Team Stoppable In Sunnydale PG-13

[red jacobson]

Sequel to On The Way to Sunnydale

STORY TITLE: Team Stoppable In Sunnydale
PART: 01 of ??
AUTHOR: Red Jacobson (red.jacobson@gmail.com)
DISTRIBUTION: FF.Net, Archive of Our Own, Hentai-Foundry, Questionable Questing, Twisting the Hellmouth
mce-anchorDISCLAIMER: None of the Characters You Recognize belong to me, they belong to the Disney Channel and their respective creators. The Buffyverse Characters belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy (Grrr! Arrgh!) Sir Integra and the Hellsing Organization were created by Kouta Hirano and owned by Geneon.
SUMMARY: Ron, Yori, and Faith have arrived in Sunnydale, and Buffy is back home with Joyce. Now the fun really begins!
FEEDBACK: Of course! It Makes Me Write Faster
RELATIONSHIPS: Ron Stoppable/Yori/Faith, Xander/Cordy, Willow/Oz
RATING: PG-13
WORD COUNT: <4,281>
SPOILERS: None, it's been years since Kim Possible finished, so if you don't know the story by now, why are you reading this?
AUTHORS NOTES: I've shifted the Kim Possible timeline quite a bit, this story takes place after the Kim Possible finale. Also, Ron and Yori were an established couple (with kinks), so he and Kim didn't get romantically involved. This is a sequel to On the Way to Sunnydale

1630 Revello Drive
Sunnydale California
Sunday, June 7th​, 1998
30 Minutes after Buffy's Return

Buffy sat back on the couch, cuddled into Joyce, who had an arm around her, it was obvious that her mom wasn't letting go anytime soon, and Buffy didn't have any problems with that, at all. Looking at the three people she didn't know, she was about to ask who they were when the guy said, "Hi Buffy, I'm sure you're wondering who the hell we are and why we are here, aren't you?"

She shrugged and nodded, "Well, yeah I am, want to make with the 'splainy?"

"Well, to start with my name is Ron Stoppable, this is my girlfriend Yori, and this is Faith Lehane. Faith is the Slayer that was called after Kendra was killed a few weeks ago."

Buffy sat up and started to say something, what she wasn't exactly sure, but Ron put up his hand, and said, "I know, I know it's a shock, but let me finish, okay?"

Mom's arm tightened around her, and pulled her close, and seeing that Xander and the others weren't arguing, she sat back and nodded, slowly. "Okay, I'm listening."

"Yori and I work for an organization called Global Justice, and we're basically international troubleshooters, I'm pretty sure you wouldn't have heard of us, and that's the way we like it. We are aware of the supernatural, but tend to let the Hellsing Organization, or, until recently, the Watchers Council handle those types of situations. Unfortunately, things changed recently."

"What sort of things, and what do you mean 'until recently'?" She said, looking at him, "Because I got to tell you, I'm not liking what I'm hearing right now."

Xander leaned forward, putting his hand on her arm, "Relax Buff, just hear them out, I think you'll like what he has to say."

"Xander's right, Buffy," Willow said, "Just listen to what they have to say, okay?"

Forcing herself to relax, she leaned back against Joyce, "Okay, because Xan and Willow seem to trust you, I'll hear you out."

"To start with, did your Watcher ever tell you about the Slayer spirit moving on when you hit 23? Or if you look at the history of the Slayer, did you ever wonder why so many of them died within a few days of their 18th​ birthday? It wasn't a coincidence. I know you don't have any reason to trust us, but I can show you records of a 'tradition' on the Slayer's 18th​ birthday, called Tento de Cruciamentum where the Slayer is temporarily stripped of her powers and trapped in a house with a vampire, and if she survives her powers are returned.

We have yet to find a legitimate reason for the test, other than 'it's a tradition' Well, to borrow an expression from our British friends, you can take your tradition and bugger it! The Watcher's Council was established with one job, to support the Slayer, over the centuries that was forgotten, which is why the ruling council and the rest of the upper echelon are all under arrest being held at Her Majesties Convenience, until the Queen's Prosecutors have determined just how many crimes that have committed, they are all at least facing dozens of charges of murder for the deaths of the Slayer during their test."

Buffy was on her feet, lunging at this asshole who invaded her house, how dare he tell all those lies about the Watchers? Giles wouldn't do that to her, it was impossible!

Before she could do more than start to move, she was slammed back onto the couch by this Faith girl, and based on how strong she was, Buffy was willing to believe the other girl was a Slayer. Buffy felt her mom's hand on her shoulder, and her voice said, "He's telling the truth, Buffy, we could tell by how Giles reacted to us knowing the information, it wasn't pretty."

Xander leaned forward, a serious expression that didn't seem to fit on his face, but he said, "Did you know that there is money for food, clothing, a place to live, that each Slayer was supposed to receive every month from when she was called? Do you know the last time the money was paid? Try 1878! The Watchers, or the Executive Council have been keeping the money in their own wallets ever since."

"Really? You mean Kendra had to stowaway on an airplane to get her, and was so exhausted it was easy for Dru to take control, just because her Watcher didn't bother to buy her a plane ticket?" Looking at Faith, who was still holding her down, she said, "You can let me go, Faith, I'm not going to lose it again. And Kendra was getting to be a friend when she died. I know, it was being activated that helped you escape Kakistos, and I'm sorry about Doctor Dormer, I lost my first Watcher, and he was doing everything he could to get me ready for the nightlife."

Ron said, "I know it's hard to hear, but it's better you know than to get hurt, or worse, because you weren't given the correct information. That will be changing as Hellsing gets their feet on the ground and connected to their information network. Your mom and the others already know this, but you will be getting paid as a consultant, as well as getting a stipend for necessary expenses. All of you, Joyce included, will be covered by the best medical insurance out there, and you all will be receiving counseling, it's something that Yori and I have gone through, and Faith will be doing as well, you aren't being singled out, but we can discuss that later. Would you like to meet Sir Integra? I can contact her and introduce you, it will only take a couple of minutes."

Buffy shook her head, "Thanks, but my head is still spinning, this morning I was trying to find out why these homeless kids were disappearing, and the next thing I know is I'm being loaded in a car and told they were bringing me home. And thank you for that, I would still be working on getting up my courage to come home. I'm heading up to bed, I need to relax and deal with everything you've told me. Xan, Will, Cordy, Oz, I'll see you guys tomorrow and we can have our group encounter session, just make sure we've got plenty of Haagen Dazs. Faith, Yori, Ron, I'd say it was nice meeting you, but I'm not there yet, give me a day or two to process, and we can take you on a tour of the graveyards and demon hangouts, okay?"

TSIS & TSIS & TSIS

1632 Revello Drive
Sunnydale, CA
9:30 pm

Faith stripped down to her panties and grabbed a clean t-shirt to wear before sliding into bed, but she was definitely going to need different sheets and stuff. She was all about women superheroes, but she drew the line at Sailor Moon! At least it wasn't My Little Pony, she would sleep on the carpet before sleeping on My Little Pony sheets.

Stretching out on the bed, she turned off the bedside light and closed her eyes, waiting for sleep to come. Of course, Ron and Yori had other ideas and the sound traveled through the vent from their bedroom directly into hers, and the vent was right above her head. She wasn't going to be able to sleep while they were busy, so she pulled the t-shirt off and slipped out of her panties, and licked the fingers of one hand, while the other was playing with her breasts.

Soon she was moaning in time with Yori, and as the other girl hit her peak, Faith bit her lip to keep from screaming out her climax. When she was aware again, she heard Ron and Yori's laughter, and then Ron said, "Good Night, Faith! Pleasant dreams!"

She wanted to be irritated with them for keeping her awake, but at least she got some relief listening to them. If Ron and Yori hadn't made it clear they liked to be watched and listened to, it would have been seriously creepy, as it was, she just accepted that the two of them were kinky as fuck, but then, so was she.

It didn't surprise her when she woke up the next morning, that her dreams had featured Ron and Yori, although that Cordy chick showed up a couple of times, she had one hell of a body, and her boy-toy wasn't bad either. Shaking her head to clear it, she went to the bathroom to take care of business before starting the shower.

TSIS & TSIS & TSIS

Monday, June 8th​, 1998

Ron looked up from the stove when Faith walked into the kitchen, pointing to the coffee pot, and she poured herself a mug and took a sip. "Ah, nectar of the gods," she said, "What's going on today? Besides taking a walking tour of Home, Sweet Hellmouth, that is."

"Well, after we eat breakfast we need to go to the grocery store because all we have to eat is what is left in the cooler. And we can take a look at furniture and other things we're going to need. Why? Did you have something you want to do?"

Faith frowned slightly, "Yeah, I know that neither of you felt it, but when we were driving into town I felt something nasty, can't really describe it, other than the Slayer inside me was hunting for a weapon. It was strongest around the high school so I'd like to take a look around in daylight."

Ron looked over at Yuri and she shrugged, she didn't have anything against the idea either, so he said, "Sounds good, do you want to contact Buffy or one of the others to come with us? They know the town and we don't, yet."

Checking the time and seeing it was after nine o'clock, he made a quick call to Buffy, and when Ron explained the situation, Buffy said, "I'm not surprised Slayer is antsy about being near the school, what you are feeling is the energy seeping out from the Hellmouth, which is right underneath the library. But yeah, let me get changed and let the gang know what's going on and I'll be right over."

TSIS & TSIS & TSIS


1630 Revello Drive
Sunnydale, California
Monday, June 8th​, 1998
9:20 AM

"Okay, Xan, we'll meet you at the Bronze around noon, good luck talking to Giles. I wish I could be with you, but I'm still too angry with him and the rest of the Watchers to be able to control myself and not give him a bruise on the other side of his jaw, to match the one mom gave him."

It was a shame, she had depended on Giles since Daddy took off with his next future ex-wife, and then the mess with Angel, no! Angel's dead and gone, you were fooling yourself that some part of Angel was still there, which is why you bent over the gravestone for him and sucked him after he was in your ass, that was a real loving act, wasn't it? There was nothing left of Angel, all of it was Angelus that was hurting and killing Jenny and all the others. But she had learned a harsh lesson, no matter what face the vampire is wearing, the only thing they will get from her is an introduction to Mr. Pointy, right between the ribs!

Finishing getting dressed, she put on her trainers and hid a couple of stakes in the light jacket she was wearing, just in case. Leaving a note for Joyce, Buffy facepalmed and ran back up the stairs to her bedroom, and grabbed the cell phone off the charger. Checking the battery, it was fully charged, so she put it in the pocket of her jacket. She added to the note for her mom that she did have her phone with her this time.

Closing and locking the door behind her, she walked over and knocked on the neighbor's door. Faith opened the door right away, a welcoming smile on her face, and Buffy tried to return the smile but didn't quite make it. "Sorry Faith, I'm still trying to deal with everything, I promise I'll be friendly as soon as I can."

"No problem, B, I get what you're saying, less than a week ago I was running for my life, scared out of my mind and wondering what I had fallen into when I ran into Monkey-boy and Yori in a Cleveland Cemetery. And things have just gotten crazier since then. But I'm rolling with it, and hoping they can get the counseling started soon, so I can handle all the changes." Faith paused, "And in case I forget to say it, thanks for coming with us, I'm sure there are other things you'd rather be doing."

"Actually, I'd rather do this than what Xan and the others are doing right now. They are over at Giles' apartment trying to get him to pull his head out, none of us want to see him end up in gaol, or however it's pronounced, but he's got to accept that things have changed."

The sliding doors on the van opened as they got close, giving her and Faith plenty of room to climb in. As Ron backed out of the driveway, Buffy started talking, about how she found out she was the Slayer, what happened to Merrick and moving to Sunnydale, meeting Xander and Willow, and how Xander forced Angel to go to the lair of the Master, and found her laying in a pool of water. She had drowned, but Xander used CPR and brought her back."

Faith didn't have any stories like that, but talked about life in Southie, meeting Doctor Dormer, and how she thought life was actually looking up, until Kakistos and his minions...

Faith tried to continue, but her voice broke and she started sobbing. Ron and Yori had been paying attention and within a minute they were pulling into a parking lot and stopping the van. Buffy wasn't sure what to do, but she unhooked her seatbelt and slid over to Faith, and freed her from the belt as well. Pulling the younger girl onto her lap, Buffy held her as she cried, for Doctor Dormer, for the life she thought she could have, for what happened growing up, it seemed like Faith had been holding it in for a long, long time.

