26 Aug 22 - AKA Hank Summers
Title: AKA Hank Summers
Author: Beriaearwen
Crossover: Buffy the Vampire Slayer / Magnificent Seven (TV Series) - Modern AU
Rating: Suitable for people over 13
Word Count: 2940
Disclaimer: Characters of Buffy the Vampire Slayer belong to Mutant Enemy, etc. The characters of the Magnificent Seven (TV Series) belong to Trilogy, etc. All are used here without permission. No copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: So, I realized I hadn't done many "Hank Summers is a good dad" stories this summer, so I pondered and this came to mind. The version of "The Magnificent Seven" in mind is the one from the TV series and will use those names. There are an immense number of AU's of this fandom, this actually doesn't fit into any of them, but borrows background from the various versions of the ATF universe created by MOG. It also focuses heavily on Chris’ point of view and a plot device I've used before. Sorry about that.
Summary: Chris Larabee has to go into WitSec. He’s given the name Hank Summers
AKA Hank Summers
By Beriaearwen
Chris was practically dancing with anticipation to get home. He had just wrapped up his testimony on a case that would put away a human trafficker. There was little doubt in his mind that the judge and jury would have to find him guilty and the DA felt confident they could make the case that the sentences would be served. successively, making his earliest parole date in approximately 200 years.
The sound of a siren drew his attention to his surroundings.
Glancing in the rear view mirror, he spotted the red flashing lights of the fire truck and signaled so he could pull over and let it pass. As he stopped his truck, he was surprised by the additional trucks behind it.
He took a moment to look around to see if he could spot smoke. As dry as it had been, even a small brush fire could turn huge and deadly if it wasn't handled quickly. He eventually spotted the plume of smoke and felt his stomach clench. It looked like it was coming from his home.
"Sarah," he whispered, putting his car in gear and following the trucks as quickly as he could.
~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~
He sat staring at the ceiling of the room they'd put him in when the ambulance brought him.
A lot of that night, while clear in his memory, seemed to happen to someone else. A trauma response.
He was here on oxygen due to smoke inhalation and for his burns. He owed a thank you to the firefighters who risked themselves to drag him out.
He knew better than to behave as he did. He'd been trained, extensively, to handle emergency situations, first in his ROTC training and especially in his SEAL training, but all of that went right out of his head when he pulled into the yard to find flames consuming his house and Sarah's car in the drive, but no sign of his pregnant wife.
He wanted to close his eyes, but knew he would only see her mangled body, broken neck and the neat entry hole in her forehead.
The curtain around his bed twitched and he fixed his eyes on the person coming near.
"Hey, there Chris," came the soft, comforting drawl of his long time friend, Buck Wilmington.
"Buck," he rasped out softly, trying his best not to aggravate his irritated throat.
The normally smiling man was looking serious and Chris could see the grief on his face. Sarah had been like a sister to Buck and the man had been looking forward to being a godfather. Reaching out, the ever tactile Buck, rested a few fingers on a small patch of non-burned skin. "They're looking into it, Chris, but they're pretty sure it was a hired hit," he informed. "And they're also hearing rumors that there is an active hit on you as well."
Chris just glared, throat hurting too much to express himself verbally.
Buck took a deep breath. "They want you to go into WitSec. They'll protect you until the sentencing and then give you a new life."
"No," Chris rasped, his voice, soft and rough though it was, held a bite that stopped people arguing.
Nodding as if he'd expected the answer, Buck added, "Just think on it. Give it a few days and let us get the whole story."
Chris turned his head back to the ceiling. He absolutely wasn't ready to hear this. He needed to find Sarah's killer. He needed to...
"Mr. Larabee?" a soft voice asked, interrupting his thoughts. It was Dr. Jackson. Her husband had been the EMT who brought Chris in earlier. The doctor seemed more tense, almost nervous. "We're going to be moving you to a room now. We need to keep you here at least overnight. There are some treatments we'd like to try to make sure your lungs heal correctly."
Chris only nodded.
