"Joyce, do you think we can talk about that now, or do you need to cry a bit longer?" Emma's voice was gentle, her hand still rubbing over Joyce's back.

"She was so upset, Emma. Even teenagers don't get that upset that quickly," Joyce sniffled a little, wiping at her eyes. "This had to have started before the divorce. Well before."

"It would explain the fighting and the sneaking out, especially if someone convinced her that you shouldn't know," Emma murmured.

"Nobody knew where we were moving when we left LA. Whoever was talking to her about this back there couldn't have contacted that stalker. Crazy guys stalking girls and babbling about destiny is sick, but believable. Two crazy guys with the exact same delusion fixating on the same girl on opposite sides of the country isn't." The words hurt as Joyce spoke, part of her wanting to scream that it wasn't fair, wasn't right and to snatch her baby girl back and wrap her up somewhere safe from all this madness and danger.

"It does suggest a larger organization than solitary individuals. This might tie in to that Council of Watchers that he was mentioning. Some sort of larger network of communications and information," Emma suggested.

"But why my daughter? Why Buffy? And why, if they think she has to go out and fight, why aren't they helping her? Why does my daughter sound like she thinks she's going to die when she isn't even sixteen yet?" Joyce didn't quite wail, but she wasn't anywhere near being calm.

"I don't know why Buffy, and I don't know why they haven't been helping," Emma cupped her hand around Joyce's cheek. "What I do know is this – Buffy won't be facing this alone anymore. She has us to try to keep her safer, to make certain she has all the training and equipment that she needs. They won't be so much as talking to her unless they play by our rules, which means no stalking teenagers, no photographs near the locker rooms, and no sending her out alone while they sit back and spy on her."

"You know that they won't like that, Em. If they've been doing whatever they want for God only knows how long, they won't like suddenly being held accountable," She gave a trembling smile, and then added, "It should be good for them. Unless they decide to do something awful to get us out of their way."

"Anyone working with children or minds is supposed to be responsible and accountable, it's why teachers and therapists need to be trained and certified. There's no good reason for them to be spying on Buffy like that, even if she does have some sort of destiny. If acting like decent people and giving Buffy a little basic respect is too much for them, well…" Emma shook her head, the glint in her eyes, the slight lowering of her brows, and the curve of her lips giving her features an almost cruel cast. "There are plenty of asylums in the area, and there are worse things than forcing someone to start telling their secrets to people in uniforms."

Ordinarily, Joyce wouldn't have approved of the idea of Emma using her abilities to ruin someone's life. It felt too similar to the way that Astrid had played with her own life, deciding to pair her off with Hank no matter how many times he cheated, no matter what lies he spun. But they weren't asking for anything unreasonable – they wanted Buffy to have a reasonable amount of privacy, they wanted her to have help if she was in danger, they wanted her to be treated like a person and not a weapon. Any decent person should be willing to do all those things without any threats. And if they weren't decent people… if they weren't decent people, then the world might be better off if they weren't roaming the streets.

* * * ****

Douglas Wiltshire fought to keep himself from trembling as he walked into the office of Quentin Travers, Head of the Council of Watchers. The office of the man who held the safety of the entire world in his hand, the man who directed the efforts of the Watchers to prevent the hordes of demons lurking in the shadows seeking to destroy the world, to bring about the apocalypse.

Part of him thought that Mr. Travers didn't look like someone who held the fate of the world in his hands. He rather looked like a college professor, or perhaps a barrister practicing among the middle class. His hair was beginning to grey, and while his suit was well tailored, it was cut more for comfort than fashion, and from fabrics that wore well. Travers' eyes possessed a keen intelligence and he was well known to be almost aware of what was going on as soon as it occurred. He was also known for having quite a temper.

"Sir? I have some of the field Watchers reports for you… from the States," Wiltshire held out the stack of thin manila folders, the collected summaries of the last few months of reports from American field Watchers. The full reports were being transcribed into the Archives by others, who did not carry the same pressures as Mr. Travers himself.

