Chapter Text
The silence in Buffy's living room was thick with tension. Everyone had turned to look at Giles, waiting for him to continue explaining the threat that had brought them all to San Francisco.
"It's like this..." Giles began, removing his glasses to clean them—a nervous habit Buffy remembered all too well. "The Watcher's Council has identified a significant demonic threat emerging in the Bay Area. A demon cult leader by the name of Valdrek has been gathering power and followers for what we believe is an attempt to open a minor hellmouth beneath Oakland."
He paused, replacing his glasses and pulling a thin folder from his briefcase. "According to our intelligence, Valdrek requires a specific celestial alignment that occurs in approximately ten days. The ritual will involve multiple human sacrifices and could destabilize the dimensional barriers across Northern California."
Willow leaned forward, her expression grave. "The magical signature we've been tracking suggests he's already accumulated significant power. We're talking about a Class Seven demon with command over shadow creatures and blood magic."
"The Council's assessment," Giles continued, his tone carrying that familiar weight of Watcher authority, "is that this requires the coordination of at least two Slayers along with substantial magical support. They've sent me with detailed information on Valdrek's known associates, suspected ritual sites, and—"
"You mean this Valdrek?"
Buffy's calm voice cut through Giles's presentation like a blade. She reached down beside her chair—a bag sat there that none of the Scoobies had noticed before—and pulled out a thick manila folder, easily three times the size of Giles's thin packet. She set it on the coffee table with a solid thunk.
The Scoobies stared.
Buffy flipped open the folder with practiced ease, revealing crime scene photographs, witness statements, typed reports with official SFPD letterhead, and what looked like magical analysis diagrams that rivaled anything in a Watcher's journal.
"Valdrek Dashirek, also known as 'The Collector,'" Buffy recited, her voice taking on a professional tone that Xander had never heard from her before. "Six-foot-two, approximately three hundred pounds in his human guise. Distinctive scarring on his left hand from a failed binding ritual in 1987. Known to favor Victorian-era clothing when manifesting physically."
She pulled out an eight-by-ten photograph—a surprisingly clear shot of a demon in what appeared to be a warehouse. "This was taken four days ago during one of his recruitment meetings. We've identified seventeen members of his cult so far, twelve human, five lower-level demons."
"How did you—" Giles started.
Buffy continued as if he hadn't spoken, pulling out more documents. "The cult has been operating under the cover of a 'spiritual wellness center' in Oakland's Fruitvale district. They've been recruiting through a combination of social media outreach and targeting vulnerable individuals—primarily those recently bereaved or experiencing financial hardship. Classic cult methodology with a demonic twist."
She spread out several photographs showing different locations. "We've identified seven potential ritual sites based on ley line convergence points. The primary site is an abandoned cannery near the Oakland waterfront—Valdrek owns it through a shell corporation. Secondary sites include a foreclosed church in Berkeley, a storage facility in Alameda, and four private residences."
Piper spoke up from where she stood near the fireplace, a slight smile playing at her lips. "We've been tracking Valdrek's magical signature for three weeks now. The energy readings have been spiking at regular intervals—every seventy-two hours, corresponding with his power-gathering rituals."
"Three weeks?" Willow's voice was sharp. "The Council only identified the threat six weeks ago. How could you have been tracking him for—"
"Because we actually live here," Prue interjected, her tone pleasant but with an edge. "These are our streets. Our city. We don't wait for some Council across the ocean to tell us there's a problem in our backyard."
Paige orbed in—several of the Scoobies jumped at the sudden swirl of blue lights—holding a leather-bound book and a clear vial filled with amber liquid. "Sorry I'm late. Had to finish the vanquishing potion." She held up the vial. "This should do the trick, assuming we can get close enough to Valdrek during the ritual."
"Vanquishing potion?" Giles's voice had gone slightly faint. "You've already developed a—"
"Of course we have," Piper said, sounding almost offended. "We're not going to let some demon open a hellmouth in Oakland. Do you have any idea what that would do to property values?"
