much time had gone by. I'm so sorry, Buffy." His voice cracked over the line as he tried to say the words. "Joyce was a wonderful woman, much too good for me. Please, call me. I'm back in the states and my number is the same. Buffy, I want a chance to make things right between us, if you'll let me. There's a lot I need to tell you about where I've been and why I've been unreachable. Honey, give me a chance; give us a chance. I'm living in Chicago. Call me back and let's talk. Maybe you'd consider coming here, getting away might do you some good. I love you, princess, forever and a day. Don't ever forget that."

Forever and a day. It was what we'd say whenever he put me to bed at night. I loved my mom, but like so many little girls I was daddy's little princess. I thought he could do no wrong. He could leap tall buildings like Superman and fight sea monsters like Aquaman. My daddy was my hero and when he stopped calling and coming for our weekends, he broke my heart like no boy ever could. When Angel walked away after graduation, he finished what my father had started. I'm not sure I trusted anyone except my mom afterward.

That's how I ended up in Chicago walking the streets alone at night. Turns out my dad lived uptown in an apartment our entire house in Sunnydale could fit in. We talked for hours after I arrived and although we hadn't worked everything out, we were on our way to reconciling. His job had sent him traveling to each of their global offices. He had to learn the operations before moving onto the next office. His personal mail seemed to follow him like a lost puppy, catching up to him roughly six months to a year later. Some locations were so remote he didn't even forward his mail but simply had the office hold it. His lawyer had died during this time and his instructions regarding his whereabouts, contact information and child support got lost during the messy legal battle for the lawyer's business holdings.

When Hank…Dad, came back to the states, he found an office piled with months of mail that took seemingly forever to wade through, only to find his ex-wife dead and his daughter uncared for or told how to reach him. Everyone knew how protective Joyce Summers' was when it came to their daughter. They hadn't seen fury until they saw Hank lose his temper when he found out someone was mistreating Buffy. The staff swore the lights dimmed and the windows in the building shook. People walked as though on eggshells, around the office for days afraid they might set off his temper.

Probably the worst part was realizing Dad also had no memories of Dawn. I ignorantly thought he would remember her since they shared the same blood connection we did. The monk's spell connected Mom through my bloodline and physical location, with Dad out of the picture for so long; the spell didn't seem to affect him. I wondered if he had visited during her short life, whether the spell would have taken affect like some fail-safe, and if so, would he remember her now she's gone. I'd never know. Stupid monks.

I liked Chicago. It felt alive as opposed to Sunnydale, which couldn't help its underlying cloud of death. What can you expect from a town with over thirty graveyards? Not to mention, it was located on a mystical gateway to Hell. Having Dad back in my life helped lessen the ache in my heart of missing Mom and Dawnie. It didn't help me solve my problem. Giles or the Scoobies couldn't be associated with my current mission. The Council wouldn't get the chance to come at me through my friends, especially if said friends had no idea where I was or what I was doing.

Slaying Big Bads was what I did. I could enter establishments known to demonkind and start with the permanent damage, and not even break a fingernail. Here's the rub, there's this tinsy-whinsy line in the sand Slayers can't cross. Slayers don't hunt humans. I needed highly trained people to help me take down the Council. Those bastards decided to kill my mother just to ensure she didn't distract me from protecting the Key and my fight with Glory! Hello, have they met me? I'm the one who kept the world safe not out of their stupid duty, but for those I love, for my family! And they took her away; they murdered her.

The Council had gone too far this time. They were about to learn their proper place in the Slayer's life. Lost in thought about what I'd like to do to Quentin Travers, I stepped right into the middle of an attempted suck-age.

Geesh, a girl can't even find a decent mugger in Chicago, oh no not me, uh-huh, I had to walk straight into the only vampire I'd seen since my arrival in the Windy City.

"What cha doing?"

I missed my lollipops at times likes this. The vamp turned to snarl at me when his expression changed. He went from bumpy monster to normal, smooth face like no one would notice. Unfortunately, most people ignored it and paid the cost. Its pretty freaksome watching a vampire decide you're a tastier treat than the human du jour he already has designs on.

This one took a deep breath. His face took on the euphoric look Willow said I got when I drank my first mochachinno in the morning. Slayer's blood was Dom Perignon for the undead, and even some demons. It didn't mean it thrilled me to know I was a walking Godiva chocolate. How would you like if people went ape shit to get at you after just breathing in your scent?

He dropped the body in his grip as he walked toward me. I quickly glanced down, and was happy to see some slight movement on the ground. Good, the person was still alive. Turning my attention back to my present problem, I almost cracked up when he stopped short and started circling me. He wasn't bad looking, with light brown longish hair and light eyes. His medium build gave him an approachable appearance, which could have taken him far if he hadn't crossed my path. He started talking in what I'm sure he thought was a soothing, sexy voice. It probably would have worked on another girl, just not this one.