~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~
Four Months Later
Chris sat at a table in the back of the bar. Well, Hank did. Hank Summers. He still cringed slightly at the name chosen. Sarah's father was Hank.
He took another sip of his whiskey.
He wouldn't drink too much, he couldn't afford to, not when he might still forget who he was supposed to be. He was pretty sure his Marshall contact wouldn't be happy with him, but he was doing his best, living a lie.
They had set him up in Los Angeles at an Insurance Company, doing investigations on claims. Not always the most exciting thing, but not bad. He'd already been moved up to Assistant Supervisor.
It wasn't an easy fit, but at least he got to keep some of his skills.
He finished his drink and put the glass down. He should head back to the house they'd gotten him. He did, after all, have work tomorrow.
Before he could stand, the door opened and a couple of young women stepped inside. He noted they were good looking and let it fade as Sarah's face rose into the front of his mind.
Taking a deep breath, he rose from his seat and headed out.
~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~
He's been Hank Summers for a year, had risen in the ranks and now had his own team of investigators that he managed. He was successful and lonely.
He spent random weekends helping out at a homeless shelter to which the company donated time and money. The man who ran it, Josiah Sanchez, was an interesting character. It had taken Hank weeks to find out what Josiah did as a profession. Turns out he was a Profiler who did consulting work for the police and other law enforcement when he wasn't working at the shelter. Hank liked the man and also suspected Josiah noticed that the mask of Hank Summers didn't always fit comfortably on him.
Tonight, he was particularly haunted by the ghosts of his past and had gone to one of his usual bars. He was tucked away in a corner already buzzed when he spotted Joyce walk in alone.
He'd seen her here off and on, often enough to get a name and an occasional date to cover himself. Joyce was well educated and blended with just about everyone. They weren't dating seriously, but she was his go-to date for work events.
She spotted him and stopped by the bar to order something.
His eyebrow rose at the bottle and glass she was handed. Looked like he wasn't the only one who was having a bad day.
"Joyce," he greeted as she placed the bottle on the table and took her seat.
"Hank," she returned, pouring a generous portion in her glass and downing it far too quickly.
"Bad day?"
"The worst," she replied, pouring another glass, but, thankfully, not downing it, but taking a sip. "You?"
"The worst," he replied, a wry smile on his face. When she held up her glass to toast, he lifted his own and tapped it against hers before taking a sip.
The next morning, with his head pounding, he cracked an eye open and identified Joyce as the one he was spooning.
His current state of undress told him how his evening had ended. He let out a breath as the guilt he expected didn't hit nearly as hard as he thought it should. Chris Larabee was behind him. It was time to make a life as Hank Summers.
~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~
Sixteen years later
Hank sat at his desk in his office, keeping a weather eye on Eathan Simpson, which Hank's gut told him was absolutely not the man's name. He was too smooth. If he had to guess, he would guess the man was FBI, but he wasn't sure what exactly the FBI would be doing investigating his department. He made sure they operated by the book.
His phone ringing drew his attention away. It was his personal phone, so, despite not being authorized at work, he pulled it out. It was, after all, after hours. A soft curse escaped as he recognized the number of his Marshall contact. "Summers," he barked.
"We need you to come to the restaurant next door," his contact said.
"Why?"
"We'll cover that when you're here. Dinner's included."
Hank paused for a moment. He'd been working through dinner quite a bit recently and eating out. Joyce was unhappy with it and had let him know, but things with Joyce had been strained for a while. He was mostly still there because he couldn't imagine not seeing Buffy and Joyce had threatened to take her. Still, it was Friday night and Buffy usually had something going on. "I'll be there in ten," he assured, ending the call.
He carefully made sure that everything sensitive was locked away in his desk, paused, and then slipped a piece of tape on the underside of the desk. It would come undone easily enough if the drawer was opened. Something about Simpson just didn't sit right.
Rising from his seat, he headed out of his office. "Planning on moving in, Simpson?" he called out.
The man looked up and offered a slight smile. "Paperwork due tomorrow. It just never seems to end," he drawled in a Southern accent.