Despite the tension, Cordelia snorted with laughter from her position on the arm of Wesley's chair.
Buffy pulled out another document, this one covered in neat diagrams and what looked like magical notations. "Wesley translated the ritual three days ago. It requires a blood sacrifice at each of the seven sites, performed simultaneously at the moment of the celestial alignment. However, if we can disrupt the power flow at the primary site and at least three of the secondary sites, the ritual will collapse."
"The celestial alignment occurs in ten days," Giles said, trying to regain control of the conversation. "We need to coordinate—"
"In ten days?" Buffy looked up, one eyebrow raised. "Giles, the alignment is in eight days. And we're not waiting that long."
She pulled out a tactical map marked with colored pins and notations. "We strike in two days. Day after tomorrow, 11 PM. Valdrek will be conducting a preparatory ritual with his inner circle at the primary site. His defenses will be focused inward on the ritual, not outward. That's our window."
Faith, who had been silently observing from her spot on the couch, leaned forward with genuine interest. "You've got the whole thing planned out already."
"Of course we do." Buffy's tone suggested this was obvious. "This is what we do. Every day. Not just when apocalypses come knocking."
She began pointing to different locations on the map. "Team One—that's me, Faith, Prue, and Spike—hits the main site. We go in hard and fast, take down Valdrek's protection detail, and disrupt the ritual. Team Two—Piper, Paige, Cole, and Wesley—handles magical disruption at the three most critical secondary sites. The sites need to be neutralized within a seven-minute window for maximum effect."
"Support team—that's Giles, Cordelia, Gunn, and Doyle—coordinates communications and provides backup intel. Darryl will handle the police presence to keep civilians clear. We're going in with the cover of a raid on a suspected human trafficking operation, which..." she pulled out another file, "technically it is. We've documented at least nine missing persons connected to Valdrek's cult."
"Buffy," Giles tried again, his voice strained, "the Council has sent detailed protocols for—"
"The Council's protocols are three weeks out of date." Buffy finally looked up, meeting Giles's eyes directly. "We've been working this case for almost a month. We know Valdrek's patterns, his weaknesses, his human contacts, his supply chain. We've rescued five potential victims already and placed them in protective custody."
"Five?" Willow's eyes were wide. "You've been—how have you been—"
"It's my job, Willow." Buffy's voice was patient but firm. "I'm a police inspector. This is literally what I do for a living. Investigate crimes, build cases, coordinate operations. The supernatural element just adds an extra layer of complexity."
She turned back to the tactical map. "The key is timing. Piper's potion needs to be deployed within thirty seconds of us breaching the primary ritual circle. If Valdrek senses the disruption at the secondary sites first, he'll abort and scatter his followers. We lose our window and have to start tracking him all over again."
"You've put a lot of thought into this," Faith said slowly, and there was something like respect in her voice.
"Like I said, it's what I do." Buffy pulled out a timeline chart. "We've been coordinating with the FBI's human trafficking task force—they don't know about the supernatural elements, obviously, but they've been helpful with surveillance and documentation. Darryl's been running interference to keep them from raiding too early and spooking our target."
Cole leaned against the wall near Buffy's chair, a slight smile on his face as he watched his wife work. He'd seen her do this dozens of times—the methodical planning, the tactical precision, the way she commanded a room without raising her voice. It never stopped impressing him.
Angel noticed the look on Cole's face, the obvious pride and affection, and something dark twisted in his chest.
"I still don't understand," Xander said, his tone carrying an edge of something that might have been sarcasm, "why you didn't call us when you first identified the threat. You know, backup? The people who fought alongside you for years?"
Buffy looked at him, really looked at him, for the first time since they'd arrived. "Because we didn't need backup, Xander. We have backup. An entire network of people who work together regularly, who trust each other, who know their roles." She gestured around the room. "The Charmed Ones, Wesley, Cordelia, Gunn, Doyle, Darryl, Leo, even Spike and Drusilla. We're a team. We've been a team for years."
