Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer, nor do I own Battlestar Galactica. They are owned by Joss Whedon and Ronald D. Moore respectively. I merely play with their toys while they're away. Also, this series entirely ignores anything not directly mentioned in Battlestar Galactica, so ignore anything from Caprica. This was conceived before that, so I'm not letting it hamper my creativity.

Hail, my friend, anointed of Calyntha, for you have been blessed by the gods with the Potential to fight.
Hail, milady, sister of Kelara, for you are the blessed Avatar, Chosen to fight the Vampires, the Demons and the forces of darkness.
-Former Watcher greetings to a newly discovered Potential and to a newly called Slayer

Six fortnights ago

Buffy, wake up.

The dorm room is normal, but she looks and doesn't see her best friend, but rather her friend's ex-demon girlfriend hiding under the witch's covers.

Buffy, you have to wake up right away.

I'm not really in charge of these things.

Please wake up. Oh, please.

I need my beauty sleep. So stop it, okay?

She rolls to her back and sees the once-human creature snarl at her, and she snaps, up, now in her bedroom away from school.

She lies back.

She finds herself standing and looking at another Wicce, not her best friend, but her girlfriend.

Faith and I just made that bed.

For who?

I thought you were here to tell me. The guys aren't here, are they? We were gonna hang out and watch movies to-

You lost them.

No. No, I think they need me to find them.

The alarm clock reads 04:30 AM.

It's so late.

Oh, that clock's completely wrong. Here.

A tarot card. Manus. The hands.

I'm never gonna use those.

You think you know what's to come. What you are. You haven't even begun.

I think I need to go find the others.

She walks from the room, and can't hear the soft whispering behind her.

It's a hallway she finds herself in. It is familiar, or is it? UC Sunnydale High? It's all so similar. It doesn't feel right.

Have you seen my friends?

The man shakes his head.

They wouldn't just disappear.

The walls are cracked, there is a hole, which she looks into.

Mom?

Oh, hi honey.

Why are you living in the walls?

Oh, sweetie, no, I'm fine here. Don't worry about me.

It looks dirty.

Well, it seems that way to you. I made some lemonade. You go find your friends.

I, I think they might be in danger.

Giggling.

I'm sorry, dear, um, a mouse is playing with my knees.

I, I really don't think you should live in there.

Her male friend, over there, climbing the stairs to the library.

Well, you could probably break through the wall.

She walks away, leaving the mother and chasing her friend. She walks slowly down the hall. Two men, sitting at a conference table. A map of the Cyrannus System and the twelve individual worlds.

Hey there, killer.

Riley? You're back.

I never left.

But how did the debriefing go?

I told you not to worry about that. It went great. They made me surgeon general.

Why didn't you come and tell me? We could have celebrated.

Oh, we're drawing up a plan for interstellar domination. The key element? Ambrosia that thinks.

Interstellar domination? I-is that good?

Baby, we're the Fleet. It's what we do.

She's uncomfortable with certain concepts. It's understandable. Aggression is a natural human tendency. Though you and me come by it another way.

We're not demons.

Is that a fact?

Buffy, we've got important work here. A lot of filing, giving things names.

What was yours?

Before Deucalion? Not a man among us can remember.

Another voice. The demons have escaped. Please run for your lives.

This could be trouble. The two men stand.

We'd better make a fort.

I'll get some pillows.

Wait, she protests, I have weapons!

She opens the bag and frowns. It is full of mud. She reaches into the bag, and puts the mud all over her hands, before spreading it across her face.

Thought you were looking for your friends. Okay, killer, if that's the way you want it. I guess you're on your own. She walks off.

She is in the desert. The sun is not Cyrannus. It is too orange to be Cyrannus. She's left the worlds. There is rippled sand, as on a beach. There's a palm tree. A woman hums. She walks down a hill. The breeze ruffles her hair, her dress.

I'm never gonna find them here.

It's her best friend's special friend. She's wearing pink all over.

Of course not. That's the reason you came.

You're not in my dream.

I was borrowed. Someone has to speak for her.

The creature, again, now appears before her, growling, her dark skin contrasting against the harsh light of the ancient desert.

Let her speak for herself. That's what's done in polite circles. Why do you follow me?

I don't.

Where are my friends?

You're asking the wrong questions.

Make her speak!