Eventually, the tears stopped, and Ron handed her some tissues, letting her get cleaned off. Buffy kept her arm around Faith, rubbing her arm and trying to reassure the girl, until Faith moved away, back to her seat, but gave her a watery smile and a 'thank you,' Ron checked on her, and Faith said she was good to go, so he pulled out of the parking lot and heading to the High School.

TSIS & TSIS & TSIS

Sunnydale High School
Wilkins Blvd
Sunnydale, CA
10:00 AM

Ron was surprised to see that there were three cars already in the lot when he pulled in. At a glance, it looked like Cordy's Lexus convertible, Oz's van, which looked like it was a relic from Woodstock and an ancient Citroen parked by the curb. Buffy looked out the windows and said, "Okay, things got a bit more complicated, because everybody is here, probably in the Library, and I don't know if I'm ready to talk to Giles yet."

Faith and Yori spoke up, neither of them was in the mood for a confrontation with the Watcher, either. And he could see that Faith was having the same reaction as she did yesterday, her arms and shoulders tensing, her eyes darting from right to left to take in everything, and the way her hands were roughly rubbing her jeans like she was itching for a weapon of some sort. Buffy, strangely enough, didn't seem to have any reaction. He wondered if it was because Buffy have been living and slaying her for almost 2 years, she was used to it. "Okay, we can tell that it's affecting Faith, I don't think we need to get any closer today, do you?"

It was unanimous, and he could see Faith starting to relax as the pulled away from the school. Once the school was out of sight, she started up a conversation with Buffy about how the 'Scooby Gang' got started.

Buffy laughed lightly and started talking about seeing Xander flip over the handrails in front of the school because he was distracted from controlling his skateboard when he saw her. And how she saw Cordy insulting Willow, and it reminded her too much of her personality before she was called, and befriending the little redhead.

There was another boy, named Jesse who was Xander's best friend, he and Willow were lured out of the Bronze her first night there, she and Xander rescued Willow, but they were too late to save Jesse, and Xander had to stake him. Buffy's voice trailed off, and she stared out the window, and they all respected her privacy, but it was still painful, the therapists will help her accept what happened, it was helpful that they were aware of the 'nightlife' so they didn't have to disguise what they were saying.

He was still happy that Buffy was willing to open up even that much to Faith, because he had been worried that Buffy, as the Senior Slayer, would reject Faith, but it doesn't seem like that's happened. He was also pleased to see Faith's breakdown, such as it was, other than the first night they met, Faith hadn't shown any emotion about losing Doctor Dormer, and it was bound to happen, and it will make the therapist's job a little easier. He needed to remember as much as possible what happened, and what Faith said, for the report to Dr. Director. He would let Faith know beforehand of course, but the med and psych teams need available as much information.

But that was later after Buffy was back home. Right now, he was getting hungry, the breakfast wasn't very filling, so he said, "Hey Buffy? You're the local, where's the best place to get some lunch."

Buffy smiled, "There's a diner about a half-mile from here that we usually stop at after patrol, and their food is good and tasty." Following Buffy's directions, soon he was parking in the lot of the Sunrise Diner, and the waitress recognized Buffy, but she gave the rest of them a curious look. Soon they were sitting in a window booth, the menus in front of them, and trying to make a decision.

TSIS & TSIS & TSIS

Sunnydale Police Department
Chief Bob Monroe's Office
12:30 PM

Chief Monroe was at his desk, going over the reports from the prior shift, making sure that suspicious deaths were assigned to packs of wild dogs or BBQ Fork accidents, anything but what actually killed them. The Mayor did not want any notice given to the casualty rate in Sunnydale. Fortunately, most of the cops on the night shift were aware of how the reports needed to read, so they used the appropriate cause of death...

There were raised voices outside his door, including his secretary trying to stop whoever it is, without any luck. Reaching down, he unsnapped the strap on his holster, in case it was needed. As he was pushing himself out of his office chair, the door slammed open, and a woman, dressed in a suit, with long blonde hair, stalked into his office, and closed the door behind her. She looked at him, and he felt like a bug being examined by an entomologist, and not meeting standard.

He opened his mouth and she said, "You don't need to talk, Monroe, just listen. And sit down, I don't want to see your belly stretching against your uniform! Now, my name is Sir Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing, and by arrangement with the United States Department of State, the Department of Justice, and the Secret Service, you are to turn over all records, hard copy and computerized, for the following people immediately,"

Opening a briefcase, she slapped a document, signed by people so high up in the government that he got a nosebleed just looking up that high. And the names on the document turned the blood in his veins to ice water. The first name on the list was Buffy Summers, Joyce Summers, and the four students that were part of her gang, and the limey Librarian. He didn't know what this was all about, but this much attention to their town couldn't be good.

Sir Integra looked him directly in the eye, and her voice was silk-covered steel. "Each person on this list are no longer any concern of any city, county, municipality or state agency, more importantly, they are no longer your concern if you are riding in your car and see Miss Summers take a pistol from her purse and shoot someone through the head in broad daylight, you keep on driving, it's no business of yours. Do you understand?"

He managed to nod, trying to think of a way to keep the information out of unauthorized hands, but was drawing a blank. And she was speaking again, her voice casual, "If you do decide to be cooperative, then you will never have to see me again, and, more important, I won't have to see you again. So please cooperate, for your sake as well as mine.

"However, if for whatever reason, you don't feel able to comply, well, I'm afraid that things will start to get rather unpleasant for you. You see, there is already quite a file on you in the Justice Department, and with the press of a button a message will be sent to file the criminal charges that are documented. And these charges don't get you a comfortable room at the facility in Marion Illinois, no, you will spend the next 30 to 50 years in the facility at Prudhoe Bay, Alaska. But I'm sure you are going to be quite cooperative, aren't you Robert?"

He tried to speak, to say something, anything, to get her out of his office, but he couldn't come up with anything, and then she did something strange, she looked over his head, to something behind him, and then she nodded. The next thing he knew was a blow to the back of his head, and everything went black.

Sir Integra spoke, "Strip this office of everything related to our new employees, the files elsewhere in the building are already secured elsewhere. I don't want him to wake up for at least six hours, the others in the building will be waking up at the same time."

Without waiting for a response, she turned and walked out the door, past the unconscious police officers, but all of the filing cabinets and secure storage appeared pristine, and without the computerized indexing, it won't be obvious what was taken. Walking out the front door, a car was waiting, courtesy of the State Department, and she sat in the back. Lighting one of her cigarillos, she pulled an organizer out of her case and reviewed the next steps that needed to be taken. She didn't normally come out in the field, but she made an exception for this. Her organization has been interested in Sunnydale for quite a while, but the Watchers were claiming jurisdiction.

The ride was quiet back to the airport, and she was in the air long before any of the police in Sunnydale woke up. The only person who had a memory of the afternoon was Monroe, they wanted to know who he contacted, they know there are several dark sorcerers, and this will narrow things down.

TSIS & TSIS & TSIS

Several hours later

His hands were trembling as he reached for the phone, hoping he wouldn't answer, but knowing he always answered, He just hoped that he survived to see the sun come up in the morning.

Just like always, the cheerful voice answered on the second ring, "City Hall, Mayor Wilkins,"

"Sir, this is Chief Monroe, and we've got a big problem..."

End Chapter One

 

[red jacobson]

NOTE: I Thought That I had posted the next few chapters to the forum, but apparently not.

STORY TITLE: Team Stoppable In Sunnydale
PART: 02 of??
AUTHOR: Red Jacobson (red.jacobson@gmail.com)
DISTRIBUTION: FF.Net, Archive of Our Own, Hentai-Foundry, Questionable Questing, Twisting the Hellmouth
DISCLAIMER: None of the Characters You Recognize belong to me, they belong to the Disney Channel and their respective creators. The Buffyverse Characters belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy (Grrr! Arrgh!) Sir Integra and the Hellsing Organization were created by Kouta Hirano and owned by Geneon.
SUMMARY: Ron, Yori, and Faith have arrived in Sunnydale, and Buffy is back home with Joyce. Now the fun really begins!
FEEDBACK: Of course! It Makes Me Write Faster
RELATIONSHIPS: Ron Stoppable/Yori/Faith, Xander/Cordy, Willow/Oz
RATING: NC-17
WORD COUNT: <4,674>
SPOILERS: None, it's been years since Kim Possible finished, so if you don't know the story by now, why are you reading this?
AUTHORS NOTES: I've shifted the Kim Possible timeline quite a bit, this story takes place after the Kim Possible finale. Also, Ron and Yori were an established couple (with kinks), so he and Kim didn't get romantically involved. This is a sequel to On the Way to Sunnydale


City Hall
Mayor Wilkins Office
Sunnydale, California
Monday, June 8th, 1998
5:45 PM

The genial smile dropped from his face when he hung up the phone. Fortunately Chief Monroe was easy enough to soothe, and even as limited as the man is, he does follow instructions, and since he recommended following Sir Integra's orders, it would be easy enough to comply. And the next steps to his Ascension could be done quietly, it wasn't until his final transformation that he needed to be seen by large numbers of people. He was pleased that Miss Summers returned to Sunnydale, her friends were doing their best, but they weren't as effective as the Slayer at keeping the independent demons under control. Perhaps he should have his agents work on recruiting more of the independents, they could point out how his seers could determine with 96% accuracy where the Slayer and her team would be patrolling, so they would have a better chance of seeing the next moon-rise if they were where the Slayer is not! The Mayor was well aware that a number of the independents would refuse the offer, which is fine, they obviously were lacking in the needed cunning to remain walking the night. And as long as he lets the Slayer and her team have their way, there will always be a need for stake-fodder.

Obviously, it would be preferable if Sir Integra and her organization were occupied elsewhere. He couldn't do much about their current level of knowledge, but if they were distracted by other demonic incursions? That could distract her nicely. It was just a matter of figuring out which of his patrons would be willing to exert themselves, and what sacrifice they would require in return. A few moments of thought suggested the proper patron to approach, as well as what it would require to involve itself directly. Fortunately, this being, like most of his patrons could be appeased by virgin sacrifices, and he had the shelters for just that reason, the girls who were still untouched ended up in one shelter, where they were certain to remain unsullied.

The other shelter was for the girls who were already opened up, and there was no need to draw attention by turning those girls away. Besides, there were always clients who enjoyed younger bed mates, and were willing to pay for the privilege. The clients had no idea who they were paying, it was set up through multiple layers by Wolfram and Hart to keep him from being connected to anything even slightly scandalous, and that was the way he intended to keep it. He even made sure that the client was aware, if they damaged the girl, they would be required to pay double the fee, to cover the time the girl would not be able to work while she recovered. That was enough for most clients, but for those who went further, they were required to replace the girl with a nubile female blood relative, no more than three degrees away. Making the blood connection be that close meant that the client had some sort of emotional connection to the girl, and knowing that she would be a plaything for men or women just like they were, generally dissuaded the rest. And if they didn't have a close enough relative? Well, he had a couple of patrons who had a recognizable sense of humor and would find it amusing to transform the client into a female to take the girl he damaged place.

Noticing the time, Mayor Wilkins checked his calendar to see if he had any event scheduled, seeing that his evening was clear, he decided to indulge for once. Sending a coded message to the shelter to have an older girl, 18 to 20, preferably a blonde ready within two hours. After the response came back, Wilkins was surprised that he was feeling excited for the first time in a while, but several of his patrons recommended he spend time indulging in earthly pleasures, because that need will fade away as he performs the rituals that prepare his body for the transformation, and he hadn't that many moon cycles before the rituals needed to be completed.

Locking and activating his mystic alarms, he took his suit coat off it's hanger and slipped into it. Checking his appearance in the full length mirror by the door, he found himself cheerfully whistling as he called for his personal elevator, not noticing that one of the cleaning crew was taking more of an interest than they should be. Looking back later, no-one recognized the person, or even paid that much attention to him. The Mayor would have found that concerning, if it wasn't far too late for anything to concern him.

