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Delivered Unto Evil

Chapter 11: Checkmate

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Buffy was tired, sleeping on and off the entire night in the hospital room. Her mother on the other hand, awoke bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. The groggy Slayer let her sleepy gaze span the room, then she jolted up on the reclining chair she'd slept on.

"Where's Dawn?!"

Joyce looked at her panicked daughter and gave her a reassuring smile.

"Good morning to you, too," she said with an eye-roll. "Your sister left about an hour ago to go get ready for school at home."

"Who came to pick her up?"

"Janice's mom. We worked everything out last night, while you were gone," Joyce gave Buffy a light head shake.

"You still…remember…everything that we talked about? About Dawn?" the daughter cautiously asked.

Her mother's expression became more somber, and she nodded. "Yes. Do you know anything more about where she came from or why she needs to be protected?"

"Not really," Buffy lied.

A knock on the door frame redirected their attention. They looked over and saw a familiar face.

"Good morning, ladies," Ben cordially greeted them. "Ms. Summers, are you ready for your final exam, before being discharged?"

"More than ready," the older woman emphasized.

The medical intern lightly removed a portion of the bandage covering the surgical entry. He redressed the sensitive skin, then had the patient run a couple of exercises to test her ocular and speech abilities.

"No fever, good vitals," he ticked through the items on the chart. "The incision and surrounding area look normal. Make sure that you are keeping the wound clean, no showering without a cap, and we'll give you the instructions and materials for how to redress and protect the area. We'll follow up in two weeks. Would you like to make the appointment now, or would you like for someone to call you later today to schedule it?"

"I'd rather go home immediately and have someone call me about it," the weary woman said. Buffy sat quietly in the chair, allowing the professional to do his job.

"I understand," Ben nodded. "Well, we have a prescription for some pain medication already called into the pharmacy you had on file. You can pick that up today, and I would recommend doing so immediately. Once the IV is removed, the medication in your system will start to wear off, and you don't want to be unprepared for a sudden rush of pain."

"I'll get my mom settled, and then go pick it up for her," Buffy finally spoke up.

Ben gave her a huge smile of appreciation and she blushed at the gesture. Joyce looked back and forth between the two of them.

"You know," she started slowly, "you've been so wonderful and patient with us throughout our time here. I'd love to have you come eat a home-cooked meal with us, sometime."

Buffy glared daggers at her mother, and it was Ben's turn to blush.

"Sounds like a good time," he safely answered. "I'll have to check my schedule. But, until then, please take it easy. Lots of rest, healthy eating, medicate as needed, and enjoy being pampered by your daughters." He winked at Buffy, amused by her obvious embarrassment.

The rest of the morning sped by, with a nurse coming by to remove the IVs and various monitors. They left the hospital, with Buffy wearing last night's clothes and carrying all of their personal belongings to the car. Joyce was escorted in a wheelchair, until they were outside, at which point the patient was deposited onto a bench. Buffy hurried to the car, threw everything in and picked up her mother.

At home, Buffy gently guided her mother to her bedroom. On the way, Joyce glanced at her daughter's room.

"Oh, Buffy! You cleaned up! It looks wonderful, dear, thank you."

The young woman didn't say anything back. Nor did she pay attention to her room as they passed.

Once Joyce was settled, Buffy ran the quick errand to pick up the prescription. When she returned, she collapsed onto her made bed, excited at the prospect of taking a nap in her own room.

The phone rang before Buffy had a chance to sink into the mattress.

She groaned and ran toward the nearest landline, not wishing her mother to be disturbed.

"Hello?"

"Buffy?" Giles' harried voice questioned on the other end of the line. "It's time."

"Time?" Buffy repeated, then yawned into the receiver. "Time for what?"

"The Council is here," he responded succinctly. Firmly. "I need you to come to the Magic Box immediately." He paused for a beat, then lowered his voice to barely above a whisper. "The sooner we begin, the sooner we're done." He took a breath and spoke at his normal volume. "I will see you momentarily. Don't dawdle."

The receiver disconnected with an ominous click. Buffy groaned and hung up the landline.