"So where do we fit in?" Giles asked quietly.
There was a long pause. Buffy's expression softened slightly. "You're here now. So you can help. But you're going to follow my lead on this one. These are my streets, my city, my operation. If you can't handle that..." She shrugged. "There's a nice hotel downtown."
Willow's eyes had been roaming over the documents spread across the coffee table, her expression growing darker with each passing moment. "Some of this information... there's magical analysis here that's incredibly sophisticated. The kind of thing that would take the Council's researchers months to compile."
"Took us two weeks," Prue said casually. "The Book of Shadows has extensive entries on blood ritual magic. Plus, Cole had access to some demon texts through his contacts in the Underworld."
The casual mention made several heads snap up.
"The Underworld?" Giles repeated slowly.
Cole straightened from his position against the wall, meeting their stares calmly. "I'm half-demon. My father was Belthazor, my mother was human. I have contacts throughout the demon community—some friendly, some neutral, some who owe me favors."
The silence that followed was absolute.
"You're a demon," Angel said flatly.
"Half-demon," Cole corrected, his voice even. "And yes, before you ask, Buffy has known since the day we met. It's never been a secret."
"You married a demon?" Xander's voice rose. "You had kids with a demon? Are you insane?"
Buffy's expression went ice-cold. "Careful, Xander."
"Careful? Buffy, he's a demon! How can you—"
"How can I what?" Buffy stood, her voice dangerous. "Love him? Trust him? Build a life with him? Pretty easily, actually, considering he's been nothing but devoted to me and our children for almost ten years."
"But he's evil!" Willow protested. "Demons are—"
"Stop." Buffy's voice cut through the room like a whip. "Just stop. You really want to have the 'demons are evil' conversation? You?" She looked at Angel. "You're literally a vampire. You've killed thousands of people. You only have a soul because of a curse. And yet somehow, you get a pass."
Angel's jaw tightened, but he said nothing.
"Cole was born with a soul," Buffy continued, her voice hard. "Born to a human mother who loved him. He chose to fight his demonic nature every single day. He gave up being the Source of All Evil—ultimate power—because he refused to let that darkness touch our family."
"He was the Source?" Giles's voice was faint.
"For exactly one month, seven years ago," Buffy confirmed. "He inherited the power accidentally, fought it every day, and ultimately walked away from it. Because he loved us more than power. So yes, I know exactly what my husband is. And I don't give a damn about your opinions on it."
"Buffy, you have to understand—" Willow started.
"I don't have to understand anything," Buffy interrupted. "You're in my home. These are my children. This is my husband. And I don't need your approval or your acceptance. I'm telling you this because you're working with us on this operation, and you need to know who's on your team. But make no mistake—if you can't handle it, there's the door."
"This is insane," Xander muttered. "You've been brainwashed or something. There's no way the Buffy I knew would—"
"The Buffy you knew was seventeen years old and miserable," Buffy said bluntly. "I'm twenty-seven now. I've grown up. I've built a life. And I'm happy. I'm sorry if that doesn't fit your narrative of who I'm supposed to be, but frankly, I stopped caring about your narratives a long time ago."
"But the children," Willow said, her voice taking on a pleading quality. "They're part demon, Buffy. What if they—"
"What if they what?" Buffy's voice was dangerously quiet. "What if they're exactly what they are? Smart, kind, loved children who happen to have some enhanced abilities? The Charmed Ones have been monitoring them since birth. Leo checks on them regularly. They're healthy, they're happy, and they're mine. That's all that matters."
"Cole was the Source of All Evil," Giles said slowly. "Buffy, surely you must see the danger—"
"The danger of what?" Buffy challenged. "Of him being devoted to our family? Of him using his knowledge of the demon world to help us save lives? Of him being an amazing father and husband? Yeah, I'm terrified."
The sarcasm dripped from her words.
"You can't seriously expect us to just accept this," Xander said.