TSIS & TSIS & TSIS
#
British Embassy,
3100 Massachusetts Avenue, NW Washington DC
Monday, June 8th, 1998
8:00 PM

The information she required was waiting for her when she got into the chauffeur driven limousine, along with preliminary reports on the active hunter team. Opening the sealed envelope with the name of the dark sorcerer, her eyebrow raised slightly behind her glasses at the name. 'Interesting, he hadn't been noticed by anyone before, and there are enough oddities that someone should have noticed!' Something to have the Mystics look into, determine the nature of the SEP (Someone Else's Problem) field, and how was it made so powerful. It didn't matter as far as the Mayor goes, he will be facing an unannounced recall very soon, once it's determined how deep the rot has grown.

Putting that file aside, she opened the folder with the preliminary report on the Slayer and her support team. A cursory look at Slayer Summers made it clear that she needed major counseling, she certainly didn't get any support from her assigned Watcher, Rupert Giles, although comparing how Giles behaved with the Slayer, other than a few obvious failings, he was actually far superior to the vast majority of the Field Watchers. There wasn't any difference in his training from any of the other watchers, but he did have a longer and riskier period of rebellion, and even after his little coven was destroyed by that damnable demon, Eyghon, and he stopped his rebellion, he still seemed to resist the training, demonstrating the ability to think independently. A possible path to examine when the Watchers are allowed to reform under new management.

Moving to the members of her team, the secondary leader, Alexander Harris is already marked for recruitment into the Hellsing organization when he graduates high school. The other male, Daniel Osborn, other than dealing with Lycanthropy appears to be a relatively normal teenager, but that still suggested a closer look is needed, after the way Richard Wilkins appeared to be nothing more than a smallish city Mayor. The two girls were interesting in their own ways, Miss Rosenberg, in addition to having exceptional 'hacking' skills, also has the potential to learn magic, but it would be better to do a deeper personality profile, to ensure she has the strength to learn magic without being corrupted by it's darker aspects. Miss Chase was, by all accounts, a typical rich girl, until the arrival of Miss Summers, and she found herself drawn into an awareness of the real darkness, and has, interestingly enough found the strength within her to fight back against the darkness, dating, and apparently having an active sex life with Mister Harris as well as being actively bisexual. It's unusual that the two of them were exploring a Dominant/submissive relationship, with Mister Harris as the dominant at their ages. Integra made a note to determine if the Chase girl had accepted her bisexuality before becoming involved with Ale It would be interesting to determine if she had accepted her bisexuality before exploring the submissive lifestyle, or was it part of submitting to Mister Harris that she explored her desires? Integra paused, why did the agents find in necessary to include information about her sexual activities? It certainly wouldn't be to satisfy prurient interest, but did the others go that deep into their lives?

Taking a closer look at both Miss Rosenberg and Miss Summers, not only were both of them actively bisexual, but Miss Rosenberg is submissive to Mister Osborn, and, while Slayer Summers was involved with the Souled Vampire, he was the dominant, but, after consummating their relationship, releasing Angelus, she was still submitting to him, apparently she greatly enjoyed the degrading acts Angelus made her perform. There was something to be investigated, in a group the size of the Slayer's, you could expect one bisexual, at the most, not all three of the girls, adding the submissiveness at their ages, there has to be an outside agency creating the discrepancy, but to what purpose?

She was still making notes of observations, and questions when the private jet was coming in for a landing at JFK International, and she gathered all of notes and scraps of paper and secured them in her case.
Less than an hour later she was being driven through the gates at the Embassy and being escorted the secure communications room. Dialing the number from memory, the scrambling program matched the one at the other end, ensuring the call could not be monitored by human devices.

The call connected and she found herself speaking to Doctor Director of Global International, and going over the information on the Mayor. She didn't mention the sexual issue because Global didn't have the expertise with Mystical mind adjustment that Hellsing did. If it became necessary, if the agents GI had on the ground were being impacted, then they would be briefed.

After finishing with the Mayor, Doctor Director said, "If it was the Mayor, what did you discover about Rackham? He seemed to be the type to attempt to use the Hellmouth to increase his own power.

"Mister Rackham would have certainly liked to be able to use the energies of the Hellmouth, but the Mayor had enough power to prevent that, so he was using other sources of power, the corruption of innocents that weren't aware of their mystic potential. So no, Mister Rackham has corrupted his last innocent. As of roughly two hours ago, his body, with multiple blessed silver balls filled with holy water, was dumped in a pit of lime and concrete was poured over the body – even if Rackham had been foolish enough to create Horcruxes, they won't be able to restore him, since part of his awareness is still in his body when it was sealed into the concrete, causing the restoration to fail."

"Good to know, my agents on the ground are very capable, but they don't have the skills or knowledge to take on even a low level magician, and Faith will be great in time, but she needs experience to get there. Is there anything else I need to be aware of? I've got a desk full of reports, and they seem to be multiplying."

Sir Integra said "Nothing that occurs to me, but I'll contact you if anything develops."

TSIS & TSIS & TSIS
#
Sunnydale High School
Outdoor Picnic Area
Monday, June 8th, 1998
Sunnydale, CA
Early Afternoon

Xander sat back on the bench, leaning against the wooden table with one arm around Cordy's shoulders, the other holding a cold soda. Taking a drink, he said, "I'm sure that Buff will be glad to know that Giles pulled his head out and will do his actual job, not what the current prisoners thought the job should be. Which will be good, because the paycheck and support we will be getting is a very good thing, but until the Hellsing team gets up to speed, we still need his knowledge and experience, not to mention his research library." Taking another drink, he set the can down and, turning to Willow, said, "Now that the hard part is out of the way, want to tell us what's got you so nervous? I can't speak for Oz, but Cordy and I don't bite, so spill, what's the what?"

Willow turned to look at Oz, question on her face, and when he gave her a nod she turned back to Xander and Cordelia, saying, "You're right, I have been nervous for the last couple of days, and part of it is how you are going to react to what I have to say, because it's really important to me, and, while I know you won't say anything Xan, I'm sorry, but I'm not there yet with Cordelia, too much history for me to automatically trust you, even though you have been a lot better since you and Xander got together, so I'm asking, can you please promise you won't say what I'm about to tell you to anybody else?"

Cordelia looked directly at her, looking in her eyes for a long minute, before nodding sharply. "You've got my promise, I won't tell anyone, unless of course you are having Snyder's baby then all bets are off!" Cordy started laughing at the disgusted look on Willow and the others faces, before getting herself under control. "I'm sorry, I blame the doofus, he's infected me with his sense of humor, by injection most likely. So now, I won't tell anyone."

Xander was a bit surprised that Cordy was so blatant that the two of them were having sex, but neither Will or Oz reacted. Either she didn't catch what was said, or she's finally given up on her dream of Mrs Xander Harris. But he stayed quiet, he was curious what sort of secret could Willow be keeping to be built up like this?

Willow took a deep breath, and smiled at Oz who took her hand in support, "Okay, pull the bandage off, I realized a few months ago that I was attracted to girls and guys, and talking about it, both Oz and I are interested in Buffy, because from a couple of things she said, I'm pretty sure that Buffy has at least tasted another girl."

"Of course she has, she was a cheerleader," Cordelia said, in a matter of fact tone, "And don't worry about me saying anything, because Xander and I are very curious what color panties Faith wears, and how they would look being used as a gag."

Willow stared for a long minute before saying, "How do you know that Buffy has.., well, you know?"

"What? Had sex with another girl? Performed cunnilingus on someone? Or maybe she demonstrated her language skills, she really is a cunning linguist? Honestly Willow, if you can't get the words out, how do you expect to get your tongue in her?"

Willow tried to say something, anything, but her face felt like it was on fire with her blushing, Cordelia took pity on her, "To answer the question, I know about what Buffy has done, because I'm the girl she did it with, there are perks of being Captain of the Cheer Team, you know."

Xander watched Willow's expression, and when Cordy dropped her bombshell, his red-haired friend immediately went to the land of the Snoopy Dance, and he could almost swear that there was a bit of drool rolling down her chin. That was about how he had reacted when Cordy told him about it. Sadly, by the time he learned about it Buffy had given Captain Broody a happy and that was all Buffy was thinking about, so Cordy didn't have a chance to see if Buffy wanted to do a repeat. He couldn't really complain though, since his wonderful girlfriend brought Harmony over on his birthday, and the two girls started the night by getting each other naked and letting him see a lesbian show in person, not in a video or a magazine. The night got even better, Harmony demonstrated that some of the rumors about her skill with a cock in her mouth were completely true, and she willingly swallowed everything, and before the night was over, she was the second girl (after Cordy) that he had anal sex with, fortunately Cordy had found instructions on how to prepare in one of her magazines, so he was able to make sure they both had a painless experience.

Pulling her close, he whispered in his girlfriend's ear, "You did that on purpose, didn't you, my little naughty girl? You know that Willow would love to be on her knees getting her tongue in you, do you think I should do it, bend you over the table, pull your skirt up and your panties down, and invite Willow to have a taste? Doesn't that sound like fun? Or maybe we can invite the two of them to our place, and you can show off your oral skills and instead of swallowing the last of it, share it with Willow."

Cordelia was trembling beside him, and the way she was flushed and her nostrils flared you would be forgiven in thinking that she was absolutely furious, instead of the truth, that she was so turned on she would need to change her panties. He knew that it was wrong to leave her so uncomfortable so he stood, and taking her by the hand, he said "Will, Oz, we'll see you later, I need to give my naughty girl her spanking before she spontaneously combusts!"

He wanted to laugh, he really did, but managed to avoid it, as Oz stood up and took Willow by the hand, and when they were both inside the school, Oz took Willow into the closest boy's toilet, and he took Cordy into the girl's toilet.

They had amazing timing, because he was pulling open the door at the same time Oz was opening his door. Both Cordy and Willow were looking disheveled, but extremely relaxed as they were helped through the doors. He and Oz eyes met, and he knew he was smirking like mad, and Oz just quirked the corner of his mouth, which was practically a belly laugh from anybody else.

Heading out to the parking lot, they went their separate ways, and he knew that Cordelia was no-where near satisfied, so he headed back to his house, and he and Cordy are both comfortable there, even though Giles has a hard time walking in the door, even after he and Amy and members of a coven in San Francisco did a cleansing on the whole house, and added a threshold protection.

It was an extremely entertaining afternoon, and they were near late to meet them at the Bronze.

TSIS & TSIS & TSIS

#
The Bronze
Sunnydale, CA
Monday, June 8th, 1998
7:30 PM

Buffy was far more relaxed than she expected to be after spending most of the day with Faith and the new support crew, and just from the time they spent together, she was pretty sure that Faith could be a friend, she would have liked to see if she could be more than a friend, but it was obvious that there was a serious connection between her sister slayer and Ron and Yori. And while she liked Ron and Yori just fine, even though they are just a couple of years older than she is, she gets a serious 'adult' vibe from both of them, it's probably just that the two of them, and their friends have faced the sort of things that have H.P. Lovecraft, if he was still alive, diving under the bed in pure pants wetting terror. She thought that she had seen the worst, when she faced down Lothos back at Hemery, but she got the feeling that she hadn't seen more than the tip of the iceberg.

Buffy shoved those thoughts aside for the night, she was home, and she was taking a night to unwind, she was still having a hard time dealing with what she heard about the Watcher's Council, but it was a relief that Giles managed to break free of the programming they did at the Watcher's Academy. It was still going to be a good while before she trusted him the way she used to. Leaving the serious thoughts in the dumpster, she concentrated on what she was doing, walking with Faith and the others, pointing out what little points of interest there were in Sunnydale. Soon enough they reached the Bronze and were looking around for Xander and the others. It only took a minute or so to find them, with Xander giving a casual wave when he saw them.

It was surprising, but all of them managed to squeeze into a single booth, it was tight, but Cordy took a seat on Xander's lap, and she must have liked the reaction because she grinned happily and wriggled against him. As if that was a cue, Oz pulled Willow on his lap, and Ron soon had a lap full of Yori. Looking at all of them, and see Faith looking amused, Buffy shrugged and pulled Faith over, and she was having the pleasure of a wriggling slayer in her lap. At first it was just in fun, Faith playing around, but their eyes met, and there was something besides playfulness between the two of them, and it took an act of will to break the contact. Buffy wasn't exactly sure what was going on between her and Faith, because there was a connection of some sort, but until Faith's situation is figured out with Ron and Yori, she isn't going to press. She lifted her soda but the glass was empty, and she started to try and slight out, when Willow said that Oz could get it, that she wanted to dance, and next thing she knew was her little red haired friend had her by the hand and was tugging her toward the dance floor. Okay, fine, it's a good song, but she has no idea what 'Gettin Jiggy' was supposed to mean. She waited for Willow to say something, because it was painfully obvious that she had a reason for dragging her on the dance floor.