She grabbed her mother's pain meds and a glass of water, then headed upstairs. Joyce was sitting up in bed, reading glasses on, and skimming the pages of a novel she'd read many times before. Buffy set the water and the pills on her mother's nightstand.

"I have to go," she explained, sheepishly. "Sorry, it's Slayer stuff. I'll try to be home before Dawn gets back. Are you going to be okay? Can I get you anything before I leave?"

"I'll be fine," Joyce smiled. "I'm not hungry. I think I might rest, after I read for a bit. Tell Mr. Giles that I said not to keep you too late."

"Will do!" Buffy cheerfully called out, as she left the room.

She went straight to her room, needing to change clothes into something more suitable. It felt like an interview. She recalled how intimidated she'd been, the last time she'd interacted with Quentin Travers. He expected her to be a hardened Slayer. Someone who took the calling extremely seriously.

Buffy decided on black leggings and a red tank top. A pair of comfortable sneakers and a black zippered hoodie completed the outfit. She braided her hair and ran out of the house, grabbing the keys to her mom's car on the way out the door.

She gave herself a mental pat on the back, for having left in record time.

The Magic Box's front entrance showed that it was "closed," according to the flipped sign, and a note of apology accompanied it.

We apologize for any inconvenience this may cause.

Please return tomorrow, when we shall resume normal business hours.

Thank you,

Management

The door was still unlocked, and Buffy opened it and stepped through…and was met by a grouping of disapproving faces.

Giles leaned against the counter that held the register, his arms folded, and looking less than pleased. He gave Buffy a tight-lipped smile to serve as a greeting.

"Buffy, you remember Mr. Travers?"

The older man stood from his seat at the round table in the middle of the store. The rest of the Council members, six of them, all watched Buffy with varying levels of interest.

"Hello, again, Miss Summers," Mr. Travers formally acknowledged her.

Buffy gave a single nod but didn't say anything.

Quentin seemed irked that she wasn't willing to exchange pleasantries, so he pressed on with a more guarded attitude.

"Rupert reached out to us, as I'm sure he's already told you, and inquired as to what knowledge we held about the being known as Glorificus. What we know is confidential. Only the highest clearance in the Watcher's Council is privy to such sensitive and classified information." He walked away from his colleagues and headed toward Buffy, stopping mere feet away from her.

He's trying to intimidate me, again, she realized, reading his body language. He's showing me he has no fear of me. Well, I'm not the eighteen-year-old he held power over two years ago.

"Before we're willing to divulge what, exactly, we know, we need to have certain…assurances," he said with a leveled gaze. "You've operated without supervision-" She looked at Giles and then back at Mr. Travers, who adjusted his phraseology. "Legitimate supervision, that is, for the past two years. We've monitored the various events that have arisen on the Hellmouth." He walked past Buffy and looked out the window of the store. Buffy kept her back to him.

"The Ascension of your little town's mayor, the secretive government facility that sought to make you obsolete…" he chuckled under his breath. "And, although we didn't necessarily approve of your methods, we will concede that your tactics, ultimately, had desirable outcomes."

Buffy rolled her eyes at the long-winded speech. "What do you want from me, then?"

He turned on his heel and headed back to his original spot.

"Glorificus is unlike anything you have ever faced," he warned her. "We cannot tell you what we know, if we are worried about what you will do with the information. And you cannot hope to best the Beast, if you try to fight it without us."

The Slayer looked to her Watcher, who looked grim. He stared at the floor, as if he wanted to sink through the tile and hide in his basement.

"Okay, so…" Buffy cautiously started. "Where do we start? I can't stay for too long. My mom was just released from the hospital, and my sister will be home by about 3:30."

"Yes, your former Watcher apprised us of your current home life situation," the head of the Council said with little sympathy. "But trust me when I say that, if Glorificus is anywhere on your radar, you must put aside your personal issues and realize that this could be the greatest threat to our world that has ever surfaced."