"You're such a sweet, little thing, and you smell divine. I'll think we'll take this slow, make it last, and then right before the end I'll show how wonderful it can be to live forever. I'll lay the world at your feet, and all you have to do is lay your head on my shoulder. This world will fade away and when you open your eyes, a new and wonderful world will replace it. Come here, beautiful, come to me, be in me."

Oh, you have got to be kidding me. Drusilla, the Queen of the Crazy Cows, sired this guy. He definitely needed to die, not to mention he was stupid. What self-respecting vampire doesn't know the difference between normal blood and Slayer blood? I gave him my best smile and walked closer. My lids dropped down to cover my eyes. I didn't want to give it away as the stake slid into my palm. He reached out to pull me into his embrace.

"Only thing that's going to be in you is, Mr. Pointy."

His expression was a mixture of surprise and anger as he exploded into dust. I admit his offer was tempting. Oh, not the becoming a vampire part, I mean as if. I still had nightmares about becoming a vamp from when Billy's dream became reality back in high school. Some mornings, the instant I woke I rushed to the mirror and sighed when I saw my reflection. No, the letting this world go, leaving it all behind part tempted me more than anyone, except Spike knew, and even he didn't fully understand it. Spike said all Slayers had a death wish. He had it part right. It wasn't that we wanted to die, not really. We just wanted a release, an escape from the death that encompassed our lives. I had achieved some escape by having my friends and family in my life. Still, Slayers didn't get vacations or weekends off. Even when I slept, I thought about the people who died while I wasn't able to be out there to protect them. The burden we carry weighed heavily on our shoulders until the thought of rest sounded heavenly. Some Slayers may have even sought it. Every Slayer, including me will welcome it and send our blessing to the sister who followed us.

The victim groaned and it brought me back to the present. Good thing, I needed to get out of my head, too many dark thoughts going on in there. I leant down to help the person roll over and checked him for serious injuries. Thank goodness, he seemed okay. I slid an arm under his shoulder and pulled him into a seated position. That's when I saw his collar. Crapola.

The stupid vampire had tried to kill a priest. I wondered if it was hereditary. Angelus had it bad for nuns. It was why he turned Drusilla. She was a devout Catholic and mere months away from entering the nunnery. You would think vampires would stay away from all things religious, considering their reactions to crosses and holy water. But, what could I say? Angel's demon wasn't the poster boy for sanity. Did he somehow breed it into his childer? It was a wonder Spike came out with the world-view he had. I could only smile when I thought about the former Big Bad, although I'd never call him that to his face, not after everything he did to keep Dawn safe.

Getting back to my latest near victim, I didn't think I could look a priest in the face and give him the lie about gangs on PCP.

"Ugh, what hit me?" the dazed priest muttered.

"Easy, Father, you need to take it slow. If you tell me where your parish is, I'll walk you home or better yet get flagged down a cab," I answered him softly.

He looked at me and realized he didn't know who I was. I saw his mind start to put the pieces together, playing back what had happened. His eyes searched around for the man who attacked him, then back to me. They settled on me and waited for answers. He didn't say a word, just looked at me with understanding blue eyes, and I knew I was in trouble. Damn, he was good. Oops, I mean, umm dang? Can I go to hell for mentally cursing in front of a priest? I'm not sure what rules apply here. Man, it was simpler in Sunnydale where the people ran away or believed whatever cock-and-bull story I told them. The only priest I've ever talked to was Father O'Shay. He knew what went on in Sunnydale and kept me supplied with holy water.

My shoulders sagged as I realized that once again I had to tell another person the truth about my life. It would be a turning point for me that I would never expect. Perhaps, there was a guardian angel out there looking out for me. I just needed to leave the Hellmouth's influence for him to find me.

Father Paul refused the taxi. He plodded along beside me, never complaining about his throat or the other bruises I could see even in the dim light. Men, it didn't matter whether they wore leather coats or religious frocks, they were the same underneath. They always had to keep up the tough guy act. I carried as much of his weight as I could without him noticing.

We arrived at his parish in the older part of Chicago. He directed me toward a side door that led to his rectory. It was small, neat and cozy. It had clean white walls decorated with an antique cross and beautiful religious paintings. I helped him into an overstuffed easy chair. He sat down with a heavy sigh, closing his eyes and pointing toward the kitchen area off to the right.

"The First Aid kit's under the sink. If you'll fetch it for me, I'll see about putting myself back together. My housekeeper keeps drinks in the fridge, help yourself."

After the necessary male posturing, he allowed me to care for his wounds. We worked in comfortable silence with him handing me what I asked for. I sat back to look at my work. It would do. He needed rest and except for some ugly bruises, nothing would leave permanent scars. None on the outside at least, I couldn't guarantee he'd feel the same after he heard my story. I guess I was about to find out.

