Buffy wasn't having as easy a time as everyone assumed she was. It wasn't easy being the Slayer, no matter how much she wanted it to be. There were so many things she had to give up. Despite having the heart to heart with her Mom, Buffy was alone most of the time. Her friends were so busy with their new jobs and doing double duty with the last days of high school. Even Giles was busy as the leader of the Initiative, something that she was proud of him for, but at the same time, she missed having him as her watcher.

Her position as Slayer was a troublesome position. No one knew what to do with her. She was the most powerful Slayer in history, having died and come back stronger. She was the Slayer of several master vampires and responsible for the disruption of several other demons' plans. And then she got her jolt of super-Slayer-juice when Acathla brought her town here.

You'd never hear her say it aloud, but Buffy still blamed herself for that. Every time someone complained about missing a loved one, Buffy felt her heart twitch. Every time someone mentioned how they missed going to LA on weekends, Buffy felt a pang of guilt. But what she was most upset about was that she missed people too, but felt like she didn't deserve it.

It was at times like these that she started to run. There weren't that many enemies for her to hunt. Fledglings were popping up maybe twice a month, suggesting that there were a few vamps left in the city, but they were keeping a very low profile. But the Slayer needed to know she was doing something, so she ran. She patrolled. And she ran. It always helped for a little while, but when she started finding herself running faster than horses, faster than- well, a lot of things. Her run wasn't simply on the ground either. No, rooftops and alleys; former sewers and tree tops; Buffy used everything she could. Hearing her bounce from rooftop to rooftop wasn't a strange occurrence, and it was something she'd picked up from a redheaded woman she met a few months back. She was a bit strange, fighting with a panda, but hey, it takes all kinds.

But now, Buffy was just running. Specifically she was running towards the initiative. She never went in the front entrance, the former Frat House with the elevator. No, instead, Buffy had a private entrance that involved a giant boulder, a pass-code that only she knew and a long tunnel with a long drop. Basically it was an entrance that would be hard for people to get into. Buffy hefted the boulder and carefully placed it to the side, making sure that no one saw her. The she typed the passkey into the number pad and waited for the grill to open, a series of crisscrossed bars that slid away, allowing her entrance. As soon as it was open, she hefted the boulder again and placed it in front of the entrance, backing her way in. She was never sure why Giles had given her a private entrance, but he must have had his reasons.

"Hey-o Watcher-mine," she said as she flopped into a chair across from Giles' fancy military-chic desk.

"Hello, Buffy," he said with a smile. "What brings you here today?"

"Any vamp sightings? Any hospital sitting child killers? Nasty demons with animal intelligence and a taste for human flesh?" Buffy inquired.

"So you would rather give up steady work for something that has already gotten you killed?" Giles asked. "While I appreciate your new found dedication to your calling, I'm afraid that the Initiative has things under control. Is there another reason why you're here?"

"I don't know," she moaned as she fiddled with the pens in the jar on his desk. "Used to be: Angel hears rumor; lurks and tells rumor; Slayer tells Watcher; Watcher and Gang hit books; Xander looks at boobs in said books; Watcher finds badness; Watcher tells Slayer the where of badness; Slayer Slays badness. Now it's all complicated and stuff."

"A little bored, are we?" Giles asked.

"Just a bit," she replied. "I just...I need something to do, and construction just ain't cutting it."

"Buffy," Giles said, pulling off his glasses to look at her. "I'm quite sure that's not the true problem."

She hung her head so she could traces the lines of her shoes with her eyes.

"No," Buffy said. "It's not. It's...well, it's my Dad."

"Your father? Hank, I believe his name was?" asked her Watcher.

"Yeah," Buffy said with a voice full of emotions tangled together almost as if they were trying to choke each other out for the win. Buffy ran a hand through her hair and sighed deeply. "It...well, it's been a year. A whole year."

"And you miss him," Giles finished for her.

"And I miss him," Buffy said. "I miss him a lot. And I'm the only one. Mom's actually relieved to never have to deal with him again. Even if I know he isn't a really nice guy when it comes to women, I...he's still my dad."

"Buffy, it's natural to miss your father," said Giles carefully. He got up and sat down in the chair next to her and rested a hand over hers. "You aren't the only one who's missing family."

"I know!" Buffy sobbed. "I feel so guilty because it's all my fault!"

"Oh, Buffy," he said sadly, rubbing her upper back. "You can't go around claiming responsibility for other events. Especially Acathla. While you were not the most responsible with your relationship with Angel, Buffy, you were, and are, a teenager. Very few relationships during that time are very mature or stable. And Acathla was found and would have no doubt been opened by something else. If you hadn't been there, it might well have just dragged more in, which would have been much more disastrous."

"You can't know that!"

"Buffy, Angelus didn't bring Acathla into Sunnydale," Giles reminded her. "Something of that power would have been quite a draw to certain factions." He looked at his Slayer closely. "Buffy, what is really going on?"

She didn't answer at first.