Before she could ask the question, something caught her eye, and it was Faith and Cordelia dancing, and Cordy was saying something, the music was too loud to make out, but Faith looked intrigued to say the least. But then she noticed that Cordy was looking directly at Willow, and giving her a thumbs up sign. Ooh-Kay, yeah there is something weird going on here, and it's time to find out what it is. Deliberately stopping her dancing, she waited until Willow stopped and she said, "Okay Willow, I don't know what's going on with you and Cordy, but it's seriously giving me the wiggins, so you want to come clean?"

Willow started to say something, but the music was too loud, so she started walking off the dance floor and Buffy followed. Willow sat down at an empty table that was a little out of the way of the speakers, and Buffy sat down, and waited. Willow murmured, 'you can do this, you were able to let Xan and Cordelia know, and you like and trust Buffy a lot more than Cordelia.' Finally she leaned forward, holding Buffy's eyes, and said, "It's taking me a lot to be able to say this, Buff, so please don't interrupt, okay?" She nodded, even more curious, and Willow said, "I've always felt a bit strange when the girls would gossip and giggle about their boyfriends, not seeing the big deal, but then I started dating Oz, and I knew what the big deal was! And I'm happy with Oz, but he realized something that I hadn't even noticed, that I'm spending a good bit of time watching the other girls, and suddenly I was picturing the girls naked and in bed with Oz and I, and when I nervously said that I was attracted to other girls, he just smiled, and introduced me to a girl he had sex with a couple of years ago, and she enjoys playing with girls too, and was more than happy to show me the ropes, and it was fantastic!"

Buffy couldn't help herself, she smiled and nodded. She was starting to get an idea of what Willow was leading up to, and, thinking about it, she didn't have any objections to the idea, and it would stop her from moping about Angel and Angelus, and how she couldn't see the difference. But Willow was still talking, so Buffy focused, and Willow said,

"Anyway, after his friend Tonya, Oz and I went out to a few clubs that Dingoes played, and there were always a couple of girls who were up for a night of fun. But this is who I am, not an experiment or any of the buzz words in the articles Sheila writes for the different magazines as an expert on the teenage child, she doesn't know the first thing about raising children! Hell, Drusilla probably would be a better mother than Sheila." She took a breath and released it, an embarrassed smile on her face, "Sorry about that, guess I'd been holding it in for a while. But, what I wanted to ask you, and Oz agrees with everything I'm telling you, but both of us like you a lot, as well as finding you sexy as anything, and wanted to see if you would be willing to explore us, to see if we could have something real?"

Buffy smiled, "I'm not against the idea, in fact, I kinda like it, but before I make a decision like that, there is something I need from both you and Oz, and this isn't the place for it."

"What do you need, I'm sure we can get it for you," Willow was bouncing in her seat in excitement, and Buffy shook her head,

"It's not like Will, what I need, is to kiss both of you and have you kiss me back, so we can see if there is a spark between us."

"Should I go get Oz? He's got plenty of room in his van for all three of us."

"No, this can wait until I get home tonight, I've got to make sure our new friends are able to find their way home. Once they are in the house, you and I and Oz have a date in the back of the van." Feeling a little mischievous, she added, "And if you are a really good kisser, I might even let you cop a feel or two. So make sure it's a good one!"

End Chapter Two

And once again, I had no idea of the relationship between Xander and Cordy, or Oz and Willow, let alone the Faith and Buffy connection. Hopefully the next chapter won't be long so I can type out what they tell me happens!

Thanks for reading

<<<<>>>>

 

[red jacobson]

STORY TITLE: Team Stoppable In Sunnydale
CHAPTER: 03 of??
AUTHOR: Red Jacobson (red.jacobson@gmail.com)
DISTRIBUTION: FF.Net, Archive of Our Own, Hentai-Foundry, Questionable Questing, Twisting the Hellmouth
DISCLAIMER: None of the Characters You Recognize belong to me; they belong to the Disney Channel and their respective creators. The Buffyverse Characters belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy (Grrr! Arrgh!) Sir Integra and the Hellsing Organization were created by Kouta Hirano and owned by Geneon.
SUMMARY: Ron, Yori, and Faith have arrived in Sunnydale, and Buffy is back home with Joyce. Now the fun begins!
FEEDBACK: Of course! It Makes Me Write Faster
RELATIONSHIPS: Ron Stoppable/Yori/Faith, Xander/Cordy, Willow/Oz/Buffy
RATING: PG-13
WORD COUNT: <4,417>
SPOILERS: None, it's been years since Kim Possible finished, so if you don't know the story by now, why are you reading this?
AUTHOR'S NOTES: I've shifted the Kim Possible timeline quite a bit; this story takes place after the Kim Possible finale. Also, Ron and Yori were an established couple (with kinks), so he and Kim didn't get romantically involved. This story is a sequel to On the Way to Sunnydale.


The Bronze
Parking Lot
Monday, June 8th, 1998
10:00 PM


The Bronze's parking lot, as a rule, smelled like spilled beer, damp asphalt, and the faint hint of clove cigarettes that clung to the air like a curse left behind by generations of failed goths. The security lamp was, at best, a loose interpretation of the word "security"—its bulb gave off a half-life of illumination, flickering epileptically, as if the light itself was on the verge of a panic attack. The cars in the lot reflected exactly what Sunnydale High's social stratigraphy would predict: battered hand-me-down minivans, oxidizing pickup trucks, the odd barely-functional convertible with a plastic trash bag standing in for a window. And then there was Cordelia Chase's Lexus, which parked on the diagonal and managed to cast a shadow of superiority on everything within a three-block radius.

Cordelia didn't just drive the Lexus; she weaponized it. Its paint was so clean it seemed to repel dust by sheer force of will, and the leather interior glistened with smug, top-shelf conditioning. It was the one place Cordelia could truly be alone with her own high standards—well, alone with Xander, but that was an entirely different situation.

The remote's chirp split the night, aggressive and attention-seeking, and the car's headlights flashed with a pulse of attitude before unlocking the doors. Cordelia slid into the driver's seat without so much as brushing her ass against the door frame—she had practiced the move, and she had perfected it. Xander casually filled the passenger seat, closing the car's door at the same time.

Buffy, Willow, Oz, and the three new members of 'Team Slayer' were climbing into Oz's battered van in the next row. Faith was keeping her eyes open, sweeping the parking lot for anything out of place. Buffy was doing the same from the open door of the van, but she seemed distracted, which, considering the confession by Willow and Oz of their interest in the girl, wasn't surprising.

She produced her phone from the depths of her bag like a magician with a rabbit. She'd swapped out her old Nokia for the new flip phone, which she declared "less of a weapon but a much better aesthetic." Cordelia's thumbs flickered over the keypad with the kind of confidence that only came from years of sending scathing texts and coordinating mall siege tactics. She glanced at the message and, finding it satisfactory, turned toward Xander with a feline smile.

"How's your energy tonight, Hyena Man?" she purred. "Aura is bored and wants to visit. Emphasis on 'visit.'"

Xander smiled, and if the expression was more than a little feral, that was just the way Cordelia liked it. "Oh, I think my energy is fine, but just to make sure I'm properly inspired, I think you should introduce Aura to a couple of your toys."

Cordelia's laugh was velvet and smoke, a sound that started in her chest and radiated out like the world's most seductive earthquake. "Are you thinking of introducing her to Lucky Pierre? That could be a lot of fun."

He mirrored her smirk and fired back: "I know that Harmony sure enjoyed it, and so did Heidi, but then, I don't think there's anything Heidi doesn't enjoy, do you?"

Cordelia's eyes sparkled with wicked pride. "No, she's as ready and willing as I am, but it's too bad that Rhonda decided to turn into a born-again virgin; she would have been fun." Cordelia shrugged, doing interesting things to her breasts under her blouse. "But that's her loss, not ours, because I know that we will be getting naked two minutes after the garage door closes behind us, and Aura will be waiting at the door probably just as naked under her raincoat." What she didn't say, she didn't need to say, was that she was already eagerly anticipating the feeling of the strength in his grip as he pulled her panties from her body. The feeling did things to her body that never made it into Cosmo's articles.

"So the same as every night, Brain?" he said, and was instantly gratified by Cordelia's bark of laughter.

She started the car, eyes never leaving his, and threw it into reverse with complete disregard for the rust-bucket Honda idling behind her. "We can get the lime jello and the lederhosen on the way back to the house; we've already got plenty of Silly String," she said, spouting out the most ludicrous collection of random objects she could think of.

Xander, who had spent the better part of his adolescence collecting embarrassing stories about himself, nonetheless gaped. "Okay, you win that one. I can't think of anything to top that."

Cordelia's smile was the opposite of mercy. "You say that now, but wait until you see Aura's new tongue piercing. She sent me a picture—very artsy, very not suitable for work. Or for minors, or for small pets, probably."

He tried to formulate a response, but his tongue had apparently been struck dumb by the mental images Cordelia's words conjured up. He settled for: "You know, for future reference, you don't have to keep raising the bar. I am more than happy to coast at the current level of depravity."

"So, are your parents still in Cancun?" he asked, as the car made a sharp left onto Wilkins Highway.

"Of course, their annual 'couples retreat', which is the current euphemism for Swingers Get Together. I wonder how Willow would react to knowing that her parents are regular attendees? From the things I heard, Daddy's next ex-wife saying, Sheila may not know a damn thing about children, but could give lessons in cock sucking."

Xander said, "Probably best not to mention it. I'm not sure if knowing that would make Will's head explode, or if she would ask Sheila for pointers, and that would make my head explode!"

"Well, since I doubt Oz has any complaints, probably should leave that whole subject be. I do wonder if all of our parents have similar kinks, I mean, your parents are the closest thing to Vanilla I know of, and fucking in public isn't exactly the Cunninghams."

"Not unless there are some X-rated episodes of Happy Days that never made it to television. And that's a mental image I could do without, thank you very much."

"At least we don't hide who we are, not from the people that matter to us. The rest of the sheep can think what they want; they don't matter." Cordy suddenly smirked, "If they made a TV show about us and the others, it would have to be shown on HBO after midnight!"

"I don't know, I can't see Shannon Tweed playing Buffy, or Alyssa Milano as Willow, although that girl we saw on Baywatch, Wendi something, looked enough like you to play the part. Although it would be more entertaining if we all got to play ourselves."

"Sorry, I'm only doing nudity in our home movies; this perfection is not for the unwashed masses." She said, affecting an upper-class 'Posh' accent, before her expression broke and she started laughing. "Can you picture the reactions? Most people show videos of their vacations, and we put on a recording of the night we seduced Harmony! Be more fun if Harm and her parents were guests that night."

Xander grinned, picturing the scene, but then said, "Talking about inviting people over for Dinner and videos? God, we're so domestic it's painful," he said. "Should we start picking out curtains?"

Cordelia made a face. "Only if we can get them in velvet with little skull patterns. I refuse to go full Stepford; it would ruin my entire brand."

They pulled through the gates at Cordelia's house and saw Aura's car pulling in behind them. Following the drive to the garage, Cordy hit the remote, and both garage doors opened. When her Lexus and Aura's Buick were both inside, the garage doors came down behind them.

"Ready?" he asked, and she nodded.

They were stepping out of the car when Aura's car door opened, and she stepped out, wearing nothing but an overcoat, held closed by the belt. When Aura saw that she had Xander and Cordy's attention, she smiled a 'Pepsodent smile,' and tugged the tail of the belt, pulling it open, and showing that she was completely nude underneath.

Before they could say anything, Aura winked at Xander and said, "Hey, Hyena Man. Heard you were feeling energetic."

