Buffy leisurely punched in the code to the converted warehouse and entered after a lazy sweep of the area behind her. There was no point in being discreet. She had no doubt that any demons lurking about the neighbourhood knew it was Slayer Central.

As seedy as the place looked from the outside, Buffy had to admit it was quite posh on the inside. The warehouse had been converted years ago to the L.A. training and command centre. It was well fitted with a computer room, multiple training rooms, a weapons room and a communal kitchen on the lower level, as well as sleeping quarters for two dozen on the second floor. Only eight Slayers took up permanent residence there at the moment. Six former residents had died in the last two years. The other L.A. Slayers weren’t the dorm room types, and preferred to live on their own in better parts of the city.

Buffy kept a room there too, the smallest one in the West corner of the building. She didn't spend much time there – preferring to give the Slayers a bit of breathing room. She typically came once a month to conduct training sessions and to patrol with the girls overnight to observe and help if needed. If she was too tired to head home, she’d sleep there, but it wasn’t long before she’d hit the road for home. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to support them. She would have moved into the warehouse if they had wanted her to. She owed them that much. But they wanted to do things their way – keeping the Council at a distance. And whether she agreed with them or not, they considered Buffy a part of the establishment – someone to be kept at arms length until needed. She couldn’t fault them for that attitude. It was hers once. And to be honest, she preferred her independence.

She'd already checked in on the warehouse that month, but she might as well give them a personal heads up about the Dragvlok she had killed. He'd been the most feared member of his clan and the girls would be relieved that he was sliced and diced. Also, he had confirmed Angel’s claim that more would be coming. She knew that already. The girls didn’t though.

It wasn’t yet dusk, so the girls were still indoors. She found Gina and Pipa in the central common room discussing their planned routes for the night.

“I’m not taking Venice Beach alone tonight Gina.” Hanging back in the shadows, Buffy warmed at the sight of Pipa. With her ash blond curls in a pixie cut and her round, grey eyes, even when she argued Pipa looked sweet.

“Well you know I got Watts, girl” Gina replied. “That’s my territory, Pip. Period. I know the streets. I know the peeps. I can get info on the DL from my homegirls. I’d love to help you out, Pip, I would; but somebody’s gotta patrol Compton and Watts, and I can’t take you with me."

"Why not? I could take Compton, you could take Watts. Easy-peasy."

"Pip, cause ain’t nobody gonna talk to no white girl over there. Wish it wasn’t so, but there it is. Girl, look at yourself. Your jeans have friggin' sparkles on them. What's that about? And the T-shirt. 'Vote for Pedro'. Who the hell is he?"

"It's funny! He's -"

"Look, point is, in the hood, they’d trust you about as much as a vamp. Best you take another part of town you can handle on your own. Get the Ellens to take Venice Beach.”

“Ooh, good thought! Carla and and Sal can take Venice Beach and I’ll take Torrance. Since they insist on being together, let them take the hot spot. I like this plan. This is workable." Buffy noticed how Pipa folded her arms over her chest with satisfaction, while trying to subtly hide her T-shirt.

She liked these two Slayers. They were devoted to the mission and to each other. They were the two Slayers most in contact with the Council, and it was their idea to organize monthly training sessions with Buffy. They accepted help and knew that no one was more qualified to back them up than Buffy. They'd even managed to convince the rest of the girls of that fact. But they were still independent spirits. The notion of leaving their hometown for London to train was absurd to them, and they didn’t want Council types running the show in the city. But they respected the Council for what it was and kept in contact. They had good heads on their shoulders, these two. It was probably why they were the longest surviving of the group.

“Hey ladies,” Buffy interjected.

“Oh, snap! We didn't even hear you come in, sis!" Gina stood up to her full six feet and Buffy couldn't help but feel small. Gina had a wonderful mix of strength and gracefulness about her that didn't quite match the way she spoke. Everything about her was like caramel: her flawless complexion, the seductiveness of her voice, the way she was so fluid when she moved. Buffy noticed that Gina always styled her hair the same way: in tight corn rows ending in a thick, long ponytail. She wondered if the hair style and slang were Gina's way of fitting in back home.

“Buffy! Oh no. Is something wrong?" Pipa asked.

“Nothing we can’t handle, Pipa.” Buffy hoped that sounded mildly reassuring.

"You sure? Cause it's not like there hasn't been plenty we couldn't handle - exhibit A being the climbing death rate around here."

"Yeah, well, that was them, Pip. This is us. Buffy's saying we can handle it. Right?" Gina reassured. 

Buffy hesitated. "If we're smart, yes. If we stick together. Speaking of which, what's going on with Carla and Sally?"

