Dear old Dad…

Xander stood just outside the international arrives lounge at Heathrow airport, holding a sign with the word 'Pym' written in large, bold letters. He was reminded somewhat of his origins as the teams comic relief, rather than the senior field Watcher he had become.

Still, he was the contact man for the Councils newest employee.

A gaggle of businessmen and tourists passed through the gate, and Xander distinctly heard one voice ask, "So, where's the Queen?" in a thick Texan accent. Xander resisted the urge to laugh out loud, remembering how he'd been the first time he'd come through the very same gate.

Finally, after everyone else had passed, Hank Pym came through; a single carryon slung over one shoulder and a slightly dazed look on his face.

"Dr Pym." Xander called the older man over, "Welcome to England."

"Thanks." The former head of the Super Solider program nodded, "I've never been cleared through customs so fast."

"We pulled a few strings, got you fast-tracked." Xander lead the way out to he waiting car, "The ship carrying the rest of your personal positions should be arriving at Southampton in two days. We've arranged for a room at a hotel while you sort out a place to live. Just give us the bill when you're done and it'll be taken care of."

"That's very generous of you, considering how much you're paying me."

"The Watchers Council has changed a lot of the past two years: we pay the best, and we expect the best. I'll be the first to admit that you're new job may not be as glamorous as your old one, but it is every bit as important."

"Yes, I've been thinking about it on the way over: I'll need to construct some sort of database before I can start categorising the different types of demons…"

"Doctor, please, I'm not the science type: I'm only interested in how to kill them. We have several thousand active Slayers, and almost twice as many support personnel, spread out across the entire globe. We need a way for them to access information on what they're up against, and how best to kill it without having to read through a load of old books."

"A sort of online encyclopaedia?"

"Bingo. The man you'll be working for is Andrew Wells; he can be a, well, geek at times, but he knows demons as well as anyone. He's deputy head of R&D."

"Who's the head, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Willow Rosenberg, but she's in South America at the moment. You'll met her on Friday when she teleports over for the conference with S.H.I.E.L.D."

"I'm not sure I should be there for that: I didn't leave under the best of circumstances…"

"Yeah, about that: Buffy's no-doubt going to have someone watching you for a while. While she's willing to give you a second chance, try not to do anything that might upset her. We'll working on a new identity and personal history at the moment, so you may-be able to join the team we're putting together."

"You're going public?"

"We may need to: things are starting to happen that people just won't be able to ignore. Having a dedicated publicly recognised team that can deal wit supernatural threats the world over will be an advantage."

"Who you got for it so far?"

"Well, Buffy, Faith, Willow and her partner Kennedy. Thor, one we deal with Loki. Giles is trying to recruit a couple of former government operatives called Spitfire and Union Jack. You, once we get your new identity worked out. The rest will probably be other Slayers, as and when needed."

"You've put a lot of thought into this, haven't you?"

"Faith's the real brains behind it: she's read every single book we have about demons, politics and public relations. God only knows what she's working on now…"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"So what was this place again?" Buffy asked as she stood inside what appeared to be a small farmhouse in the Sussex countryside.

"According to the website, it was a bomb shelter built by the Brits during the Cold War." Faith explained as she examined the walls, "There's supposed to be a entrance around here somewhere…" Part of the wall depressed under her touch, "Bingo."

The wall slid open to reveal a reinforced door with a complicated looking combination lock. Faith typed in a code, and the door slid open, leading onto a short corridor with an elevator at the far end.

"Most of the hillside is hollow." Faith explained as she lead the way, "There's everything we need: generators, wells, storage, communications equipment, air filters, dormitories, everything."

"Our very-own bat-cave. What's the price-tag?"

"Somewhere in the region of $3.4-million, give or take a little with the exchange rate."

"What! There's no way the Council can afford that right now: we're still rebuilding after the First's attack…"

"Relax B, it's all taken care off." Faith was grinning like a Cheshire cat, "I'm the sole heir to a multi-billion dollar fortune. I paid for this place with the credit card my dad gave me."

"That thing still works?"

"I never leave home without it." Faith tilted her head to the side, "You know, we're not that far from Brighton, and I hear that place has some good shops…"

"Are you pondering what I'm pondering?"

"Fancy a little retail therapy, B?"

"I'll get the car…"

TBC

Yes, got Quicksilver's name wrong. Brain-fart on my part.

And yes, I've stopped posting this story over at Twisting the Hellmouth. Those of you who know the site can blame Joe for being such an asshole, and taking every mistake personally. Gave up trying to talk to him and just deleted the story.