Chapter 1: Beginnings

1980

"Your hours will be four to eight—Tuesdays, nine to five—Saturdays, and the occasional Sunday afternoon." Ms. Milken, the editor of the New York University campus newspaper, looked up at Dawn. "I trust that won't be a problem."

Dawn looked at Ms. Milken and frowned. It had been over two hundred years since she and Buffy had drank from the Fountain of Youth. And in that time a few things had come to pass. The first was their wealth. They had money to spare, thanks to Jack Sparrow, Dawn's one and only true love. Another was that she had gotten her Ph.D. thirty years before.

Dawn's identity at that moment was of a college student. With Buffy on her way to Toronto to set up their new identities she had to add in, albeit temporarily, a part time job to make it look like she didn't have any money. That was something they did was hide the wealth. They came up with reasons to dip into it. Loans for example or in this particular case student loans.

"Twelve hours a week?" Dawn said. "When I applied, you said a minimum of twenty."

"Business needs change, Dawn," she said. "I believe I said a possibility of twenty hours a week."

Dawn sighed; she could make do of course as it meant pulling more money out of their Swiss bank accounts. But to do that required both hers and Buffy's signatures. And with Buffy in Toronto… "Maybe I misheard. But if you ever need someone to work extra hours, I can always use the money. I'll leave a copy of my schedule. I'm free anytime that I don't have classes. Even at the last minute. Just give me a call."

Ms. Milken pursed her lips, then reached over to a stack of paper, plucked a single sheet from the middle, and handed it to Dawn. "Tips for winterizing gardens," she said. "Turn it into an article. Ten inches. For this week's edition."

Dawn took the sheet and smiled. "I'll drop it off first thing in the morning."

"This week's edition goes to bed in two hours."

"Two—?" Dawn's smile collapsed. "I have a class at three."

"Is this going to be a problem, Dawn? I've hired students before, and I was reluctant to do so again. I need to know that your priorities are here. Not with boys or parties or bar-hopping or sororities."

"I have my priorities straight," Dawn said. "My job is second only to my classes."

"That won't do."

"Maybe, after today, I can skip the occasional class, if it's for something critical," Dawn said. "But this is the first week of classes, and it's my first time in this particular class, so I really can't miss it." She met Ms. Milken's gaze. "But …well, maybe I could give it a shot. I still have an hour."

The only reason she was even buttering up to the woman was because Ms. Milken had asked no questions she would have trouble answering. Such as where are you from. When were you born? When you're over two hundred years old you have to be careful as a lot of stuff requires careful planning. Such as social security numbers and new identities.

"There's a desk out front."

At 2:37, Dawn handed the article to Ms. Milken.

0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0

Dawn headed for her anthropology class. While not in the realm of her Ph.D. in Ancient Languages and Mythology. It was still a distant cousin and could provide her aspects into demons that mythology might not know. As she approached the build she realized she didn't have the room number. Her timetable was in her knapsack, which she'd left in the apartment she and Buffy had rented, wanting to look professional for Ms. Milken she had left it behind. And because of the article that Ms. Milken had her do she didn't have time to run to the apartment and get it. She only had a few minutes to get to class. She spotted a nearby payphone and ran up to it. She fished out the appropriate change out of her purse and dialed hoping Buffy would remember.

"Hello?" Buffy answered.

"It's me," Dawn said. "Please tell me you remember what my class schedule was like?"

"Actually I think I have a copy of it with me. You know just in case I need to contact you for emergencies before the move. Hold on," Buffy said as Dawn heard her sister going through some papers. "Here we go. I assume you want the Anthropology class that your about to be late for."

"Yeah," Dawn said.

By the time Dawn reached the classroom, she was a minute late, and the TA was already closing the door.

The professor wasn't even there yet, just his teaching assistant, a blond grad student who had the audacity to glare at Dawn as if she'd waltzed in mid-lecture. So when he glowered at her, she glowered back and swept past him up the steps into the lecture hall.

"Dawn!" someone hissed.

Dawn turned to see a girl, she recognized from one of her other classes, who tugged her knapsack off the seat beside her and waved Dawn into it.