TSIS & TSIS & TSIS

The thing about Oz's van, Faith decided, was that it smelled exactly how you'd expect a vehicle owned by a werewolf-slash-guitarist to smell: a perfect fusion of wet dog, old tobacco, thrift shop vinyl, and the ghost of every fast-food wrapper ever manufactured. The faint undertone of girl sweat and hairspray didn't exactly detract from the ambiance either.

They'd parked in the driveway of 1632, and she climbed out of the back of the van, followed by Ron and Yori, and the three of them walked up to the front door. The headlights of the van covered them on the way, and while it wasn't needed, the three of them could handle themselves against the run-of-the-mill nasties, but it was still appreciated.

Ron turned back from unlocking the door, looking at the van curiously as it backed out of the drive. "Are things so bad in this town that you need to drive right to the door?"

Faith smirked, "Trust me, Monkey-Boy, that's not what's going on. Cordy gave me the 4-1-1 when we were dancing. Seems Red and Oz share a taste in blondes, and B is willing to give them a taste."

Ron nodded, opening the door and stepping in, "Okay, makes sense. But that's nothing we need to worry about. I'm more interested in finding out if Doctor Director has anything new for us."

***

Back in the van, Oz killed the engine in front of 1630, plunging them into a hush that was thick and velvet, punctuated only by the tick of cooling metal and the sigh of the van's ancient shocks. The headlights extinguished, leaving them in a world defined by the sodium spill of distant streetlamps and the slow creep of fog pressed against the windows. The effect was both secretive and infinite, as if the outside world had been painted over, leaving only this small, trembling universe behind.

Buffy shifted on the back bench, one knee drawn up to her chest, the other splayed outward, her skirt riding dangerously high. Her chest still rose and fell with nervous excitement. She had kissed plenty of girls before, but this was somehow different, more meaningful. When she looked at Willow, her pupils were so dilated they nearly swallowed the green of her irises.

Willow couldn't stop her fingers from trembling as they fumbled with her seat belt. The plastic buckle finally released with a click that seemed to echo in the close confines of the van. Her lips parted involuntarily, suddenly dry. She caught Buffy watching the nervous dart of her tongue as she moistened them. The air between them seemed to crackle with something electric and unspoken.

Willow twisted out of the front seat, moving into the back, only to be surprised when Buffy reached for her, lifting her so she was straddling Buffy's lap. Willow didn't know who initiated the kiss, but it didn't matter; Buffy was kissing her, and she was kissing her back, and it was wonderful! Feeling daring, she slipped her hands under Buffy's top and cupped the girl's bra-less breasts, brushing her thumbs over the nipples. Buffy broke the kiss with a hiss of breath before chuckling, "Naughty, naughty Willow, getting me all worked up when you know it's only our first date."

Willow just grinned, "You said you might let us cop a feel, I didn't think you'd object." Hearing the sound of Oz's seatbelt opening, she slipped out of Buffy's arms as Oz joined them. Buffy found herself straddling his lap and was pleasantly surprised at the size of the bulge she was pressing against. His kiss was firmer, more demanding, and Buffy relaxed against him, opening her mouth to his tongue, and closing her lips around it, sucking his tongue. His hands dropped down and gripped her butt, pulling Buffy tighter against him.

Willow had been watching breathlessly. She and Oz had been with other girls, plenty of them here in the back of the van, but they knew this wasn't just a night of fun. The two of them had discussed things seriously before talking to Xander and Cordy, and earlier that afternoon, before heading to the Bronze. But the time for discussion was over for now; talking was for daylight, tonight was for something more.

Oz had twisted on the bench, still keeping Buffy on his lap, but moving so they were almost sitting sideways. Seeing that there was room for her, Willow moved closer, pressing against Buffy's back and brushing her hair away from her neck, planting kisses along her jaw. Her hands found their place on her breasts again, and Buffy pressed her chest into Willow's hands, getting as much contact as she could.

They stayed like that, entangled, until the world came back to them in slow, gentle increments: the sound of a dog barking somewhere down the block, the thump of Ron's laughter echoing from the house, the distant clatter of a recycling bin knocked over by the wind. They disengaged with reluctant tenderness, rearranging clothes and hair, sharing shy glances that were a thousand times more intimate than anything their bodies had done.

Buffy brushed a lock of hair from Willow's face. "I should go in. Mom'll think we got eaten by something."

As Buffy moved to open the sliding door, she turned back, a wide smile on her face, "Oh, and by the way, Will, that thing I needed that we discussed in the Bronze? It's there, oh boy is it there!"

Willow looked at her curiously until she remembered Buffy saying she needed to kiss them and have them kiss her, to see if there was the spark. With a smile of her own, after confirming with Oz, she said, "For us too! But I see your mom standing at the door, so we'll see you tomorrow?"

"You betcha!" Buffy said, putting her feet on the ground and closing the door behind her. She was still smiling when she got to the door.

TSIS & TSIS & TSIS

1630 Revello Drive
Immediately After The Last Scene


Joyce was standing at the door, watching as Buffy finally got out of the van, and was about to comment on inviting Oz and Willow inside if the conversation was that intense. But then she got a good look at Buffy and had to bite back a burst of laughter. While she had snuck into her parents' house on occasion in the same condition Buffy was in, this was a first for her daughter.

"Hey, Buffy," Joyce said, voice just a shade too cheerful for the hour. "Are you planning to make a habit of coming home looking like you lost a fight with a hell-hound and a Cosmetics counter?"

Buffy pressed a palm to her cheek, caught a streak of lipstick on the heel of her hand, and cringed. "Wow. That's, uh. Really on there." She tried to smooth her hair, but it made the static worse, and she imagined she now looked like the before picture in an anti-drug PSA.

Joyce backed out of the door, letting Buffy step inside and grinned. "Should I even ask who's responsible, or is this one of those 'don't ask, don't want to know' situations?"

Buffy rolled her eyes, grabbed a dishtowel, and started patting at her mouth. "It's not what it looks like."

Joyce raised an eyebrow. "You sure? Because it looks like maybe you found a new boyfriend, or girlfriend, or both. Not judging."

Buffy exhaled. "Neither. Both. It's complicated."

There was a pause, the kind that used to feel deadly but now just felt like the price of living with her mom. Joyce poured herself a glass of water, sipped, then said, "Buffy, you're seventeen, you're allowed to be complicated. Just try not to get arrested. Or dead. Or, you know, pregnant."

"I'll pencil it in." Buffy leaned against the counter, arms folded, the tip of her sneaker digging a rut in the kitchen mat.

Joyce's eyes narrowed, catching the telltale signs. "So, was it Willow, or Oz? I knew that Willow was attracted to you. Did she finally get up the nerve to make a move?"

Buffy's laugh was dry. "Honestly? Willow and Oz. Joint custody."

"Well, tell them next time to send you home with your hair brushed," Joyce said, her own laugh echoing down the hallway. "And eat something. I can see your ribs."

Buffy watched her go, the scent of her mom's perfume lingering in the air like a comfort blanket. For a second, she let herself breathe—really breathe—without the weight of prophecy or the expectation of the next apocalypse.

She glanced at her reflection in the microwave's black glass. The girl looking back was a mess, but her eyes were clear, and she didn't look away.

Buffy reached for the fridge, snagged the last pudding cup, and peeled back the foil with a flourish.

She ate it standing up, alone in the night-bright kitchen, letting the pride and embarrassment settle into something almost like happiness.



TSIS & TSIS & TSIS

1632 Revello Drive
Sunnydale, CA
Monday, June 8th, 1998
10:15 PM
Faith stretched out on the hideous plaid couch, the fabric scratchy even through her jeans, legs dangling over one battered armrest while Ron and Yori divided the love seat with the precision of chess grandmasters. The room's only light came from a battered IKEA lamp and the sickly blue of Ron's laptop, its screen scrolling endless pages of encrypted email. Someone, probably Yori, had lit a sandalwood incense stick and jammed it into a dried-out coffee mug, the scent doing battle with the lingering stink of pepperoni Hot Pockets.

None of them said anything for a while. Outside, the sun crawled down behind the neighbors' hedge, and every so often, a car would roll past with music thumping, but inside the living room, the air stayed tight, like everyone was holding their breath.

Then Ron's satphone chirped—the "emergency only" tone that sounded like a robot screaming into a tin can.

Faith jerked upright, boots thudding to the floor. "That's her?" She didn't have to specify.

Ron flicked the phone open and pressed it to his ear. "Stoppable." He didn't bother with codewords tonight.

Yori leaned in, bracing her elbows on her knees, eyes glittering in the half-light.

On the line, Dr. Director's voice was clear, crisp, and weirdly emotionless. "Ron, update. Our source in City Hall confirms: Wilkins is the primary. Repeat, Wilkins is the top-tier black magician in Sunnydale. Official cover intact, but we've ID'd multiple nodes of influence—police chief, school principal, and at least three city council members. Expect proxies. Do not engage until further instructions."

Faith's stomach twisted, and she bit down a curse. "It's worse than we thought," she muttered, barely audible.

Yori's hands balled into fists, white-knuckled. "Are there names? Targets?"

Ron met her gaze, the challenge unspoken. "Not yet. Director wants us in observe-and-report mode until the big meeting in D.C. next week."

His tone was flat, but his eyes flicked to Faith and lingered.

Dr. Director kept talking, her voice like black coffee: "Secondary objective: determine Wilkins' link to local demonic activity. He's shielding something—possibly an artifact, possibly a ritual. Standard procedures apply. Any deviation, you call it in."

"Copy that," Ron said. "Anything else?"

A click, a pause. "Tell Faith she's cleared for access to Level Five. Her background is in the system. Congratulations, kid."

Faith felt the blood rush to her face, but whether it was pride or panic, she couldn't tell. "Yeah. Thanks, I guess."

The call ended, and for a long moment no one moved.

Yori exhaled through her nose. "This is going to get bad, isn't it?"

"Bad's a given," Faith said. "Question is, who catches the shrapnel?"

Ron looked at both of them, and something about the way his face changed made Faith actually sit up and listen. "We hit this head-on. No side quests. If Wilkins is the key, we take him out."

Yori nodded, slow and deliberate. "We'll need allies. Even the local Watcher, if he can be trusted."

"Giles?" Faith made a face. "From what the others are saying, he's all right now. Old-school, but not the kind of guy who'd sell us out for a book deal."

Ron shut the laptop with a snap. "Tomorrow, we do recon. We get names, we get patterns. And Faith?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

Ron's eyes were serious, not a trace of the goofy "aw shucks" persona he wore like a badge. "No heroics. You're with us now. We go in together, we get out together."

Faith felt the knot in her chest loosen, just a little. "Copy that, boss."

Yori smiled at her, and it wasn't just the candlelight making her look warmer than usual.

They sat there, the three of them, in the silence that comes when you know exactly what you're up against and exactly how far you'll go to win.

The incense burned down to a stub, the laptop went dark, and somewhere outside a siren wailed. But inside the house, they were ready.

TSIS & TSIS & TSIS



Hellsing Manor
Sir Integra's Private Office
London, England, UK
The Next Morning


Sir Integra's office was a monument to English austerity: high ceilings, dustless sunlight angling off dark wood shelves, an ancient Persian rug that probably cost more than a Council member's yearly salary. The only concessions to modernity were the state-of-the-art security system and the battered desktop computer on her writing table, the latter serving more as a status monitor than an actual tool.

She sat behind the polished desk, a slim cigarillo balanced between two gloved fingers, the smoke rising in a perfectly vertical plume. Her pale eyes were fixed on the door, which opened precisely at noon to admit the courier—a man so nondescript he could have been a test pilot for a cloning facility. He advanced to the center of the room, snapped a sharp salute, and presented a thick manila envelope, the red "MOST SECRET" stamp so fresh it still glistened.

Integra regarded him for a heartbeat, then gestured for him to place it on the blotter.

"You've been briefed?" she asked, her tone diamond-hard.

"Yes, Sir Integra. Dossier was hand-delivered from MI-6 three minutes ago."

"Very good. Dismissed."

He bowed, spun on his heel, and left, closing the door with the kind of reverence reserved for cathedrals and war rooms.

Sir Integra slit the envelope open with a silver letter opener—family heirloom, naturally—then fanned out the papers. The first was a satellite printout: a grainy shot of Sunnydale's main drag, nothing remarkable except the glowing heat signature over a ramshackle bungalow. The next page was more interesting—a list of financial transactions, off-the-books payments from an account tied to one "Wilkins, R." to an entity flagged as "Wolfram & Hart."