"I don't," Buffy replied simply. "I don't expect anything from you. I'm not asking for your blessing or your understanding. I'm stating facts. Cole is half-demon. We're married. We have four children together and one on the way. This is my life. And if you have a problem with any of that..." She shrugged. "That's your problem, not mine."
Faith had been silent throughout the entire exchange, watching with an unreadable expression. Finally, she spoke. "The kids seem happy."
It wasn't approval, exactly. Just an observation. But coming from Faith, it was something.
"They are," Buffy said, her voice softening slightly. "Very happy."
"And you?" Faith asked. "You happy, B?"
"Happier than I've ever been," Buffy said without hesitation.
Faith nodded slowly, then leaned back on the couch. "Okay then."
Xander turned to her. "Okay? That's it? She's married to a demon and you're just—"
"Just staying out of it," Faith interrupted. "Not my business who B chooses to be with."
"But—"
"Drop it, Xander," Faith said, her tone brooking no argument.
Willow was staring at Cole with an expression that was growing increasingly dark. "You were the Source," she repeated. "You had that much power, that much darkness, and you expect us to believe you just... gave it up?"
"Believe whatever you want," Cole said calmly. "I don't need to justify my past or my choices to you."
"The red witch doesn't believe," Drusilla sang softly from the hallway shadows. "She tastes lies where there's only truth. She wants to paint the picture black again, make sister small and broken like she was."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Willow said sharply.
"Don't you?" Drusilla drifted closer, her dark eyes fixed on Willow. "The stars whisper your secrets, red witch. Dark magic and darker thoughts. You want to unmake what's been made, steal away the happy ending because it wasn't the one you wrote."
"That's insane," Willow protested, but her voice wavered slightly.
"Drusilla's visions are never wrong," Buffy said quietly. "If she says something's off about you, Willow..."
"Nothing's off," Willow insisted. "I'm just... concerned. For you. Can't you see that? This demon has corrupted your thinking, made you believe—"
"Made me believe I deserve to be happy?" Buffy's voice was sharp. "Made me believe I can have a family and a career and a life beyond Slaying? Yeah, terrible corruption there."
"That's not what I—"
"It's exactly what you meant," Buffy interrupted. "You think because I chose differently than you expected, there must be something wrong with me. There isn't. I'm just happy. And I'm sorry if that bothers you."
Joyce appeared in the kitchen doorway, drawn by the raised voices. "Is everything all right?"
"It's fine, Mom," Buffy said, though her expression said otherwise. "Just clearing the air."
"Well," Joyce said with forced brightness, "why don't we take a break from all this tension and order some pizza? I think everyone could use some food."
"Pizza sounds good," Cole said quietly, moving to stand beside Buffy. His hand found hers, and she squeezed it gratefully.
"Excellent," Joyce said. "Darryl, dear, what kind do you like?"
As Joyce began taking orders, the room slowly relaxed from its peak tension, though the undercurrent of discomfort remained. The Scoobies were clearly struggling with what they'd learned, but at least they'd stopped openly attacking Cole.
Faith caught Buffy's eye and gave her a small nod. Not quite approval, but acknowledgment. Respect, maybe.
Buffy nodded back, grateful for that small gesture.
Across the room, Willow watched the exchange, her expression dark. In her mind, the pieces were falling into place. Demonic corruption. It was the only explanation that made sense. Cole had manipulated Buffy, twisted her thinking, made her believe this false life was real and right.
But Willow could see the truth. And Willow could fix it.
She just needed the right spell.
As the evening wore on and pizza was ordered, Willow excused herself to use the bathroom. She climbed the stairs quietly, and once inside, she carefully collected a few strands of Buffy's hair from a brush on the counter, slipping them into a small vial from her purse.
No one noticed, except Drusilla, who watched from the shadows at the top of the stairs and whispered, "The red witch steals pieces of sister. Soon she'll try to steal it all."
But her warning was lost in the noise of dinner arrangements, and the countdown to catastrophe continued to tick forward.