"Thanks," Dawn whispered as she sat down.

"Seemed like it was filling up fast, and I knew you were coming. Did you check out the TA? Oh my God. I heard the prof was cute, but that TA is gorgeous. I'm already planning to have some trouble with this course." She grinned. "I'll need serious assistance."

Dawn smiled and shook her head. When she looked up, the guy had closed the door and returned to the lectern.

The TA began. "If you're here for Anthropology 258, Ritual and Religion in the Americas, you're in the right place. If not, you have fifteen seconds to get out the door without disturbing those who know how to read a room number."

"Oh my God," Trina whispered as two kids snuck, shamefaced, out the door.

"Unbelievable, huh?" Dawn said. "Nothing like a TA with an attitude."

"No, I mean his accent. That is the sexiest drawl I've ever heard. Where do you think he's from? Tennessee? Texas?"

Dawn shrugged.

"So, now that the rest of you know where you are," the TA continued, "or think you do, let's get started. My name, in case you didn't read the syllabus, is Clayton Danvers. I'm your professor for this class."

Dawn's head whipped up so fast she nearly dropped her notebook. She looked down at the podium, and she swore he was looking straight at her.

An hour later Dawn ducked out the door without as much as a glance at the TA/Professor.

"You!" the TA called as he strode after Dawn but she kept moving, pretending not to hear him. He jogged right up behind her and called again, but she just continued weaving past the other students, giving them wide berth, careful not to jostle or even brush against anyone else. She zipped around a corner.

A moment later Dawn heard him behind her calling yet again. When she didn't respond again, he grabbed her arm. Years of sparring with Buffy had trained her reflexes and she whirled, wrenching her arm away. It took a little effort to keep her from dropping into a combat stance.

"Professor Danvers," Dawn said.

"You know who I am?" Clayton Danvers said. "Good. Now maybe you'll extend me the same courtesy." Dawn gave her best impression of not knowing what he was talking about. "Your name. You didn't answer roll call."

"Oh. Right. Dawn. Dawn Michaels," Dawn said. "I'm not in your class. I'm on the waiting list. Third."

"Classes are for registered students only."

Dawn shrugged. "Sure, but I tried to register—"

"Not hard enough," Clay said. "The class didn't fill until near the end of the registration period, meaning you obviously couldn't be bothered—"

"Couldn't be bothered?" Dawn glared at him. She knew Buffy would so have punched the guy for cornering her like this. "Fine."

"Fine? Fine what?"

"Fine, meaning I'll stay out of your class until I get a spot. If I get a spot." Dawn said. "Not that it really matters I'll be gone after the semester ends anyways. Excuse me." She slipped around him and got two feet before he swung into her path.

"Why?" Professor Danvers said.

"Why what?" Dawn snapped.

"The class," Clay said, softening his tone. "Why did you want to take the class? Is this your area in anthropology?"

Dawn hesitated, she studied him, wary. Some of Buffy's teachings running through her mind. After a moment, she relaxed and leaned against the wall again. "No, I'm not in anthro. Sorry. Journalism."

She was only taking journalism classes so that when she joined Buffy in Toronto she would be able to get a job. She would teleport into the records office at NYU and plant the transcripts to show that Dawn Sparrow, the new identity she would be going under after the move, had graduated with a bachelor's degree in Journalism. The only college she had actually finished was for her Ph.D. But she couldn't tell him about that. He would become suspicious on how a seemingly twenty year old woman already had a Ph.D.

"Journalism?"

Dawn laughed. "Yes, people do choose to become reporters. Shocking, isn't it?" She shifted her bag to her shoulder. "I'm taking anthropology as my extra. In fact I did a term term paper on religion for another class. I came across your thesis, read it, thought it was interesting, and used it. Then I saw you were teaching the first half of this course. I wanted to take it, but—" She shrugged. "Things came up. I registered late."

"You read my thesis?" Clay asked.

"You think I'm lying?" Dawn asked. "It's published. There's a copy right here at—"

"Do you still have your paper?"