She paused, ran a fingertip down the list, then flipped to the main event: a field report stamped URGENT in block capitals.

SUBJECT: SUNNYDALE "GIRLS' HOME"—COVERT SURVEILLANCE, 48 HRS.

Summary: Local shelter for at-risk females suspected of fronting as a demonic brothel. Substantial evidence links the operation to Mayor Wilkins; primary legal representation is via Wolfram & Hart (Los Angeles). Early reconnaissance suggests black-market trafficking in both humans and non-humans, with potential ties to ritualistic sacrifice. See attached for personnel list.

Sir Integra snorted softly, lips curling in a cold approximation of a smile. "Savages," she muttered, and set the page aside.

The personnel sheet was dense. Half the names flagged for "possible demonic ancestry." All the supervisors rotated weekly. The signature at the bottom—Lindsey McDonald, Wolfram & Hart—was underlined three times in red.

She finished the file, then took a final drag of her cigarillo, crushing it out with deliberate precision.

With the report in hand, she pressed the intercom. "Send in Walter."

A minute later, her aide materialized, impeccable in black tie and tails. "Sir Integra?"

"Walter, contact the on-site command in Sunnydale. Tell them to expand our coverage—full round-the-clock surveillance on every Wolfram & Hart associate operating in California. Instruct Hellsing assets to make discreet contact with Stoppable's team."

Walter inclined his head, eyes shining with anticipation. "And the Mayor, sir?"

"Observe, for now," Integra said. "But if he initiates a move, I want to know before his own lieutenants do."

"Understood."

He disappeared as efficiently as he'd arrived.

Sir Integra leaned back, steepling her fingers. It was always the small towns, she thought—always the places where evil learned to pass for ordinary.

She folded the report, slipped it into a slim file, and tucked it under her arm as she strode to the window. Down below, London roared as it always did, unbothered by the slow metastasis of monsters.

But not for long, she thought.

She was already dialing the next number before the church bells had finished striking the hour.

TSIS & TSIS & TSIS

End Chapter Three

 

[red jacobson]

STORY TITLE: Team Stoppable In Sunnydale
CHAPTER: 04 of??
AUTHOR: Red Jacobson (red.jacobson@gmail.com)
DISTRIBUTION: FF.Net, Archive of Our Own, Hentai-Foundry, Questionable Questing, Twisting the Hellmouth
DISCLAIMER: None of the Characters You Recognize belong to me; they belong to the Disney Channel and their respective creators. The Buffyverse Characters belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy (Grrr! Arrgh!) Sir Integra and the Hellsing Organization were created by Kouta Hirano and owned by Geneon.
SUMMARY: Ron, Yori, and Faith have arrived in Sunnydale, and Buffy is back home with Joyce. Now the fun begins!
FEEDBACK: Of course! It Makes Me Write Faster
RELATIONSHIPS: Ron Stoppable/Yori/Faith, Xander/Cordy, Willow/Oz/Buffy
RATING: PG-13
WORD COUNT: <7,042>
SPOILERS: None, it's been years since Kim Possible finished, so if you don't know the story by now, why are you reading this?
AUTHOR'S NOTES: I've shifted the Kim Possible timeline quite a bit; this story takes place after the Kim Possible finale. Also, Ron and Yori were an established couple (with kinks), so he and Kim didn't get romantically involved. This story is a sequel to On the Way to Sunnydale.
ATTENTION 'PROFESSIONAL ARTISTS': I'm not looking to commission any artwork. If you contact me about it, I'll ignore you and block your username. Please save us both the trouble and don't bother.


1718 Revello Drive
Sunnydale, CA
Wednesday, June 10th, 1998
10:00 A.M.

Sunnydale's central neighborhoods couldn't decide if they were meant to be suburbia or something out of a low-key dystopia. Every house looked the same, with green lawns and vinyl siding, but beneath the surface, there was always a sense of secrets and things hidden just under the flowers. At the end of a too-perfect cul-de-sac, Global Justice had set up Dr. Meadows's office. Faith figured the location was either a bureaucratic joke or a way to mess with people's heads. Either way, it did the trick.



The building was a one-story fake ranch, bright white, with a mailbox so shiny it almost hurt to look at. It looked like any other Sunnydale house, unless you noticed the thick, blast-resistant windows, the birdhouse-shaped surveillance domes, or the grass that glowed neon green at sunrise. Faith showed up early, like she was told, since GJ was strict and Ron and Yori had already helped her enough that she didn't want to cause trouble by being late.



Inside, the waiting room felt lifeless. Three plastic chairs sat along one wall, curved so you had to face whoever joined you. There was no TV, no old magazines, not even a crossword or sudoku. Just a loud ticking wall clock and a basket of pinecones on the table, the air smelling faintly of cinnamon and something like defeat.



She dropped into the nearest chair, which didn't really fit her slouch, and chewed on her thumbnail. She wore her black tank top again—her last clean shirt, cut low enough to make things awkward. She didn't know if they expected her to dress up for Global Justice therapy, but if so, they'd already lost that bet. Her combat boots, still pretty new but already scuffed, tapped a rhythm on the tile. For a moment, she thought about breaking the armrest just to prove she could, but Ron and Yori had already searched her so thoroughly that even her favorite braided bracelet was gone, probably labeled as a possible weapon.



Faith had wanted to protest, but Ron just gave her an understanding look. "It's nothing personal, Faith. When Yori and I started our sessions with the Doc, we had to leave all our weapons with Security. It doesn't happen often, but sometimes things come up that people aren't ready for, and things can get violent. Doctor Meadows may look harmless, but she can handle herself in a fight. Still, there's not much she can do against a gun at close range, so it's standard to go in without gear. You get used to it."



She had to admit that Ron made sense. There were times when Doc Dormer talked about her past, and Faith didn't handle those memories well at all.



She tried to focus on the clock, but the hands seemed to move in reverse, like it was mocking her. She counted the pinecones. Nineteen. An odd number, which was supposed to be unlucky for some reason she couldn't remember. She wondered if Dr. Meadows did this on purpose, or if it was some kind of low-key psy-ops. If she asked, the doc would probably just write it down in her little notebook and smile.



A rustle from behind the frosted-glass door, then a gentle voice: "Faith?" It was the kind of voice people in movies used to calm horses. "Come on back."



Faith stood and rolled her neck until it cracked, then let her shoulders drop in a stretch. Her boots thudded softly on the thick hallway carpet, which was so deep it almost swallowed the sound. She wondered if it was meant to comfort clients or to hide any noise. The walls were the same fake-warm beige as the waiting room, but here there were no family photos or children's drawings—nothing personal. Just one door at the end, already open, with pale yellow light shining into the hall.



Inside, Dr. Iris Meadows sat in a simple chair, her posture both precise and relaxed, like she'd been ready for her first patient since early morning. She wore a slate-blue cardigan over a gray blouse, her silver-streaked hair pinned up neatly. There was no clipboard, no laptop, not even a pen. Faith realized it was a quiet show of confidence. On the bare desk was just a brushed-aluminum frame with a single photo: a short-haired woman in a Global Justice uniform, eyes sharp but smiling. Faith recognized the GJ badge, though the face was unfamiliar.



"Please, sit wherever you like," Dr. Meadows said, nodding toward a lo"Please, sit wherever you like," Dr. Meadows said, nodding toward a low couch or the chair across from her. Her accent sounded Midwestern, with softened "r"s that made her voice calming.less like a courtesy and more like an open invitation.



Faith paused, then nodded. "Water, please." She picked the couch and sat down, folding her knees and wrapping her arms around them. The couch was just springy enough to remind her she couldn't jump up quickly, which she guessed was on purpose.



Dr. Meadows turned her chair toward Faith, hands folded in her lap. There was no recorder or notes in sight. Faith met the doctor's calm gray eyes, which reminded her of a winter sky. Not cold, just steady. For a moment, Faith wondered if this therapist was part machine.



After a respectful silence of about twelve seconds, Meadows spoke: "You're not required to share more than After a respectful pause, Meadows spoke. "You're not required to share more than you're ready for. I'm here through Global Justice to help you process anything you choose, whether it's your assignment or what brought you in today."asier. "Yeah, I know, Yori and Monkey-Boy gave me the 411 on the drive from Cleveland. Told me that everyone goes through it when they join up. It's because I trust the two of them that I'm willing to give it my best shot." She waited, watched the doctor's face for judgment—and saw none.



Dr. Meadows offered a soft, understanding smile. "I know you didn't choose this. My role isn't to command but to support. Our conversations stay here, unless you say otherwise."



Faith picked at the seam of her jeans. "Okay. So… do we talk about my past, like traumas and battles, or do we just sit here until it's time for me to leave?"



"If you like, we can begin where you feel most comfortable," Meadows replied. "Or we can sit in silence. Sometimes that's enough to start."



Faith closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them. "Actually…" She sat up straighter. "I've never really talked about what it was like, growing up on the streets of Southie with everything that comes with being a Slayer." Her voice was steady, but softer than before.



"Tell me about that," Dr. Meadows said, leaning in, her expression open and patient. Faith drew in a slow breath. She was here. She was ready.



She braced herself. "It's just... you know. Normal stuff. Mom was never around. If she was, it usually meant a fight, or guys, or drinking. School was just a place to go, not somewhere to learn." She didn't want to say more, so she let the silence do the rest.



Dr. Meadows nodded, not writing anything down or even moving in her chair. "You survived. That takes more than just being tough. It takes adaptability. And culture—not the kind that gets you into prep school, but something just as important."



Faith snorted, but it came out less mean than she'd intended. "Yeah, street culture. Great set of life skills for fighting monstersFaith snorted, but it sounded less harsh than she meant. "Yeah, street culture. Great for fighting monsters. Not so great for, uh, resumes."ally, too many things can go wrong between now and retirement, when I get there I'll take a look around."



Dr. Meadows's eyes softened even more. "That's understandable, given what you've been through. But remember, you're not alone anymore. You have Ron, Yori, and others supporting Miss Summers. The days of Slayers fighting and dying alone are ending. Global Justice and the Hellsing organization want every girl to reach retirement age. It won't happen overnight, but it will happen."



Faith nodded, a little late, but she meant it. The kid in her wanted proof, a guarantee, maybe even a bedtime story with a happy ending. The woman who came to the Doc's office knew better than to believe in fairy tales. She just wanted less of the "die alone" feeling and more hope that she might make it out. Hearing that from someone in the business mattered.



"I know you're right," she said. "It just... it never happens to people like me. If you're lucky, you get a day or two where you think it might, and then something ugly shows up and makes sure you don't get comfortable." She made a fist, quick, thumb tucked inside.



Dr. Meadows tilted her head, and for a moment, Faith thought she saw something in her eyes—not sympathy, but maybe recognition or respect. "Sometimes," the Doc said, "it's not about getting comfortable. It's about learning to expect the ugly and planning for what comes after."



Faith sank deeper into the couch. "I got a plan. Survive. Maybe punch a few things." She looked at her hands. "Sometimes I wish it was just fighting. Sometimes fighting is the easy part."



A little crack in her voice, and she hated it, but Meadows didn't jump on it. Just waited it out.



"Does it help to talk about the other stuff?" Meadows asked, her tone so casual, Faith almost answered automaHer voice cracked a little, and she hated it, but Meadows didn't react. She just waited.te, but the shape of it: the low-grade terror that lived under her breath even before the vampires, the way every adult was either a threat or a ghost. The time she slept in a church basement for three days because she couldn't remember how to get home. The time she saw a guy bleeding in the alley behind the bodega and just stepped over him, because that's what you did.



And then there was Doc Dormer. The first adult who didn't flinch. The first person who looked her in the eye and didn't see a problem, but someone worth helping. Maybe not a daughter, but someone worth keeping alive. Faith tried to joke about it, keep things light, but the Doc just listened and didn't look away. Maybe that's all therapy was: two people waiting to see who would blink first.



She didn't mention the last night, the way Dormer's face glazed over as the blood pooled on the floor, or how the light in her eyes burned out in this fluttery, fish-eye way Faith could never explain. She didn't mention how Dr. Director was the first person to say "I'm sorry," and mean it, and that's why Faith got in the car. She didn't need to go there yet.