I have no speech. No name. I live in the action of death, the blood cry, the penetrating wound. I am destruction. Absolute. Alone.

The Slayer.

The First.

I am not alone.

The Slayer does not walk in the world.

I walk. I talk. I sneeze. I'm gonna be a fireman when the floods roll back. There's trees in the desert since you moved out. And I don't sleep on a bed of bones. Now give me back my friends!

The creature, she speaks.

No friends it sneers. Just the kill! We. Are. Alone!

You were alone. She is not.

Neither eldest Slayer, nor creature, nor Wicce speaks.

You served the Shadows worthlessly. The Shadows in their worthless platitudes.

She is dark-skinned, but she is not the First. She speaks. She is the Avatar.

Once they did as they thought they must. Now they work for their own meaningless power. You, alone, because of them. Not because of what you are.

She serves not the shadows. She serves me herself without need for intercessor.

The form is Chosen. She's met her, but not one imprisoned.

She is my true avatar. She needs no watcher, no director, but me. Her companions assist her by my will.

I am alone, the witch speaks, I am always alone. None else shall escape my fate. The chain of my sisters fights alone or it ends. So it is written.

It comes time for your chain to end. All of this has happened before, and all of this will happen again, the Sagittaron accent speaks.

Now give her back her friends, or I'll end you.

The creature snarls, but is held back now by the Avatar. The Avatar turns to her, the time is coming. The chain ends. You are among the last.

Me? But I can't do it.

It is what you were born for, daughter. One last duty for your chain. You must do your final duty.

She's not ready, the Wicce says, she's still-

Your final sisters will have no impediment.

I am the last?

Among them. Protect it. It is your final duty. Protect it.

What?

A grim smile, and the witch speaks

Be back before dawn.

Present

Dawn Summer fidgeted in the copilot's chair of the raptor as Buffy carefully maneuvered them around the hulk of a Colonial viper – once a pride of the Colonial Fleet, now a piece of space garbage orbiting Caprica.

Giles was awake, and moving pretty well; it seemed, however much he had been injured it wasn't as bad as some of his injuries in the past. He was sitting in the ECO chair in the back of the raptor, trying to stay awake and look around at where they were.

The sound of the silence was deafening.

Dawn fidgeted again. Buffy carefully pulled back onto course from her avoidance of the Colonial viper. It wasn't really that difficult, Buffy was thinking. Either she was naturally (or slayerly) a good pilot, or the Fleet really exaggerated how difficult flying was.

Dawn twitched again, and Buffy finally snapped, "Will you stop that! It's distracting."

"Geez, sorry," Dawn said, sarcastically rolling her eyes, "Tiny movements are apparently a crime against humanity."

"What, need a little private time this time of night? Left all your special porn back in Sunnydale?" Buffy snarked, the stress of the last few hours getting to her more than it should.

Dawn blushed, but managed to get out, "Shut up."

Buffy could actually hear Giles cleaning his glasses in the back of the raptor.

Another minute in silence passed, before Dawn twitched again.

"Godsdammit, Dawn! I've had about enough of-"

Buffy was interrupted by a sound of beeping from the back, which Dawn got up, a little too quickly, to look at. "Dradis contact. Raptor. I think it's our raptor."

"Good!" Buffy said, a little too relieved. "Good."

Dawn went back to the copilot seat, and sat down, and pushed a button,

"Colonial Raptor 312, Raptor 312, do you copy?"

"Raptor 312, acknowledged, this is Lieutenant Sharon Valerii, callsign Boomer," a voice came through the wireless, "This is the civilian raptor 'Summer'?"

"Uh, yeah, Raptor 312. Out of Sunnydale, Caprica."

"Sunnydale, was that the town near Saloniki that got hit?" Boomer asked, and, after Dawn replied in the affirmative, "Damn. Does…anyone over there actually know how to fly a raptor?"

"My sister's been doing it on instinct since Sunnydale. We got out a few seconds before it went off."

"Thank the gods," Boomer said, before saying, "Your sister's a natural. Uh, can you do ECO-work? If you can-"

The Slayer in Buffy listened carefully to the technical details (she might need to know, later), as Dawn activated, deactivated and changed the various settings in the back, around Giles, to Boomer's specifications.

"Got it, Boomer."

"Alright. Hold tight, Summer, this never feels good."

Buffy, Dawn and Giles all closed their eyes as their raptor vanished faster than light.