Buffy took a deep breath. She was almost used to hearing about end-of-the-world types of disasters, at this point. It reminded her of a line from the movie Men in Black: "There's always…an intergalactic plague that is about to wipe out all life on this miserable little planet, and the only way these people can get on with their happy lives is that they DO NOT KNOW ABOUT IT!"

How was this particular apocalypse different than any of the others she'd already faced?

"Two years without proper, authorized instruction," Quentin stressed, giving a side-eye to Giles. "We need to see how much you've fallen behind. You'll start with occult expertise, to be assessed by oral examination. Lydia? If you'd please."

The sole woman of the group, a thin blonde in her forties with her hair in a secured updo and thick-rimmed glasses, stepped forward.

"Miss Summers," she addressed Buffy with a calm, matronly voice. "Please follow me."

Buffy gulped and followed, seeing no way out of the impromptu testing.

Lydia led her to the training room, where a small folding table and two chairs were waiting. Both women sat facing each other. The British proctor held a clipboard in her left hand and a pen in her right.

"Let's start with an easy one, shall we?"

Buffy nodded. Maybe they'll all be easy?

"Right." The woman read directly off her clipboard. "What type of crystal, when placed on a sigil of Dothrax, will temporarily blind a Trolgnatti demon?"

Buffy's face paled.

"Um… a clear one?" Lydia pursed her lips. Buffy's heart flipped. "No, wait…um…the pink kind?"

The Council representative wrote something on the clipboard, with an eyebrow raised in incredulity.

"Let's move on," the older woman suggested. "When fighting a Fyarl demon, what type of weapon must be used to execute it?"

Fyarl demon…that sounds familiar, actually, Buffy paused. Giles! Ethan turned him into one of those things! What was I supposed to use...

"Oh! Silver!"

Lydia didn't give any indication that the answer was correct, which only served to make Buffy more nervous. More notes on the clipboard.

"When discovering a nest of Plabian hatchlings, what is proper protocol?"

Buffy's heart sank, again. "Nest of what?" she whispered.

An hour later, the two ladies emerged from the back room. Lydia sent a look to Quentin that let Giles know that his charge had not impressed on the oral exam. He glanced at Buffy, who looked utterly dejected.

"And, now, Miss Summers, we'll go over your tactical and weaponry capabilities. But," Quentin stopped her en route back to the training room, "before we do that, I need a contact list of everyone in your circle that knows you are a Slayer."

Buffy snapped to attention. "Why?" she asked, full of suspicion.

"Because, due to your, intentional breaking of tradition," he said the words with disdain, "the very civilians we are trying to keep safe are now regularly used in your operations." He looked pointedly at Buffy. "Your entire graduating class arming themselves against the forces of evil, for one."

"I didn't have much of a choice," Buffy muttered.

"You would have," he cocked an eyebrow at her, "if you had been aligned with the Council. We are the backbone of the operation. The foundation. Shunning us and our immense resources only made your job harder."

"So, what," the young woman called out, "you want the names of Sunnydale High's Class of '99? I can lend you my yearbook. No idea where most of them are now, though…it's been two years."

"That's obviously not what I meant," he said with a new layer of contempt. "Only your closest associates. The ones who are regularly involved in what should solely be Slayer business."

Buffy bit her lip, still anxious about giving her friends' information without their consent. To the nosiest bunch of elitists she'd ever known.

"But why do you need to talk to them, though?"

"Because we know you'll share our knowledge with them. You treat them as teammates, instead of the children that they are. They must be deemed equally trustworthy."

Crap, that makes sense. A thought occurred to her, and she clung to it. She took the paper and pen provided to her and wrote Xander and Willow's names and telephone numbers upon it. She handed it back to one of the Council members, the youngest among them, a man with a darker complexion who looked to be in his early thirties.

"Just these two people, then," the unnamed man questioned, "this Xander Harris and Willow Rosenberg?"

"And their significant others," Buffy reluctantly added.

"Their names, please," the man pressed.

She sighed. "Anya and Tara. You can talk to them at the same time you contact Xander and Willow."

"And what of your family?"

She automatically held the intake of breath. "My family?"