"So what now?" Faith asked finally. "Is this where you tell me nothing that happened to me was my fault?"



Meadows's lips curled in a dry smile. "If you ever want platitudes, I'll write them in a greeting card. But what I can tell you is you're here now. You made decisions, you survived, and now you get to decide what happens next."



Faith wanted to scoff, but it felt hollow. She nodded, almost imperceptibly, and let the silence settle.



After a minute, Dr. Meadows said, "You can take a break anytime, or we can keep going."



Faith inhaled. "Let's keep going."



***



1630 Revello Drive
Sunnydale, CA
Wednesday, June 10th, 1998
Noon

Buffy sat on the living room couch of 1630 Revello Drive like an artifact in a museum: wary, precious, and brittle under the soft illumination of the lamps. She perched at one corner, bare feet tucked beneath her, arms folded so tightly around her knees that veins stood out in pale blue relief across her shins. The cushions sagged beneath her slight weight, the familiar scent of lavender dryer sheets and a hint of old popcorn pressing in from every fiber. Across the uncertain gulf of the coffee table, Joyce Summers occupied the opposite end of the sofa, ankles crossed in a stiff approximation of composure. The hem of her oatmeal-colored sweater was already unraveling under her nervous fingers, stitch by surrendering stitch, as if she believed that worrying the yarn could unspool the thoughts she'd failed to say the night before.



Buffy stared at the floor, counting the knots in the hardwood, the faint coffee stain by her right foot, the constellation of scuffs and scratches that mapped the history of every dropped plate and forgotten backpack. The silence had a weight and density that pressed against her eardrums, its gravity collecting unsaid things into a dense, humming core between them. Above the mantle, artifacts of a happier timeline peered down in judgment: Buffy in pigtails, gap-toothed and grinning, cradled in her father's arms; Buffy at a junior recital, arms akimbo in a sequined leotard, forehead shiny with terror sweat; a prom photo, her hair immaculately curled, corsage wilting against a boy's rented tux. The years—her whole family line, really—played out in those frames, ending with the most recent: Buffy at seventeen, eyes too old for the rest of her face.



She traced her own reflection in the glass, the way her mouth set itself into sharper lines each year, her eyes more her father's, her posture more her mother's. She felt pinned in place, dissected by every memory the living room carried in its walls.



Ten minutes or more had passed in this standoff, a limb-numbing eternity in the world of teenage girls and single mothers. Buffy could have recited the pattern of the wallpaper, the exact number of ceramic ducks in the display case, the track record of every time Joyce's mouth opened with the intent to speak only to close, as if the words were too brittle to withstand the journey. Even the grandfather clock in the corner seemed hesitant to tick, as if aware of the stakes.



Buffy glanced up and caught her mother's gaze, quick and involuntary. Joyce's eyes flinched away, then returned, red-rimmed and shadowed in a way that begged for mercy. She opened her mouth, and simultaneously:



"I, um—" Joyce's voice snagged on the first syllable.



"You don't have to—" Buffy said, just as quick.



They both stopped, startled by the echo of their own desperation. Joyce gave a watery half-laugh, her hand lifting automatically to her throat before dropping to the ruined hem of her sweater.



A beat passed. "I'm not sure how we're supposed to do this," Joyce said, her tone at once plaintive and exhausted. "There isn't a—" She trailed off with a gesture, as if summoning a manual out of sheer maternal will.



Buffy's lips curled at the edge. "Actually—" she said, her voice brittle— "there might be. Pretty sure Giles has a whole shelf." She imagined the Watcher's library, the endless volumes pressed into service by tweed and glasses and nervous energy. "He keeps them next to his crossbow collection, in case the reading gets too dry." She almost apologized for the joke, but let it ride instead.



Joyce managed a smile, weak and precious and so fleeting it almost hurt to witness. Her hands stilled for a moment, the sweater pooling in her lap in surrender. "That sounds like him," she said. A tremor ran through her, barely visible unless you watched for it.



They sat in the hush, the space between them as fragile as spun sugar. The house itself seemed to hold its breath, the only sounds the mechanical hum of the refrigerator down the hall and the faintest rustle of leaves from the sun-warmed yard.



Joyce broke first, her voice a hush over the table. "Buffy, I'm sorry. For that last night before you left. For… all of it, really." She gestured with both hands this time, as if collecting all her maternal failures and pushing them into the air between them. "I yelled. I said things I didn't mean. I—" She faltered. "I didn't want to believe it, so I didn't. I thought if I just… ignored the bad parts, or made you act like everything was normal, it would be safe. You would be safe."



Buffy said nothing for a long moment, her eyes fixed on the faint line of dust that traced the baseboard behind the TV. She wanted to say it was fine, that she was used to it, that none of it mattered. The words would not come. She was so tired of pretending she didn't need what she needed.



"It doesn't work that way," Buffy heard herself say. The words dropped into the space between them like a penny down a well.



Joyce nodded, her eyes welling, blinked twice in quick succession as if that could keep the tears contained. "You shouldn't have had to go through any of this alone. Not the… not the slaying. Not Angel. Not getting thrown out of school. None of it." She let Angel's name hang in the air, dangerous and radioactive, and Buffy's breath shivered at the sound of it. For a moment, neither could look at the other. The ceiling became suddenly fascinating.



The ache in Buffy's throat came back, that strangling, high-up pressure that had haunted her since last summer: after the loss of Jenny Calendar, after Angelus, after she'd walked away from this house with nothing but a backpack and a bloody dress. She bit the inside of her cheek, willing her body not to betray her.



She made herself speak. "I'm sorry too," Buffy said quietly. "For not telling you. For… leaving." The memory of it stung, the way she'd looked back through the glass and seen Joyce already crying in the kitchen.



Joyce let out a breath, ragged and slightly damp. She scooted closer on the couch, changing the topography of the cushions with each careful inch. Buffy tensed, expecting scolding or more questions, but Joyce only reached out and tucked a stray lock of hair behind Buffy's ear. Her fingers were cold, but steady. "You came back," Joyce said, and her voice was soft.



Buffy blinked. She couldn't explain the way those words settled inside her, the way they filled some hollow spot she had never managed to patch. She found her head nodding, up and down, even as tears welled and spilled over her lashes. She hated crying. She hated it more when it happened without her permission. But Joyce was crying, too, and neither of them tried to hide it.



The house, for its part, seemed to exhale all at once—a new sound entered, the faint music of kitchen activity. Paper bags rustled, fridge door opened and thumped closed, the gentle clatter of canned goods being lined up in the pantry. Ron and Yori must have returned from their supply run. Buffy wondered absently if they'd found the organic miso paste Joyce liked, or if they'd gone for the cheap stuff, ignoring brand loyalty in favor of protein count and shelf life. It felt cosmically unfair that she was still thinking about groceries while the axis of her life spun out beneath her.



Joyce's arms opened by slow degrees, an old habit from the days of playground bruises and night terrors. She hesitated for a heartbeat, but then Buffy allowed herself to collapse into that space, curling against her mother's shoulder. Joyce's embrace tightened, a living shield against the world's cruelty. Buffy breathed in the scent of her mother's hair—faint herbal shampoo, a trace of coffee, the ghost of her old perfume. She closed her eyes and let herself believe, just for this moment, that she was small and salvageable and worthy of love.



They sat like that for a long time, rocking gently, tears leaking until they dried up from exhaustion, until there was nothing left but the wet spot on Joyce's shoulder and the slow, steady sound of breathing. The lamps cast a soft halo over them, and the framed photos on the wall seemed to approve.



When Joyce finally let go, she did so with reluctance, smoothing Buffy's hair back into place as if reasserting some order over the chaos. "I know I can't make it all better," Joyce said. "But I want to try. If you'll let me."



Buffy nodded. "I want that, too." She wiped her face with the back of her hand, not caring if the mascara streaked.



They both laughed, shaky but real, and the sound seemed to break the spell. The house came alive again: muffled footsteps in the hall, distant thumps as groceries were arranged and rearranged in the pantry, the tap squealing briefly as someone washed their hands—life, in its unglamorous persistence.



Joyce sniffled and rose from the couch, stretching the kinks from her back. "I'm going to make tea," she announced, voice more certain than it had been all day. "Do you want—?"



"Chamomile,please," Buffy finished for her, catching the hint of how Joyce's voice used to sound when she nursed flu seasons and sleepovers. "And I'll grab the tissues." She used her sleeve instead, but didn't say so.



She followed Joyce into the kitchen, the soles of her heels sticking for a second to the old linoleum. Yori was sorting cans on the counter, each label facing out with the kind of military precision that made their normally messy pantry look like a Food Network tornado had hit it. Ron stood near the dining table, methodically stacking flat-packed boxes of ramen and those weirdly heavy bricks of shelf-stable tofu. He looked up as they entered, and for the first time since Buffy had returned to Sunnydale, his smile wasn't the practiced "aw shucks" thing he used on teachers or cops. It was quieter, almost relieved.



Buffy ran a finger along the edge of the table as Joyce filled the kettle. It was the same table where, as a child, she'd staged Barbie coronations and—years later—crammed for chemistry finals. Her mother had left her a mug, pale yellow and chipped, beside the stove. Next to it was newer crockery for Yori and Ron, their names neatly written in marker on white tape.



She caught Ron's gaze, saw the unvoiced question in it: You okay? She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. He nodded back, and Yori's head flicked up from the cans, mouth twisting in a little smile.



Yori finished organizing the cans and turned to face them, saying, "Faith called. She'll be home in an hour. I think her appointment went well."



Joyce tilted her head toward Buffy, a question in her eyes, "Are you ready to talk to her?"



Buffy weighed that. She liked Faith—maybe more than she ought to, given the whole "one girl in all the world" mythology. But every time she let herself relax since she'd gotten home, her feelings pressed up against the inside of her ribs, all sharp and animal. Still, Faith understood the darkness in a way nobody else could.



"Yeah," she said, surprised at the steadiness of her own voice. "I think it would."



The kettle squealed, and Buffy jumped a little, then laughed. The tension in her neck eased, fractionally, as Joyce poured. Yori crossed from the pantry and quietly slid the mug closer to Buffy, as if she knew hot drinks worked better than any exorcism at clearing out the ghosts.



They drank their tea, crowded around the table, talking about inconsequential things: the rash of raccoons in the neighbor's trash, whether the new principal would be worse than the old. Buffy's head felt hot and light, and she let herself drift on the small sound of voices and spoons knocking against stoneware. She liked the music of it, the way it filled the kitchen with something close to normal.



Ron offered to clean up—"It's the least I can do for a home-cooked meal," he said, even though this was tea and yesterday's banana bread. Joyce was halfway to refusing before she realized she didn't need to refuse anymore. The new rules allowed for small mercies.



Afterward, Buffy retreated to the back porch, propped her knees against the slatted sunlight, and watched the world blur past—the busy hush of distant cars, the cicada buzz, the small thuds of a basketball from somewhere over the fence. Petal confetti drifted across the concrete, caught in whirls of wind. Willow would have called it "pathetic fallacy," but to Buffy, the day felt less like a metaphor and more like a brief pocket of peace. She let herself like it.



When Faith arrived, she let herself in with the confidence of someone who'd learned that running from home never made the landing softer. Her hair was pulled back in a messy tail, and she smelled faintly of menthol and sweat, like she'd chain-smoked a pack on the walk from the doctor's. She plopped onto the porch step beside Buffy, knees spread, arms draped over them in a way that threatened to tear the seams of her tank top.



"Hey, B," Faith said. "Heard you and Mrs S. survived therapy round two. You get a sticker?"



Buffy laughed. "Gold star, actually. But I'll trade you for some of the news from the other side of town."



Faith rocked back on her heels. "Might take more than a sticker, B. That doctor? She's not like the Boston types. Doesn't ask about grades or why you don't have any friends. Wanted to know about the dreams. The bloodier, the better."



Buffy watched Faith's hands, how the knuckles whitened and released, over and over. "Did you tell her about… about Dr. Dormer?"



"Yeah." Faith's voice was flat, but not with anger. It was like she'd spent her grief already and was just turning over the empty wrapper. "She said I could talk about it if I wanted. Or not." She grinned, teeth sharp. "Bet she wasn't ready for my 'Life with the Lehane Circus' stories. I mean, most of it's rated NC-17. She didn't even flinch."