Pipa answered with a groan. "Ever since they started dating last month, they've been inseparable. It was sweet at first, but now, not so much. Mainly because they've started keeping to themselves. They look out for each other more than anyone else, which, I guess makes sense. I mean, if I had a kid, or a sister or something, I'd feel a special responsibility for keeping them safe, but..."

"They ain't blood," Gina interrupted. "They're Slayers. And Slayers have bigger responsibilities than that."

Buffy grimaced at that. Had she sacrificed Dawn all those years ago, she never would have died and been brought back. The First would never had grown strong from the imbalance of power.

And these girls would never have been called.

"Well... I get that they want to protect each other. That's not a bad thing. Not ideal, but not bad. Work with it for the moment. Don't push. But it sounds like you're doing that already."

"But we're supposed to be a family, Buffy," Pipa said.

“You still are, Pipa. Hey, think you could round up the girls for a quick talk before patrol? I’ve got some good news and some… well, other news.”

“Uh, sure.” Pipa looked worried. Granted, Pipa always looked worried, but it’s probably what kept her alive. She never worried unnecessarily. It was pretty hard to do since there was always something to worry about. Buffy watched as Pipa shuffled away in the direction of the weapons room. The girls were no doubt carefully choosing their weapons for the night, depending on where they planned on patrolling. Some neighbourhoods were crawling with vamps. Others were favoured by more exotic species.

“Guys, Buffy’s here!” Pipa yelled towards the weapons room. She went to the foyer and shouted the same up the stairwell. 

Buffy winced inwardly. She hoped she wouldn't ruin everyone's night before it had begun.

Pipa led the six girls back into the common room, Carla and Sal trailing behind. Some had brought their weapons of choice with them and Buffy was suddenly struck with the urge to say, "Do we really need weapons for this?" But no one would get the joke.

"Hey girls." Buffy gave them her biggest smile.

"Hey," they replied in unison.

"So what's up, Buffy? I don't have a lot of time. I got a tip on a couple of Fyarls in Reseda and the longer I'm here, the colder their trail gets." Sonny reminded Buffy of Kennedy: overconfident and pushy, but brave.

"Are you taking back-up?"

"Did you, when you were the one and only?"

"I didn't have it, Sonny. You do."

"What's the matter Sergeant Summers, afraid I'll outshine you? You know, us mere mortals don't have forever to leave our mark. We have actual lives to risk, and the best we can hope for is a bit of glory before we go. You're not denying me that. I don't care who you are."

"Death, glory and sod all else," she mused.

"Basically."

Oh, had she said that out loud? Buffy regathered herself. "You're right, Sonny. I can't deny you that. And you're right that fighting alone will make you better - if it doesn't kill you. Look, I'm not the general of a Slayer army anymore - more like special ops maybe... the point being, I'm just another Slayer in a world that's full of them, and I'd like it to stay that way." Sonny sat down on the arm of a chair, relaxing her shoulders, but still looked Buffy in the eyes.

"Sonny, I'm not eager to be 'the only girl in all the world' again. I fought alone when I had to, but I always accepted help when it was on offer. I wouldn't have survived high school without help. You won't always have it, so take it when you do. Going alone against vamps is one thing, or even against one Fyarl; but taking on two... It's not worth the risk right now. There's -"

"Why? What's so special about now?" Pipa interrupted.

Taking a deep breath, Buffy replied, "First, the good news. Gozen."

"The Dragvlok?!" more than one Slayer questioned.

"Ziplocked." Buffy laughed shyly at the cheers and howls that followed, and she was pretty sure she heard a “Booyakasha!” in the mix.

"That's what's up! No lie, sis, that's what's up."

"Thanks, Gina, uh...I think."

"She means way to go Buffy," Pipa explained. "Great job, Buffy, really. Maybe that'll send a message to the others to back off, no?"

"Yeah, that's the... other news."

"Spill." Sonny, of course.

"According to Angel's sources, more are coming."

"Fuck Angel." Gina really did have a way with words.

"Um, okay. I mean, moving on... Gozen confirmed as much. He was boasting during the fight about how they were planning an attack on the Slayers in L.A.... a genocide, he called it."

Buffy hadn't expected to be met with silence. At that, the few Slayers that had remained standing immediately sat down - everyone positioned on the sofas that formed a circle in the middle of the room. Buffy alone remained standing. Clearly, she was expected to continue.

"Although they hate all Slayers on principle, the Dragvloks' need for vengeance seems to be especially directed at us, since we're the ones responsible for destroying their homestead or whatever. So," she sighed. "What few that are left...they're headed our way."

"Few?" Sonny, of course.