"Yes," he continued. "You've not been especially careful to hide your abilities from the population of Sunnydale. I assume your family knows about your being the Slayer, as well?"

"My father doesn't know anything," Buffy cautiously shared. "He and my mom split just after I became the Slayer. Before I told my mom. We still haven't told him. Not sure we ever will…he's not really a part of my life anymore," she trailed off. Not one of the Watchers, save for Giles, spared her a sympathetic look.

"My mom and sister know what I do and that I go out patrolling. But they don't come to any of our meetings, or hear any Slayer business."

"Meetings?" the low-ranking Watcher repeated.

Buffy ignored the question for clarification and finished her thought. "My mom just had a major brain surgery, and my sister is in middle school. You don't need to involve either of them in this," she finished firmly.

"You have a sister?" Quentin spoke up. "We don't have that on file." He looked to Giles, who sat up and cleared his throat.

"Um, she was so young, when I first met her," Giles explained. "I didn't think it necessary to include her in my initial reports. After a while, I suppose I assumed I had divulged that information sometime within all of my correspondence to you."

"Every dynamic of a Slayer's family is crucial data," Travers said with dubious eyes. "You knew it then, and you know it now, Rupert. It's not like you to disrespect our methods."

"Had I not been so unceremoniously ejected from the Council, I would have rectified that error," the former Watcher dryly stated.

"Careful, Rupert," the stout leader warned.

Buffy watched the power struggle between the men, expecting to see a shrewder side of Giles emerge…Ripper. But her unofficial Watcher immediately backed down, once more staring at the ground of his shop.

Mr. Travers redirected his attention to Buffy. "While the rest of my colleagues track down and interview your little group of friends, Philip and I will administer the physical test of your prowess as a Slayer. Rupert, you are free to join us, as well. But, before you do, please print out an inventory list for Lydia to go through. Lydia, please catalog any questionable items that are available for purchase in this quaint…shop."

Giles moved first, surprisingly, walking past Buffy with Lydia trailing behind him and heading down into the basement of the store. Quentin nodded to the Slayer, then walked toward the back of the store. Buffy reluctantly followed, and she heard footsteps behind her that had to belong to whichever Council member was named Philip.

Back in the training room, Quentin took the chair Lydia had used earlier, moving the seat to the edge of the room and sitting. Philip, a tall, fit man with gray hair and cold eyes stood in the center of the room and began to put on the padded armor Giles usually used for her training sessions.

"Philip will be attacking you with various styles," Quentin informed her. "And, although he doesn't possess the power of a demon, I think you'll find his abilities far greater than that of Rupert's."

Still putting on pads, Philip pulled a black cloth from his pocket and handed it to Buffy.

"You will be blindfolded," Quentin continued, "limiting your range of efficiency, and you'll be answering my questions throughout the exercise. Do you have any questions, before we begin?"

Buffy smirked. "If I knock him out, do I get extra credit?"

"Philip may not have the strength of a demon, but he'll be harder to best than Rupert," he answered her matter-of-factly. "And, regardless of your performance, you'll be done when I say you are done. Now, let's begin."

She frowned and obediently placed the blindfold over her eyes, tying it securely behind her head.

Hours passed in Sunnydale. The Slayer fought against the Council member who showed her no mercy. He used different weapons and fighting styles, not pausing to let her catch her breath or reorient herself within the room. Quentin fired question after question at her, making her retell and second-guess previous battles with various Hellmouth spawn.

Anya and Xander were contacted, then interviewed by two of the Council members. Anya did her best to create a convincing backstory, while Xander did his best to not stick his foot in his mouth. Both finished the odd interaction feeling miserable and worried that they had failed to impress.

Willow and Tara were skeptical about the process, and an additional phone call from Giles was needed to let them know the legitimacy of the Watchers' demands to speak to them in person. Both were nervous. Tara saw Willow's fear: not wanting to do anything to bring more trouble or complication to Buffy's already troubled and complicated life. She reached out to take her redheaded girlfriend by the hand and sent her an encouraging smile.