Buffy nudged her with a shoulder. "She'd have to have nerves of steel, to live with our crowd."



Faith's grin faded into something careful. "You and your mom. You good now?"



The question startled Buffy. It shouldn't have, but it did, how intently Faith watched her. "We're… better than I thought," Buffy said. "Might take time." She hesitated. "Is that weird?"



Faith shrugged, but with less of the practiced bravado and more a real, honest, I don't know. "Nothing about this place is normal, B. But… I'm glad you got someone to come home to. That's something."



Buffy stopped herself from reaching over and taking Faith's hand. It would have been too much, or maybe not enough. Instead, she picked at a loose thread on her jeans. "What about you?"



"Me?" Faith's eyes went skyward. "Doctor Meadows wants me to come see her three days a week, but that's what Monkey Boy said that he and Yori went through, so I guess it gets better. The Doc didn't ask me too much about the two of them, figure that's for later on. We talked about getting a dog." She rolled her eyes, but something like longing flickered in the space between the words. "Wonder what'd happen if I showed up with a hellhound."



Buffy imagined it. "I'd have to stake it if it ate my mom's gardenias."



Faith snorted, head tipped back in a laugh that made the skin on Buffy's arms go electric. "We could go halves on a goldfish instead. Low maintenance."



They watched the clouds for a while, not saying anything more. Buffy could feel the old shape of her life shifting, like a scar healing over with newer, softer skin. She made herself sit with the feeling, even if it made her want to run.



Faith tapped the porch rail, then stood up, stretching until every vertebra popped. "You up for patrol tonight?" she asked. "Heard from Ron that Wilkins is making moves."



Buffy got to her feet, stretching too. "Round up the usual suspects?"



"Xan and Cordy are out. Date night." Faith grinned wickedly. "But I bet Will and Oz are in." She tossed her head, ponytail whipping. "Meet you at the crypt near fifth?"



Buffy nodded, feeling the energy bleed back into her limbs. "Don't keep me waiting, Faith."



"Oh, B," Faith said, already halfway down the walk. "You'll always be waiting on me, aren't you?"



The words were tossed over her shoulder like a dare, like a promise that she'd be there at the end of the night, teeth and fists and fierce, loyal light.



Buffy watched her go. Then she stared at her shadow on the porch for a long second, just to remind herself that it was still solid, that she could stand it.



This time, when she went back inside, she walked lighter.



***



1632 Revello Drive
Sunnydale, CA
Wednesday Evening


Ron found peace in the small, deliberate violence of chopping vegetables. The rhythm—knife down, knuckles forward, perfect half-inch cubes—felt like a language the world could never misunderstand. You set the edge to the carrot, and it yielded, orange and earthy and pure. He worked the cutting board on autopilot, watching Yori glide between the stove and the fridge like she was skating across rice-paper. If she wore an apron, it would have been a whole domestic sitcom bit, but she'd made do with her standard GJ blacks and a flour-dusted kerchief keeping her hair back.



They spoke mostly in glances. Ron would slide a bowl closer, Yori would catch it one-handed without turning, and dump the contents into her bubbling red sauce. She moved with the economy of someone who'd spent years learning how not to spill, how not to waste a second or a syllable.



He let himself be happy, just a little. The Summers' kitchen was a wreck of open cabinets and crowded counters, the kind of mess only a lived-in house could breed. He liked it. The kitchen of the house GJ rented for them isn't quite there yet, but give it time. Made him feel like he could exist in a place that didn't sterilize everything down to the last crumb.



Yori was spooning sauce into a bowl for tasting when she paused, head cocked. "Front entry," she murmured, then kept stirring.



Ron didn't bother looking at the clock. Faith's boots announced themselves about thirty seconds before she did, the door thunking against the wall like she was daring someone to say something about it. She lingered just out of sight, then appeared in the threshold, hands jammed in jacket pockets, expression set to "dare you to notice I'm here."



Ron saw her scan the kitchen—her eyes took everything in, from Yori's stance to the knives in the block to the window's angle of approach. Tactical. Defensive. He recognized it because it was his own default once.



"Hey, Faith," he said, voice as nonchalant as he could get. "We're making spaghetti. You want to try the sauce?"



She looked at him like he'd just offered to read her diary, but she shrugged and sauntered over. "As long as it doesn't have, like, mystery meat."



Ron dipped a clean spoon, offered it up. Faith took it and slurped, exaggerated, like a kid. "Not bad, Stoppable. I'd give it a solid B+." She made eye contact with Yori, who only nodded.



Yori said, "Needs more basil," then added a pinch without looking.



Faith planted herself on a barstool, twisting side to side so the legs squeaked against linoleum. She wasn't really hungry, Ron guessed, just didn't want to be left alone. He got that. "How was the doc?" he asked, tone gentle enough not to spook her.



Faith shrugged with her whole body. "She's fine. Not a headcase. Likes to listen, doesn't judge." She hooked her heel on the rung of the stool, hunched in. "Didn't ask me to, like, paint my feelings or nothing."



Ron grinned. "She keeps markers in the bottom drawer, just in case you get the urge."



Faith rolled her eyes but didn't leave. Progress.



In the living room, Buffy and Joyce were talking quietly, but the air still shimmered with after-emotion. Faith watched them through the doorway, a look on her face that Ron couldn't parse—jealous, maybe, or just baffled by the idea of parents who talked things out instead of breaking plates. Faith was honestly surprised that B and her mom were close enough to have real conversations without shouting and screaming.



Yori finished with the sauce and handed Ron the pasta pot without a word. He set about draining the noodles, careful not to scald his hands—he'd learned that lesson after the time with the radioactive egg salad in Istanbul.



Dinner made itself from there. Ron and Yori set the table with mismatched plates, poured juice into cheap tumblers, and laid out a bread basket like it were an actual celebration. He caught Buffy's eye as she led Joyce into the dining area. Their faces were swollen from crying, but they both tried for a normal smile.



"Whoa," Buffy said, looking at the spread. "Did we get a fairy godparent, or am I hallucinating carbs?"



"Magic of teamwork," Ron replied. "Yori's the muscle, I'm the guy who doesn't burn water."



Faith wandered in last, hovering near the wall, picking at her nails. Ron made sure she got a seat at the table but didn't draw attention to it.



They ate. For a while, that was all. The first bites were awkward—Faith ate fast, like someone might take the plate away at any second. Joyce picked at her food, hands still shaking a little, but the more she chewed, the steadier she got. Buffy demolished her serving and asked for seconds, which seemed to break the tension for everyone else.



"So, Faith," Joyce said, her voice tentative but kind, "do you like Sunnydale so far?"



Faith smirked. "Yeah, it's like Boston, but with extra murder and less snow."



"Somehow I doubt the Chamber of Commerce would put that on the Welcome to Sunnydale packets," Joyce said, setting her fork down, "But I could be surprised."



Faith looked like she wanted to crack a joke, but didn't. Instead, she just nodded and stared at her plate.



Ron let the silence last until it got uncomfortable, then said, "Did you know there are six cemeteries within two miles of here? That's gotta be a record for a town this size."



Buffy perked up, grateful for the subject change. "Seven, if you count the pet cemetery, but you don't want to patrol there. Trust me."



Yori interjected, "Our case file mentions a higher-than-average frequency of disappearances in this sector. Mostly night shift workers. Perhaps we could coordinate schedules."



Buffy shot a glance at Faith, who shrugged. "I'll go where I'm needed. I'm five by five."



They talked patrol routes for a bit, marking the map with sauce-splattered napkins and listing which crypts were most likely to house actual vamps. It was low-stakes compared to the rest of the day, and it felt good. Ron noticed Faith relax an inch with every bite, her voice less spiky and more herself.



When everyone was done, Joyce started clearing plates, and Faith surprised herself by helping. She loaded the dishwasher with practiced speed, like she'd been doing it all her life. Buffy watched her, and for the first time that day, her smile seemed real.



Ron lingered with Yori at the sink, washing up in companionable silence. When Faith drifted back through, she found the leftovers and ladled herself another heap of noodles, shooting Ron a sheepish look. "What? Slayer metabolism."



He saluted her with his juice glass. "Welcome to the clean plate club."



She made a face but didn't leave, eating straight from the bowl and watching the others with a gaze that was just a little less guarded.



The evening wound down gentle, everyone orbiting the safe zone of the kitchen. For the first time in a long while, Ron felt like maybe—just maybe—they were building something that could last. It wasn't family, not yet, but it was a start. He'd take it.



***



1630 Revello Drive
Wednesday, June 10th, 1998
Late Evening


By the time they stumbled in, the house was asleep. Only the porch light glared, and even it looked tired, casting more shadow than glow over the cracked sidewalk. Faith pushed open the door with her hip, favoring her left arm where the gash had already soaked through her shirt, hot and sticky against her bicep. She'd wrapped it once, loose, but it needed better than a gas station napkin and optimism.



Buffy followed close, steps light but certain, tracking the blood trail with a tight-jawed focus. Neither of them said anything until they were through the door. Then, without warning, Buffy took a hard left into the kitchen, flicked on the light, and started opening cabinets.



"Sit," she said, not looking back.



Faith eyed the high counter stool, considered making a thing of it, but her knees buckled the second she let her guard down. She grinned at her own weakness, hopped up on the seat, and pressed her palm to the sluggish bleed.



Buffy emerged from under the sink with a battered first aid kit and set it down between them. She dug through it methodically, eyes narrowed, lips moving as she counted off the inventory in her head. Faith watched her hands—no tremor, no wasted movement—Slayer's hands, even when they were doing nurse stuff.



"You can't tell anyone I let a vamp get this close," Faith muttered, more bravado than shame. "It'll ruin my street cred."



Buffy snorted. "You get a bonus for fighting the three-pack solo. But next time, maybe duck."



Faith smirked. "You gonna write me up?"



Buffy pulled out a roll of gauze, scissors, and a bottle of stinging, clear liquid. "No paperwork for first offense."



The antiseptic was cold, then fire. Faith sucked in a hiss but didn't flinch. Buffy dabbed at the wound with a cotton ball, movements quick but not careless. When she met Faith's eyes, there was a weird apology there—not for the pain, but maybe for the necessity of it.



Faith tried to grab the supplies, play it off with a "I got it," but Buffy just waited, not moving, her hand steady with the gauze. It was a stalemate: Faith wanted to do it herself, Buffy was ready to help but not push. The kitchen was so quiet, Faith could hear the refrigerator hum, the settling tick of pipes, the slow, deep breaths Buffy tried to hide.



It hit her, suddenly, that nobody had taken care of her since Boston. Not like this, not gentle and efficient and almost—fuck—like it mattered. She could've told Buffy to back off, but the words wouldn't come.



After a long second, Faith let her arm go slack, offering it up. She pretended not to notice how warm Buffy's hand was on her skin.



Buffy wrapped the wound tight, then taped it off with strips torn from a roll. She pressed the last piece flat, careful and deliberate, then held it there a beat longer than needed.



Faith flexed her fingers, testing. "You patch everyone up, or just the new kid?"



Buffy smiled, real and tired. "Everyone gets a turn. Even me, sometimes."



Faith scoffed, but it was half-hearted. She looked at her bandaged arm, then at Buffy, and felt the throb of something unfamiliar under the pain—trust, maybe, or the start of it.



"Thanks," Faith said, quieter than she'd meant to.



Buffy's smile didn't fade. "Don't mention it."



For a while, they just sat—two Slayers, side by side, marinating in the silence. Faith stared at the bandage, wondering how long it would hold before she busted it open again. She guessed tomorrow, maybe less. But for now, she didn't have to be the hard case. She could be the patient, just this once.



After a minute, Buffy stood. "Get some rest. We're up early. Big day tomorrow."



Faith nodded, sliding off her stool and walking to the back door, her hand checking that she had her house key. B stayed in the doorway and watched, going back inside when Faith closed the door to 1632 behind her. Getting ready for bed, she snorted at the oversized She-Hulk t-shirt before pulling it over her head, tugging off her panties, and dropping them into the clothes hamper. Slipping between the sheets of her bed, listening to the quiet, Faith found herself smiling.



The house felt less like a hiding place, more like a place she could stay.