"You do think I'm lying," Dawn said. If she wasn't in a crowded hallway with a normal person standing in front of her. She would teleport just to get away from him.

"If you still have last term's paper, I want to see it," Clay said. "Then you can sit in while you wait for an opening."

"Fine," Dawn said. "I'll drop it by your office tomorrow—"

"What's wrong with now?"

Dawn's jaw tightened and she told him, through clenched teeth, that she had a seven o'clock class and hoped to eat dinner; He agreed to let her drop it off tomorrow at ten, after his morning class.

0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0

Dawn strode down the quiet hall. She had called Buffy the night before to ask where she had filed the anthro paper away after first griping about the professor. Buffy told Dawn not to let Professor Danvers get to her. And then helped Dawn, via phone, to find the paper.

Dawn brushed past two students trying to decipher a professor's handwritten office-hours chart. The next door was Danvers's. She didn't even get a chance to knock before he yanked it open. He must have been leaving. "Just dropping this off," she said, stepping out of his way.

"Come in."

"That's okay. You were heading out, so I'll—" Dawn said.

He frowned. "I wasn't heading out. I was opening the door for you."

"How did you—?" Dawn said as she extended her magic senses. She didn't sense any magic radiating from him. Although she could tell there was something magical about him. Which she knew meant nothing as there were plenty of magical races out there that were not a threat to the human population. She proceeded to hold out her paper. "Here it is."

"Come in."

He turned and walked back in without waiting for an answer. The door shut behind him.

Dawn opened the door and walked in as Clay took his seat behind the desk. "Here's that paper." she started to lay it on the desk, then thought better of it and put it on an empty bookshelf instead. "My phone number is inside the cover. If I don't hear from you by Friday, I'll assume it's okay to show up in class."

"Sit."

"What?" Dawn asked.

He waved at the chair across the desk. "Sit."

Dawn resisted the urge to bark, and answered by not answering…and not sitting.

"Suit yourself," he said. "Pass me that paper."

He opened it. Dawn waited, expecting him to flip through. Instead he leaned back in his chair, put his feet on the desk, paper crumpling beneath his loafers, and began to read.

Dawn checked her watch. "I have an appointment in twenty minutes."

He glanced at the clock. "I'll keep you for fifteen, then."

"Its way over in the Koffler Center. At the bookstore," Dawn said.

"You can buy your texts later."

"It's for a job interview," Dawn said. When she had gotten back to the apartment after the anthropology class. She had found that the campus bookstore had called to set up an interview and with the fact the newspaper wanted to give her such bad hours. She decided to go ahead with the job interview for the bookstore.

He lowered the paper. "What the hell do you need a job for?"

"Excuse me?" Dawn asked.

"College is for learning. If you work during school, sure, maybe you'll be able to afford a few extra drinks at the pub, but your grades will suffer."

Dawn pried her jaws open enough to speak. "While I appreciate your concern, sir, I'm afraid I don't have much choice. If I don't work, I lose my apartment."

"Your parents won't pay for it?"

"My mom has passed away and last I knew my father was in Europe with his secretary." Dawn said. "It's just me and my sister."

Dawn knew that Hank and Joyce Summers were by now married and that Buffy would be born next January. So in reality they were alive at least at this point in time. Of course she had not seen Hank since before her first trip into the past and Joyce had died a couple months before that trip as well. But she for the most part would never get to see either Hank or Joyce Summers or tell her mom how much she had missed her the last two hundred years.

He just nodded. "Well, I guess you would need to work, then."

"So, may I leave?" Dawn asked.

"Come back when you're done."

The interview did not go well. The problem with the interview was Dawn was pretending to be a college student and as a result did not supposedly have lots of experience. She couldn't really tell them she was over two hundred years old now could she and that she had experience in things that would turn their hair gray. So it was back to the newspaper.

After the interview Dawn returned to Danvers's office, and had a chance to knock. As her knuckles grazed the wood, the door creaked open. She called a hello, and then peeked inside. The office was empty. From the door, she could see her paper on a stack of papers. There was a note on it. She slipped inside and picked it up.