"Are you ready to tell me what happened, child?" Father Paul asked, his tone gentle and prodding.

I wondered if he learned that at seminary school or if it was a natural talent.

"It's a long story, Father. Are you sure you're up to hearing it tonight?"

I gave him a hopeful smile. The stern look he gave me must keep those alter boys in line. Sheesh. My hands came up automatically in a defensive gesture.

"Okay, just checking."

He chuckled. It was a nice laugh. The tiny lines around his eyes and the way his lips slipped into a smile without him even realizing it showed he laughed easily and often. His parishioners must love him. It was hard not to like him and I'd just met him.

Several hours later, pausing for potty and tear breaks he heard the full story. I watched him slowly climb to his feet. His hands clasped behind his back in what I assumed was habit as he started to pace. Soft words escaped his lips as he carried on a conversation with God or himself. I'm not sure which option I preferred.

"I know someone who can help you. There might be some people at the Vatican who would be interested in helping as well. But, they might be handier after Nathan's team does what they do best. Would you consider talking to my friend? You probably shouldn't tell Nathan everything you've told me. I'm not sure he could handle knowing the supernatural is real. It's hard enough for him dealing with every day human evil."

His blue eyes twinkled with some inner amusement he wasn't going to share with me.

"Father Paul, are you asking me to lie to your friend?" I asked all mock innocence in my voice, allowing my eyes to go wide for effect.

We smiled at each other in complete conspiratorial understanding. My phone rang breaking the spell. I looked at the number and realized how late it was. My dad was probably ready to call out the National Guard to bring home his wayward child. Funny, how your parents worried about you no matter your age. My father was having trouble understanding his little princess wasn't the spoiled, defenseless cheerleader he remembered. I grew up when he wasn't looking, and he had to come to terms with it.

From somewhere in the recesses of my bedside nightstand my "other" phone was ringing, obnoxiously playing the theme music from Bewitched, the old TV show about a witch. Willow humor strikes in the oddest ways. I couldn't complain she had hacked the phone system to activate the phone, so I let her have her fun. Knowing she was safe several thousand miles away, I didn't have to worry about her tracking my movements through this line. True, she was the only one capable of doing so, another reason I had brought the phone with me, and had given the number to Father Paul last night. It was once a normal throw away phone we had salvaged. Willow worked her magic on it, mostly hacking skills, but I think once Tara came along she might have included some real Wiccan mojo as well. The outcome was one untraceable phone she reactivated with unused minutes from random accounts. It wasn't exactly stealing, since the customers couldn't roll the minutes over anyway. We considered it recycling for the greater good. She generated the number, which she created from some complicated program, and I had it printed onto business cards. Anyone who called the number had received the card from me with the strict instructions not to share it.

I dug around for the offending noisemaker. Flipping it open, I answered it with the hope no one needed immediate help and the world wasn't about to end - again.

"ello."

"Good morning."

Okay, it was official Father Paul was evil. He knew I was still asleep. It's only…I raised an eyelid to peek at the bedside clock - 7:00 a.m. glared back at me in neon red. Seeing, as I didn't leave his home until almost three, which meant I had had roughly less than four hours of sleep. He had no right to sound so chipper, considering he had had less sleep than I did.

"Not anymore."

I sighed heavily into the phone for sheer meanness.

"Oh, that's good."

He cheerily ignored my childish attitude. Yep, definitely evil.

"I called my friend, Nathan. Turns out he's interested in talking to you and has some free time this morning."

Both eyes popped open at his words. This morning! He didn't mean what I thought he meant. He's a priest, but even he should know about women needing time to dress. Damn it, I just jinxed it. I know it. Here it comes, wait for it, and there it was.

"Nathan said he could see you around nine. His company is Leverage Inc. It's down on S. Lake Shore Drive. Buffy, are you there? You didn't go back to sleep did you. Hello," Father Paul called out to me through the line.

It still took me a moment to answer while I finished my calculations in my head. "Nine? As in less than two hours from now, are you crazy!"

I winced at how high my voice went. I'd probably just busted the poor, evil priest's eardrum. Calling to reschedule wasn't an option. They'd think I wasn't serious. I trusted Father Paul if he thought his friend could help me, then I wanted to meet him. Taking a deep breath, I tried to explain my distress to the confused priest on the phone.

"Do you have any idea how hard it is for a woman to get ready in," I looked at the clock again and realized I was already down ten minutes, "barely more than an hour?"

He didn't respond at first. I almost thought he had hung up on me. "The appointment isn't until nine. I thought two hours would give you plenty of time to prepare," his said in an almost bashful tone.

My sigh was soft this time as I imagined his face flushed with embarrassment. "I'll just have to rush, because the taxi ride, depending on morning traffic could take anywhere from 30-45 minutes. Don't worry about it, Father Paul. Thanks for doing this for me, I really appreciate it."

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Leveraging the Council ~ 1 [PG-13]