"I-it's almost a year. Everyone's so wrapped up in politics that they aren't even taking note of the date, and-" she cut herself off. "And I'm just waiting for everyone to blame me."

"Regardless of the words of a few detestable individuals, you are not rightly blamed for the actions of others," Giles repeated. "You need to let this go. And we both are missing our fathers."

"You've got a dad? Wait, of course you do, biology and all that," Buffy said stumbling. She shook her head and let her watcher continue.

"When I was a little younger than you, I wanted nothing to do with the Watchers' Council," Giles explained. "It's a hereditary group. Families go back centuries, something that is not uncommon in Britain. Many Council families have seats in the House of Lords. We Gileses were wealthy, but not overly so. My father was one of the inner Council with Quentin Travers, a truly detestable man."

"So that's when you went all Ripper?"

"Yes, Ripper was the result," Giles admitted. "I did well in school, but had no interest in being a 'good son' like my father wanted. I rebelled and spent some time at University where I met a few other like minded individuals."

"Ethan and the zombie people," Buffy said.

"Yes, well, they weren't zombies at the time, although one friend did die as a result of our carelessness," Giles said. "Some of us abandoned the magical world all together. Some, like Ethan, delved into arts better left alone. I became a Watcher in Training."

"I'm guessing your dad was happy about that," Buffy said.

"No, actually he was utterly embarrassed," Giles admitted. "I had played with dark arts, and while Watchers are required to have some knowledge of them, to actually practice them was...shall we say, highly suspect."

"So how'd you get all watchery if your dad didn't like you?"

"I worked my ass off, as you Americans say," Giles replied, his face quirking into a grin. "Father was still not impressed by me, even when I was one of two candidates to replace your first Watcher." Giles leaned back and pulled his glasses off his nose. "The other candidate was using much darker magicks than I ever experimented with. I exposed him, but only by using a book that the Council had declared dark as well."

"Oh, so I'm guessing that didn't go over well."

"No it did not," Giles agreed. He set his glasses on the desk and took a sip of tea. It was so hard to get good tea these days. "It was decided that I would have to take a test that no one had survived in a rather long time. They expected it to remove the darkness from me."

"Did it?"

"No, all it did was show me as a rebellious youth – Ripper was a manifestation of my darkness," Giles explained. "I only survived because I recognized the darkness within me, accepted that it was a part of my being."

"So you passed, was your dad happy then?"

"No, not hardly," Giles replied with a rueful smile. "He said that even if I was an active watcher to an active Slayer, the fact that I had to take the test in the cave-"

"Wait, you went into a cave and saw your dark side as a form of yourself? Darth Vader much?" Buffy asked. "Is Travers short, green and talks funny?"

"No, Travers is not Yoda," Giles said with a wide grin. "And my father was embarrassed that I had to take the test at all, regardless of if I had survived or not."

"Wow, I guess having Sir-Sleeps-Around as a dad isn't that bad," Buffy mused.

"Oh, I'm quite sure Father did that as well," Giles replied. "It is not uncommon for men of wealth and power to have mistresses. While immoral, it is rather accepted in that society."

"So your mom didn't kick him in the jimmies like mine did?"

"No, she didn't, although since I do believe that Mother had a few lovers of her own," Giles argued, "it would have been rather hypocritical of her to do so."

Election day was always a big event. The weeks leading up to that spring day were a fury of homemade banners proclaiming the owner's leader as the next political messiah, denouncements of opponents and boatloads of aggravation for the others who had to listen to the next political prophesy.

Joyce Summers was suffering from the aggravation. Months of planning had built up with the simple goal of this one day. And now she was stuck spending the entire day at the local polling station.

She was starting to wonder if that law requiring all eligible voters to vote was such a good idea. Truth be told, it probably wasn't a good idea, but it had already been voted on and only time would tell if this would truly work. She was considering gathering signatures for a full referendum herself.

Joyce had woken up at 4AM, washed, got dressed and biked to work, peddling so she was there for set up at 5:30AM. Then she had the 6AM Cabinet meeting. At 7AM the polls opened and she was responsible for vetting voters to make sure they were in the correct voting zone. 423 people attempted to "vote early and often" and managed to cause massive amounts of problems.

There were a few goblins who complained that since they were adults at fifteen, they should have the right to vote then, but Joyce (who still couldn't understand how goblins got put in her voting district in the first place as their communities were in the subterranean districts) had firmly reminded them that it was put in place for all people of all races. This sparked a heated debate about elves and voting since they didn't come to maturity until some time in their second century. Joyce had finally got them calmed down and directed them to Jesus Rodriguez for a hearty discussion on political law and social complaints.

Then there was Mr. Kochanski, who simply forgot that he had voted and had to be reminded seventeen times throughout the day. He walked to the polls from his home, then back, six times, the other eleven times, he was reminded before he made it all the way back to his house. Not bad for a man of 104, even if he was starting to lose it, but what can you expect for a man who's lived in Sunnydale all his life?