Two words. Dawn and wait.

Dawn's next class wasn't until after lunch. No reason why she couldn't pull out a textbook and study there for ten, fifteen minutes. If he didn't show up by then, she'd leave a note and go.

Dawn had only read two pages when the door banged open.

"Good," he grunted, seeing Dawn there. He tossed an armful of books onto the desk, sending an avalanche of paper to the floor. "You get the job?"

"I don't know yet," Dawn said. "They'll call."

His eyes studied Dawn's. "But you don't think you got it?"

Dawn shrugged. "Probably not. Now, about—"

"Forget the bookstore," he said, thumping down into his desk chair. "I have a job for you."

Dawn hesitated; not sure she'd heard right. "Uh, thank you, but—"

"I need a TA."

Dawn stopped; mouth still open. A teaching assistant position would work. She had wanted to take the anthropology class so as to learn something that would relate to mythology in general and demons in particular. A TA position would give her access to possibly pick Clay's brain.

"I'm not an anthropology student," Dawn said slowly, to try and give him the impression it was not her first choice.

"So?"

"I need to be in this discipline to be a teaching assistant. Isn't that a requirement?" Dawn said.

He brushed Dawn's words aside with a wave. "The school wouldn't be hiring you. I would. I'm a temp, so that's how it works. They hire me, and I hire an assistant if I need one."

"What about grading papers?" Dawn asked. She was more than qualified. Holding a Ph.D. made her more than qualified. But yet she couldn't tell him that. "I'm not qualified for that. And I sure can't teach your classes if you're off sick."

Another wave. "I never get sick. And you won't need to grade essays. I'll just give you the multiple-choice parts of tests. That and … uh, administrative work."

"What kind of administrative work?" Dawn asked.

"You know … departmental … stuff. Whatever I need done."

Dawn cast a pointed look at his desk. "Like filing?"

"Sure. Filing. More important, though, I need research—"

A tentative knock at the door cut him short. He made no move to stand. Another rap. Dawn arched her brows. He shook his head. They stayed quiet until footsteps tapped away down the hall.

"That's another thing you can do," he said. "Handle my office hours. Talk to students."

"They probably want to speak to you," Dawn said. "Especially if they're having problems with the course."

"Oh. Right."

"I suppose I could screen student visits," Dawn said. "If it's taking papers or answering easy questions, I can handle it. Otherwise, I could have them make appointments, maybe discourage the ones that don't seem too serious."

He smiled then, his eyes lighting up like a kid's. "That'd be great."

Dawn's cheeks heated. "Uh, and research. You were saying something—"

"Right. That's really what I need. I'm working on a paper, and I need someone to do the legwork for me, track down articles, print them up, maybe do some extra digging. You cover all that in journalism, right? Research?"

"Right up my alley," Dawn said. That was one thing she couldn't elaborate on if he had asked. All the research she had ever done was on vampires and demons.

"Good. We're all set, then. You can start—"

"Wait," Dawn said. "Can I think about it? I should hear what the bookstore says first."

He rapped his pen against the edge of the desk, then leveled it at Dawn. "What's the pay?" he said.

"Huh?" Dawn asked.

"The bookstore. What are they offering to pay you?"

"Uh, minimum … well, slightly above." Dawn said. "Three fifty an hour."

"How the hell do you live on that? I'll pay you six."

"That's very generous. But wages aren't the only thing I need to consider. Hours are another factor, and you might only need me for five, six hours a week—" Dawn said.

"Hours are negotiable. I need help with this paper, and I want to work on another one after that. How many hours would you need?"

Dawn calculated quickly. "Fifteen, if you're paying six dollars. That would leave me plenty of time to study."

"Fifteen it is, then. When you're busy with school, take less. When things are slow, take more. I'm not running a nine-to-five business. As long as the work gets done, I'm in no hurry."

"Does this mean I get to sit in your class until I get a spot?" Dawn asked.

"Huh?" He frowned. "Oh, right. The class. Hell, yeah. You're in."

Dawn smiled. "Good. About the job, then…when can I start?"