Accepting the stacked folders with a frown, Mr. Travers looked at him. "What is the news from the Hellmouth? Has the Slayer done anything of note?"

Wiltshire swallowed hard, dreading what he would have to say. "Sir, the Slayer…. She isn't on the Hellmouth."

For a moment, there was an awful silence in which Douglas Wiltshire was certain he could hear the rapid beating of his heart. "The field Watchers lost her at the Los Angeles airport. We don't know where she is now, but it isn't Sunnydale California, over the Hellmouth."

"The Slayer… isn't over the Hellmouth?" The words were slow, as if Mr. Travers wanted to make certain each one fit precisely with the one before it. "I was promised that her departure from Los Angeles was assured, and that there would be nowhere else that the mother could go except Sunnydale. No other town where she would be able to move her troublesome daughter. That all of the schools in the area within the mother's budget had been contacted about the juvenile delinquent. That her records would be sufficiently unflattering to keep her under observation. I was assured that everything had been handled."

Never before had Wiltshire been so glad that he had no responsibilities in the field. That he had no authority to make any decisions affecting the field. In short – however things had gone so badly awry, it hadn't been his fault. "It appears that someone was mistaken, sir."

"Mistaken?" Travers' voice was a low growl.

"Either a miscalculation has been made and the Slayer's mother found another option besides Sunnydale, or the information provided the Field Watchers to use in identifying her after arriving in Sunnydale was insufficient and they missed her. Those are the only two possibilities, sir," Wiltshire tried not to babble, but his words sped up, almost squeaking at the end. "If she is in Sunnydale, then the Watchers haven't identified her. If the California Watchers are correct and she isn't in Sunnydale, then someone was mistaken about there being no other options available to them."

Travers growled, and smacked the folders against his desk. "Get out."

Bolting from the office, Wiltshire found himself praying that Mr. Travers remembered that he had no authority over anything.

End part 20

Emma held Joyce for a while longer before sending her off to take a long shower, or perhaps a nice soak in a hot bath to relax. She'd promised Joyce that she would do whatever was necessary to keep Buffy safer through this mess, to ensure that Buffy didn't need to go out half trained and unprotected, armed only with a pointy stick to fight monsters. More importantly, Joyce believed her.

It was the truth, after all. While she hadn't found Buffy to be precisely likeable – the girl was fifteen, an indifferent student, and terribly worried about being popular – that was a far cry from wishing harm on the girl. But Buffy was important to Joyce, and she disliked the idea of anyone sending out a teenager to fight monsters. Even worse would be sending out a girl without making all possible efforts to help her.

Those efforts would start with having a talk with Buffy. While she certainly had good reasons to be upset, Emma had no intentions of letting her stew in that unhappy, tangled frustration, fear and despair. Stomping and slamming doors wasn't terribly ladylike either, and more importantly, it wouldn't get her anything in this situation. The only excuse for unladylike behavior in a woman or girl would be if it was more effective than well mannered behavior.

Emma walked up the stairs and down the hall to the room that Buffy had chosen as a bedroom. The door wasn't quite closed, though it may well have bounced when Buffy tried to slam it. Choosing to interpret the fact that Buffy hadn't made sure the door was closed as sufficient invitation, she pushed the door open and walked inside.

Joyce had clearly been understating when she'd mentioned Buffy not taking good care of her shoes. They were scattered about the closet, spilling over the floor. Clothing had been tossed in and around the laundry hamper. Over all, the room was a mess.

Almost as much of a mess as Buffy's emotions. There were tangled fragmented images of horrible monsters, of people with fangs and heavy eyebrows fighting, biting people. Memories of blows, of injuries. A chaotic mass of fear, for Buffy's own safety and fear of what some of those monsters might do to her family if they found them. Some of them possibly willing to do far worse than killing.