Then at noon, she had a break. Or she was supposed to have a break. Instead, she was constantly asked what people thought of various issues. The press, average citizens, children and parents all wanted to know what she thought. She was polite and carefully explained her opinions, but cautioned everyone that they shouldn't vote just because of what she, Joyce Summers, believed and that it had to be their own choice.

She never ate a bite.

Then she was back at it again, this time, making sure that there weren't any extra ballots being filled out. There were only three incidents of this type and all were caused by sticky ballots that hadn't been cut right.

Needless to say, when the ballots closed at 8PM, she wasn't too excited to count votes. Five minutes after they started, an older woman raised her hand.

"Joyce?"

"What's the matter, Mrs. Walker?"

The woman grinned and pointed towards the door.

"You have to leave now," she said, smiling.

"Why?" asked Joyce. "I'm here until we're done counting."

"Simple rules," Mrs. Walker said. "No one who got a vote can take part in counting."

Joyce looked at her blankly for a moment. "Ugh, it was probably just Buffy playing a prank."

"Go home and get some sleep."

Dog tired, Joyce grabbed her coat and walked her bike back to the house. Stepping inside, she poured herself a tall glass of water and sat down on the couch to watch the results go in.

She was asleep almost the moment she leaned back.

Joyce awoke to the sound of a pounding door and sunlight streaming in on her face. She glanced at the clock. Ugh. 5AM. She stood up, rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and glanced around again. There were people on her lawn.

Lots of people on her lawn.

Hell, probably half the city was on her lawn.

If Joyce had been in a better state of mind, she would have thought something more about her appearance. She might have realized that she needed a shower. She might have considered that she was quite clearly wearing the same clothes as the day before and by her rumpled appearance, had clearly slept in them the night before. However, since she was more than just slightly sleep addled, she trudged to the door and opened it wide.

"Hello?" she asked, squinting in the bright morning light shining right in her face.

"CONGRATULATIONS!"

She leaned back in surprise.

"Uh, what?" she asked. Glancing over, she saw Allan Finch stepping up and took a firm grasp of her hand.

"Sunnydale, please meet Joyce Summers, the first President of Sunnydale," he said in a loud voice, eliciting a multitude of cheering.

"WHAT?"

One Explanation Later:

"What do you mean there was a write-in campaign?" Joyce demanded. Her audience was made up an uncomfortable Rupert Giles, a grinning Molly Rogers, a proud Buffy Summers, a smug Allan Finch, a smirking Drizzt and Xander, a beaming Cordelia and a guffawing Shaman of Ilneval. "How is this possible? I wasn't even running!"

"But MoooOooOoom!" Buffy whined. "You won! Don't reject it!"

"I haven't," Joyce said. "Not yet. But will someone please tell him to stop laughing."

The Shaman settled down in an attempt to catch his breath.

"Why are you involved with this?" Joyce asked him.

"Strategy, my dear President," the Shaman replied. "It was Ilneval's will that one who supports the orcish cause would rule. Overwhelming odds and well thought out strategy paved the way towards your victory. If you'd just say a prayer to him soon, I'm sure he'd appreciate it."

"Why me? How me? Who?"

"To answer your first one," Molly Rogers said, cutting her off. "I planned this from early on. It was blatantly apparent that none of the candidates were actually thinking of Sunnydale as a whole, but only their own personal power. I knew that there'd be no way to get someone good to run and win in a normal debate, so we tweaked things a little."

"I handed out pamphlets," Buffy said proudly. She brandished a blue piece of paper with Joyce's face bearing her face and a list of values.

"We ran an honest game," Allan said. "No back biting, no private money, no backroom deals that you have to repay later. You didn't badmouth your opponents except when you did on TV, but of course, you didn't know you were running."

"How did you keep this a secret?" Joyce asked.

"It was easy," Molly said. "All we had to do was keep you too busy and the press understood that they weren't to ask you questions about your campaign when you were acting as press secretary for the Constitutional Committee."

"It doesn't make any sense!" Joyce protested.

Allan Finch smirked smugly.

"It's politics," he said. "It never makes any sense."

Joyce sat there for another long moment, not looking at anyone.

"Coffee," she decided. "I need coffee."

The others in the room perked up instantly.

"You have coffee?" they asked in unison.

"Mom! How come you have coffee?" Buffy demanded.

"I used to stock up on the good stuff and hide in the freezer," Joyce said with a smirk. "You'd just drink the cheepo brand bought in bulk. I have to dig into the bottom of the freezer to get it."

"So..." said Allan, "you don't just have coffee, you've got good coffee?"

Joyce nodded.

"Please?" asked Allan Finch; he looked like a puppy asking his owner to throw the stick again.

There is no claim of ownership for Buffy or the Forgotten Realms, mostly because if I did claim to own them I'd be lying. Thanks for everyone who helped with developing the political world and to Janessa Ravenwood for clearing up a lot of my insanity in text.