Eventually, the Council convened to make whatever final judgment was coming. The Scoobies met at the shop, awaiting an answer and speaking in hushed tones. Willow, Tara, and Anya sat at the round table. Xander paced, and Buffy and Giles leaned against the display case next to the register.

"What was all that about, Buffy?" the younger man asked. Xander stopped his agitated pacing and stared accusingly at his friend.

Buffy looked to her Watcher. Giles returned her stare with a pointed look. She knew he wanted her to share everything…but now was not the time nor the place. It was dark outside. She wondered where Angelus was. A stray thought. A deep breath.

"I can't explain every little detail of what's going on," she started. Xander threw his hands up in the air in frustration. "Not while the Council's here, anyway. I don't trust them. Not like I trust all of you…"

Four sets of eyes narrowed at her in disbelief. Buffy gulped helplessly.

"Is this about Dracula, again?" Anya wondered aloud. "Or Angelus?"

"Angelus?" Willow interjected. "What about him?" Buffy hesitated to answer, and that gave the young witch enough of an indication to keep going. "He's here? He's back?" She glared across the table to the perky blonde ex-demon. "YOU knew? Xander?"

Xander nodded unapologetically. "Yeah, we saw him. Friday night, was it?" Anya nodded, too, in solidarity.

"It's neither of them," Buffy spoke up. Everyone looked at her with surprise. Except for Giles, who was strangely calm. "It's…something else. I had a…vision. It's something known as 'the Beast,' or 'Glorificus.' Anya, have you heard of something that goes by that name?"

"Glorificus? No. The Beast? Well, yes. I mean, that's a pretty common nickname in the demon community. It's simple, catchy. Easy to spell and remember. Easier than Glorificus. Or Maledírno, or Brögnarn, or Clebtomuphet, or-"

"Thank you, Anya," Giles finally interrupted. "We get your point."

"So, what," Willow continued on her original point. "There's a third bad guy we have to worry about?" Her eyes widened, then. "Are they all working together?"

"No," Buffy firmly asserted. "No, they're all separate. Ms. Calendar is with her family, trying to restore Dracula's soul, Angelus isn't a problem, and the Beast needs to be our main concern."

"Excuse me?" Xander addressed Buffy. "Did I just hear you say 'Angelus isn't a problem'? When is he NOT a problem?! He was at your house – wait – did you see him? Have you seen him?"

"Yes," she snapped back, "I've talked with him, and trust me, he's scared of whatever this 'Beast' is, too."

"What do you mean you've talked-"

"That's not what's important, right now, Xander," Giles stopped him midsentence. "Buffy's right. She can't reveal everything until after the Council leaves."

"And why couldn't we get a warning about them coming? Huh?"

The Englishman removed his glasses and stared at them, so that he didn't have to look into anyone's eyes. "Honestly," he admitted, "I didn't think they'd be this demanding. Especially when it came to the four of you. As for me, I had to play their game from the beginning." He perched the glasses back onto his face and gave the room a frown. "They threatened to have me deported, if I didn't."

"Giles," Buffy called softly to him, while placing a hand on his shoulder. "I wish you would've told me."

"There was no time."

At that moment, the group was interrupted by the sound of the bell at the Magic Box door. The group of Watchers descended upon them, and everyone fell respectfully quiet. Quentin led the pack, stopping at the center of the room, with the other members in a half-circle behind him.

"We are worried that you, all of you," he said with a sweeping glance to Buffy and her friends, "are woefully unequipped to handle what's coming." He leveled his gaze at Buffy, then. "You are, among the history of Slayers, the most unorthodox and disorganized girl who has ever carried this mantle. We will rectify your hindered training, along with providing you adequate supervision-"

"Stop," Buffy interrupted. Firmly. Mr. Travers gave her an incredulous look, and started to open his mouth. "NO," Buffy followed up, effectively silencing the old man. "I'm NOT a 'girl,' I'm a woman. You do remember my eighteenth birthday, right?"

Quentin cocked an eyebrow at her, feigning boredom. A couple of his colleagues, however, swallowed uncomfortably.

