Disclaimer: I don't Buffy or Stargate. I wish I did. All characters will be returned the their proper owners when I finish playing with them.
Feedback: First fic, please be kind, very kind
It was kind of ironic. They had been so obsessed with finding the new slayers during the past year, they had neglected the support staff. Sure, they could teach the girls how to stake and behead but teach them to read Sumerian curses, Norse runes, and Egyptian prophecies? That was a job for the researchers, most of whom had not survived the explosion at the Watcher headquarters. The Bringers had slaughtered most of the survivors -- not making any distinction between them and the Potentials and Watchers. For millenia, the Watchers's Council searched for, retrieved, and trained the Potentials. Now, the slayers had to rebuild the Council.
While many of the old Council were drawn from "Watcher families," the Council had been wise enough not to discount new blood. They funded many off-the-wall research projects over the years, projects that rarely fit the neatly defined standards of most mainstream funders. The grants from the "Travers Foundatioan" had been a double-edged sword for many recipients. Those who published their results were often laughed out of academia. It made the chosen few easier to recruit but drove the rest into obscurity.
She was on her way to meet and hopefully recruit one of the rest. He had received funding in the early 1990's only to disappear after publicly arguing that the Egyptians had not built pyramids, that in fact, the pyramids were far older than the accept date. He had resurfaced about a year later in Colorado working for the Air Force only to disappear again a few years later. The second disappearance probably saved his life, a number of grant recipients had also died at the hands of the Bringers. She looked at the information in his file again -- linguist, doctor of archaeology, orphaned at age eight. Hmm, no family, usually a plus with the Council. Why hadn't he been recruited? Oh there it was, "lacks ruthlessness, too soft." She snorted in amusement as the taxi slowed to a halt.
After paying the driver, she started up the walkway to the front door of the house. She rang the doorbell and a few moments later the door opened.
"Dr. Jackson? My name is Buffy Summers and I represent the "Travers Foundation..."