"Uh... Less than thirty, we think." Holding her breath and looking around the circle, Buffy was certain she'd ruined their night after all. Gina was now staring intently at a crack in the floor. Sal was holding Carla's hand tight to her breast. Pipa was wringing her T-shirt as if to tie a knot to match the one in her stomach. Even Sonny looked less than confident, her eyes darting from one Slayer to the next as if to size up the quality of her back-up.

After several minutes, Carla's response was barely audible: "You'd think we have enough variety of demon itching to kill a Slayer already."

"And too many that've already done it," Sal added, head down.

Pipa stood up. "What about the Council? Surely they can send reinforcements."

Darn. Time for some dashing of hopes. "Normally, yeah. Now, no. The Council is spread thin, and there's a few hot spots around the world at the moment where the local populations are at risk without the protection of Slayers. The Council won't abandon the local communities to send Slayers to protect Slayers." Buffy paused, before explaining, "I'm the reinforcements."

. . .

Well that went well, Buffy thought with characteristic sarcasm.

She was headed home now as quickly as she could - her black Mini going almost twice the speed limit - which felt great with the top down and her hair flying behind her. The wind was cold and sharp, making her tear, but it helped to strip away the gloom.

Buffy hadn't given them the “Some of you will die speech.” These weren’t Potentials. They'd gotten the memo, and it had been written in the blood of their sisters. The Slayers who had died in L.A. had fallen to less ferocious demons than the Dragvloks. It was because the Dragvloks were so deadly that the Slayers had formed a small army to burn them out where they had lived. They had been easier to kill fleeing their caves on fire. No, Buffy didn't need to tell them the risks, and she couldn't reassure them that they would be left standing in the end. All she could do was tell them the one thing that was certain and true.

“You’re not alone.”

It was only a small consolation to them, though. Buffy couldn’t be everywhere at once, all the time. She understood that, and so she sympathized with them. But she envied them too.

No one would ever be saying those words to her.

Sooner or later, they’d all be gone.

Buffy tried to focus on the darkening skies ahead of her as she drove the winding road to Santa Lucia. Though she still hated driving, she had gotten pretty good at it. And when she had finally mastered a stick shift, she had felt like a god.

She hated to miss sunset in Santa Lucia. It was a particularly beautiful time of day in the sleepy town, and dusk brought out the richest colour of even the drabbest building or patch of grass. It also brought out the more impatient of its nocturnal residents, whose overeagerness for a bit of murder and mayhem made them easy pickings for her.

Sadly, she arrived just after dusk. She eased the car into her driveway and headed straight to the kitchen at the back of the house. She loved her kitchen. For someone who hated cooking, she spent a good deal of time there. Yellow and cheerful, the kitchen had huge sliding doors opening out onto the small but tidy backyard, and the central island reminded her of the one back in Sunnydale. She was fond of sitting at the island and gazing out back at her two peach trees. She’d eat the peaches when they were ripe, but took the greatest pleasure in watching the rabbits and other furries cautiously approach the fallen fruit. She would wake up around 1:00 pm most days and head straight to her kitchen island for yoghurt and bagels. Later, she’d have a sandwich there before patrol, and then a sugary post-slayage snack there when she got home.

She was usually too wired to go straight to bed after patrol, so she’d snuggle into her living room couch with a glass of Shiraz to watch a movie. These days it was more Kung Fu flicks and B creature features on SciFi – the ones where the blond chick always trips in the forest as she clumsily runs away. You’d think these movies would annoy her. They did actually, and she would scream at the girls on the screen to do this or that. But she couldn’t stop watching them. She wasn’t sure why.

The house was a real gem. It was small – one storey with two bedrooms and one bathroom - but charming. In the living-dining room she had large bay windows overlooking the front yard with cozy window seats, a working fireplace, and hardwood floors. In the partly refinished basement she kept an impressive collection of weapons recovered from various demons she had slayed over the years. It also held a collection of free weights, a punching bag and a floor mat for tumbling exercises. The bedrooms were simple and adjoined by a decent sized bathroom with a tub. The guest bedroom had never been occupied, but she still made the bed up with fresh linen every month.

Buffy made herself a sandwich before patrol and sat down at her island to review the map of Santa Lucia that she had been marking up. Three girls had disappeared in the last week, but there was no pattern which she could detect from their addresses. They were all young, in their early 20’s. With no college in town, that meant their mostly like hang out was one of the two clubs in town: the Loft or the Basement. Maybe something was snatching the girls from the clubs. This called for a decidedly less practical outfit then. Something sexy. Situations rarely called for sexy anymore. This was good: a doable challenge requiring fashionable clothes to take her mind off the Dragvloks killing her rapidly shrinking family. Downing the last bite of her sandwich with a Diet Coke, she headed to her bedroom to get dressed to kill.

Time to dance.