"You fired my Watcher, I basically quit following your orders, and for the past two years, I've handled EVERYTHING the Hellmouth has thrown at me." She walked to face Travers, then, standing tall, even with her shorter stature, and placed her hands on her hips. "It may not have been 'your way' of handling things, but look around you," she gestured with her arms, with theatrical energy. "We're still here. Sunnydale is still here. The Hellmouth is closed. And who keeps it closed? US."

She didn't see the reactions of her friends, but if she had, she would've seen them start to smile and stand a little straighter with pride.

"I have a brilliant Watcher, official or not, who balances my training with giving me enough free-reign to come up with my own ideas on how to solve the problem." Buffy narrowed her eyes and scanned each of the conceited Council members. "I know I've already surpassed the lifespan of the typical Slayer…haven't I?" The question was rhetorical, and no one looked ready to give her a conflicting answer.

"I have two very talented witches, who, on more than one occasion, have been crucial to the success of my mission."

Tara looked to Willow, sitting next to her, and squeezed her hand under the table. The redhead smiled at her girlfriend, but shook her head lovingly when Tara mouthed, "all you."

"I have a man who has fought bravely at my side since my first day in Sunnydale, who is the heart of this operation and is still standing because of his natural instincts."

Xander looked at the three ladies seated at the table beside him. All of them beamed back at him, and his chest swelled immediately at the adoration.

"I have a former vengeance demon on my team, who has a thousand years of experience and knowledge to contribute."

Most of the Council members looked with alarm at Anya. She smiled nervously.

"I really wasn't all that bad," the perky blonde called out from her seat. "Compared to some of the others in our guild…" she trailed off.

"A vengeance demon, a vampire with a soul," Quentin listed, without paying attention to Anya. Buffy's jaw clenched at the reference to Angel. "Even your alliances are questionable."

"If it weren't for Anya, we wouldn't have made the connection from Glorificus to the monster she summoned," Buffy snapped, without thinking of the can of worms it opened up.

Quentin and everyone else in the room, save Giles, reacted with confusion at Buffy's words. Before anyone else could speak up, the Slayer plowed through.

"Yes, we have some new information," Buffy admitted. "And you have information we need, Mr. Travers."

The leader of the Council tilted his chin up.

"So," she lowered her voice. "Can we stop pretending that you're here to test our worthiness? Faith is MIA, and I'm the only Slayer you've got. All of us are on the same team, but we're the ones-" she swept a hand toward her friends without taking her eyes off Quentin - "with our necks on the line." She narrowed her eyes and took her time to stare down each Watcher behind the older leader. "You will reinstate Mr. Giles, we will exchange information, and then you ALL will return to the safety of England, where you can pat yourselves on the backs and take the credit for me and my team facing and defeating the dangers of the Hellmouth."

Quentin sighed and looked over at Giles, who returned his gaze with a shrewd countenance. The eldest Watcher once again met the Slayer's eye.

"I will honor your request to have Rupert remain here, as your official Watcher," he nodded slowly. "As for the rest of your little speech, I have this to say about your conclusions: you are still overestimating the abilities of your team and underestimating the support that the Watchers' Council is able to offer. This is not supposed to be an antagonistic relationship, Slayer. We are your greatest help and allies, in the fight against evil."

"Then ACT like it, Mr. Travers!" Buffy pleaded sincerely and firmly. "I'm up against something that I'm terrified of. That a former vengeance demon and a vampire are also terrified of. Can we please stop with the interrogations and start sharing what we know?"

Quentin leveled his eyes to Buffy, looking at her frankly and without judgment. He gave her a smile kinder than one she'd ever seen from the usually pompous man.

"Your request is reasonable. I would prefer to repair the broken lines of communication between us, Miss Summers," he optimistically stated. "I suppose, as a gesture of goodwill, I should start the process?"

Buffy crossed her arms and smiled tightly back at the man. She'd spoken enough, and now she waited on Quentin Travers to speak.

"Glorificus, also known as The Abomination or The Beast, is no mere demon. She…is a goddess."

Buffy's mouth dropped.