"You realize that this won't help," Emma tried to keep her voice calm. "Especially not abusing your shoes like that."

"Like the shoes will keep me from getting killed," Buffy had collapsed face down on her bed, the covers muffling her words just a bit.

"Why bother having nice clothes and shoes if you don't take care of them?" Emma moved closer, sitting on the bed near Buffy. "We need to talk, Buffy."

"I can pick up the shoes later," Buffy mumbled.

"While that is a good idea, that isn't what I meant," Emma reached out, resting one hand on Buffy's shoulder. "We need to talk about what that man was rambling about. Demons. Vampires. His idea that you're something called a Slayer."

Buffy twisted away and upwards, her back against the wall and facing Emma, eyes gleaming with unshed tears. "Money can't make this better."

"No and yes, Buffy. Money can't make the monsters go away, and it can't change destiny, but there are ways that it can help. These people have told you that you're a Slayer. We'll talk about what makes them so certain of this later. Have they offered you any training? Weapons? Assistance fighting these monsters?" Emma waited for Buffy to answer.

Buffy sniffled, her mind flashing through a series of images of an older man, dressed in battered clothing, teaching her to use a sword, demonstrating a martial arts movement. The same man speaking of the dangers if the monsters ever learned who her family were and where to find them. That man – Merrick – saying that if he hadn't been a Watcher, he might have become a decent cobbler. That man, fighting fanged thugs. A man dressed like the cover of a French Historical romance novel, demanding to know "Where is the Slayer" before he ripped the man's throat out.

"Only one man tried to help you at all. None of the ones here. Nobody after Merrick's death. Nobody before that," Emma shook her head, refraining from swearing out loud.

"How…" Buffy struggled to find the words to ask how Emma knew, how she could have that information. To ask what else she knew.

"I'm a telepath. I'm not digging into your mind – I promised Joyce that I wouldn't. But you were thinking very loudly. I've known that you were hiding something, but I didn't pry for details. This makes me wish that I had," Emma sighed.

"So you think you can help me?" Buffy's hands were clenched around the blanket as she felt hope and fear.

"Walter will continue giving you martial arts lessons, he mentioned that your form was a bit sloppy. He can teach you several different styles as well as providing an excellent training area. I can arrange for someone to give you lessons with swords, perhaps archery as well. Purchasing weapons is a simple matter, and perhaps some sort of armor might be a good idea as well. I'm certain that something flexible enough not to impede your movements as well as subtle enough not to give you away could be arranged. I can easily afford good quality blades, and to replace them as often as you need," Emma caught Buffy's eyes. "I can also make certain that they don't take you away."

"Dad tried to have me committed," Buffy's voice was soft, but the flickering images, an empty room without sharp corners, a glass window and people peering in at her, hearing her mom insisting that she was just having some bad nightmares while her father insisted that there was something deeper, some sort of problem…

Emma shuddered, and tried to force back her own ugly memories. "I know that you aren't making this up. I know that you've seen horrible things. The part that's crazy is the fact that a group of people won't tell you anything other than 'monsters are real, go kill them until they kill you', and they won't help. I can buy you training and equipment. I can try to find allies and backup."

"But I'm still the Slayer,' Buffy whispered.

"As I said, we'll talk later about why you think that is, and if they ever want to speak to you again, they'll talk to us about this as well. They'll treat you like a real person, with respect to your privacy, and your rights." Emma decided not to tell Buffy about what would happen if these Watchers refused.

"Okay," Buffy gave a small smile. She didn't feel like she quite believed in Emma yet, but she wanted to believe in her. Buffy wanted someone to be on her side in this whole nightmare mess so badly that Emma could taste it.

"If they don't want to play by my rules, then they should have been preparing you better from the start," Emma smirked.

"You play by rules?" Buffy asked.

"Just a few," Emma gave a small smile, before adding, "But mostly I play to win."

"I'd like to be on the winning side," Buffy admitted.

End part 21.