Disclaimer: I still don't own Buffy, Her universe, or any of the places or people associated with it (although if he sets a price I can afford, I am willing to buy 'em off of Mr. Whedon, but I'm not holding my breath for that one).

Chapter 3

"Dee?  You got a minute?"  Anders' voice slipped softly into Dee's attention as she worked at her computer the following day.  Anders, as far as Dee knew, had been living in California for almost five years after moving away from his native London.  The stiff, British accent which Dee knew he must have started with had all but faded.    He'd been her project manager for close to a year, ever since she'd started working with the firm.  He was nice enough, if a little stiff.

"Hmm?"  Dee had a little trouble getting out of work-mode.  When she was focused, you could damn near detonate a bomb next to her and she probably wouldn't notice.

"Lemme rephrase that: You've got a minute.  Daniel wants to talk to you."

"Daniel…"

"As in the guy who owns the company."

"Oh."  She stood up.  This, suffice it to say, was odd.  This was, admittedly, a small company: fewer than a hundred employees in total, but she'd never actually met the guy in charge.  Actually, she'd never even heard him referred to by his first name either.  To have him calling one employee into his office was unheard of.  "Any idea what he wants to talk about?"

"Oh, I think he just wants to meet you."

"Me?  Why?"

"How was your weekend?"  He asked.

"Change the subject, why don't you?  Why does he want to talk to me?"  She persisted.

"Why do you assume he tells me these things?"  Anders asked.

"How about 'cause you're close enough to refer to him by his first name."

"Look, would you rather hear me tell you what I think he wants to talk to you about, or would you rather have him tell you himself?"  Anders voice was aggravatingly calm.

"I'd rather know what I'm getting into."  Dee replied, making no effort to hide her annoyance.

"Well, I guess you'll just have to wing it.  Something I hear you excel at."

They'd stopped outside a featureless oak door.  Anders opened it and ushered her inside, closing it behind her.

Apart from a young man dressed in a denim jacket, his hair dyed and spiky, the room was empty.  Whatever it was that Daniel wanted to talk to her about, he'd called someone else in.  And apparently he was running late.  The man inside was looking pensively out the window of the office onto the skyline of San Diego.  It was late morning, and the sun was high enough to create a rather amazing lightshow upon the buildings.  The man himself was one of the few people she'd met who was actually smaller than she was.

"Excuse me," Dee spoke up.

The man looked over at her, as if noticing her for the first time.

"Are you here to meet with Mr…"

"Osbourne, Daniel Osbourne.  Oz."  The man held out his hand.

"You're…" Dee blushed a deep crimson, "I mean, of course you are.  I'm sorry, you're just not quite what I expected, Mr. Osbourne."

"You should see me during a full moon."

"What?"

"Long story.  It's Oz."

"Oz, as in…"

"Land of, Wizard of…  Short for Osbourne.  Have a seat."  He gestured towards the chair in front of his desk as he took a seat behind it.

"Mr.—Oz, what am I doing here?"

"Direct, to the point.  I like it.  You remind me of someone I knew in High School."  He nodded at her.

"Sir…"

"Well, the best answer I can give you is a question: When you graduated from UCLA, you were offered a position in L.A. that pays almost twice as much as we pay you.  Why'd you come to work with us instead?"

"Well, San Diego's home, and…"

"Your father died almost four years ago, your mother and sister are the only family you have left, and they're in L.A.  And again, we have them paying you almost twice as much as we are.  Why not work for them?"

"How do you know all this?"

Oz reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a file.

A very, very thick file.

He opened it and began reading from the page on the top "Deena 'Dee' Chlopan.  Age: 26, height: five feet, weight: 104 pounds.  Born to William and Betsy at UCSD Medical Center, San Diego.  Parents divorced when you were thirteen, and you elected to live with your father, who remained in San Diego while your mother and your younger sister moved to Los Angeles.  Graduated from High School and entered a Bachelor of Sciences program in Computer Science at UCLA.  Father diagnosed with Leukemia at the end of your first year, and you withdrew."  He saw the small brunette wince at the mention of her father, and he skipped a few lines,   "A year after his death, you applied for readmission at UCLA, successfully, to complete your degree three years later.  Mother and sister, only living family, are in L.A.  And now," he paused for a moment, "you work for me, and I would like to know why."

"Where did you get a file on me!?"

"Well, not all of this is you, we also have limited profiles on the guys you dated in college."

"What!?"

"Suffice it to say, we've had our eye on you for some time, Dee.  Now, why are you in San Diego?"

"Maybe I just like the weather."  Dee glared at him with undiluted hatred.

"Okay, let me ask it in a different way: do you know why you came to San Diego?  I'll bet you a pay raise that you don't."  At her silence, he pressed on, "You're here," he said, "because you're supposed to be here."

"Gee, that clears everything up."

"Have you ever heard of the town of Sunnydale?"

"Yeah, Mom, Dad and I used to pass through it on our way to L.A., but it was flattened by some kind of freak earthquake a long time ago."

"No earthquake.  Buffy."

"Come again?"

"Buffy was a vampire slayer.  The vampire slayer, actually, until thirteen years ago.  Does that mean anything to you?  You would have been thirteen when it happened."

"Back up a second.  Vampire?  I'm a little old for ghost stories.  Demons, witches, vampires.  I think you've been reading a little too much Tolkien."  Dee held up a hand.

"Then how do you explain what you saw this weekend?  A giant man-like beast with wings attacks you while you're hanging off of a rock.  You'd think that would cultivate a healthy belief in the supernatural."

"In every generation a number of girls are born, each of which has the potential to become a slayer." Oz pressed on, "When a slayer dies, one of these potentials is called to take her place and is given the strength and skill to fight and defeat vampires, demons, creatures of the night, all the things you thought lived under your bed when you were little.  Or at least, that's the way it worked until thirteen years ago.  Willow…" Oz's breath caught for a moment, Dee suspected that there was more to this Willow person than he was telling, "Willow changed all that.  She activated 'em all at once… Including you."

"Me?  Oh, no, no, no."  Dee shook her head in vehement denial, "I'm no warrior, I'm a programmer."

"One dead, giant, man-like demon with wings would disagree with you."

That made her pause for a moment.  She had killed that thing, hadn't she?  And she had known how to do it, somehow.  Her mind flashed back to that day on the baseball diamond.  Something had happened to her, had been done to her that day.

"See, you're here because you know you have to be.  You don't know how you know, you may not even know that you know, but you know that something big is here, and you know that you need to be here to stop it."

"I thought you said there were others like me out there.  Why not call one of them?"

"We can't.  When Buffy and all them took down the First, the big bad guy, there were a whole bunch of other big bads just itching to step into his… her… its shoes.  Hellmouths cropped up all over the world, each one a lightning rod for demonic activity.  One of them is here in San Diego."

"So, why me?"

"You're a slayer.  The slayer, actually.  At least in San Diego.  The rest are a little busy at the moment.  They have their own Hellmouths to feed."

"What if I don't want to get involved?"

"You weren't supposed to be.  We had a slayer, she's dead."  Oz's voice was noticeably wavering now.  "We were dumb enough to think she was invincible.  Look, whoever's calling the shots managed to get one slayer out of the way, then came after you.  You managed to dodge that bullet, but they're never going to stop until you're dead or they are… deader.  Whether you want to be or not, you're in this up to your eyeballs."

Oz paused to allow that to sink in.  He reached into his desk drawer again.

"Look, I understand that this is a lot to take in.  But you really should start training.  And I recommend carrying these with you."  He dropped a stylish silver cross and a wooden stake on his desk.  "You never know, they may come in handy."