"Won't get any better if you're too tired to think," Hank offered, his look conveying that he wanted Simpson to wrap it up.
"Another few minutes and I'll be gone. Have a good night."
Hank paused a moment before nodding. "You as well." Turning, he left, an uncomfortable prickle on the back of his neck. Something wasn't quite right.
Pausing for a moment in front of the door to the restaurant, he took a deep breath and released it, plastering a smile on his face as if he was off to see a good friend.
Entering, he paused just before the Hostess stand and scanned the crowded room, easily spotting his contact. He felt his expression freeze slightly as he also spotted someone else at the table. The man looked more like he should be in High School with Buffy than working, but knowing the laws, he knew the man had to be older than that.
"Frank!" he greeted, holding out his hand for his handler to shake.
"Hank!" the man replied, grasping the hand and laughing slightly like the name announcements were a long time joke between them. He motioned for Hank to sit down. Once seated, he made an introduction, "Hank Summers, meet Vin Tanner."
Hank shook hands with the younger man, head tilting to the side slightly as something seemed to click at the contact. It was the same sort of feeling the first time he and Buck met and he and Sarah. Like this person was going to be an important part of his life.
"Pleasure," the younger man stated with a slight drawl.
Hank thought the drawl sounded similar to several of his fellow teammates in the Navy who hailed from Texas. He nodded at the younger man and picked up his menu. He knew what he wanted, but wanted a minute to settle his thoughts.
Their orders had been given and drinks delivered when he leaned forward slightly. "So what's going on?"
Frank seemed to deflate slightly. "I'm being reassigned. Some old business has cropped up and I'm needed back East. Vin will be your new contact."
Hank's eyes darted toward the other man. "Little young," he grumbled, testing the man.
Vin seemed to settle back into his chair and met Hank's challenging gaze, saying nothing, letting his gaze and expression speak for itself.
And what Hank saw brought to mind missions in the dark and secrets he could never repeat. Tanner may be young, but he was experienced.
"Old enough to shave," Frank jested, breaking the staring contest and earning a small, if slightly offended, smile from Tanner. He waited for Hank to meet his eyes before assuring him seriously, "Only the best."
Hank relaxed slightly at the praise of his new contact. He took a drink of his cola and shook his head. "Look like you should be in school with my daughter," he muttered. At the offended look, he grinned. Obviously Tanner had done his homework and knew his daughter was a freshman in high school.
Their food arrived just then and the three of them settled into easy conversation.
~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~
Hank was frantic. He had just arrived at the agreed meeting place to meet with Vin when they announced the fire at the Hemery High Dance.
Tanner had insisted on driving him.
When they arrived, Vin was able to get the information they needed to find Buffy quickly. Hank pushed through the crowd and soon found his daughter facing three police officers, her dress torn and smoke stained looking like she was in shock. "What do you think you're doing with my daughter?" he demanded, pushing past the officers and catching Buffy as she threw herself at him.
"Can't question a minor without their parent or guardian present," Tanner drawled, moving between Hank, Buffy and the officers.
Hank accepted the interruptions and decided to leave the officials in Tanner's hands. He drew Buffy a safe distance away. "Are you Ok?" he asked, voice frantic as he scanned her from head to toe.
"Yeah, I... I think so," she stammered.
"Can you tell me what happened?" he asked, keeping his hands on her shoulders to help ground her. He listened to her story and it seemed pretty straight forward, but she was hiding something. She had just run down her narrative when the word 'vampire' drifted over from another conversation. Hank locked eyes with her and knew what she had left out. He drew her close and wrapped her in his arms, whispering how much he loved her.
Vin arrived a few minutes later and waited for Hank to acknowledge him.
After a few more moments, he pulled back. "Vin Tanner, my daughter, Buffy."
"Nice to meet you," Vin politely added. He then looked at Hank before turning his attention to Buffy. "Sounds like some of the kids are blaming you for the fire. Need to get you out of here so they can talk to you tomorrow at the station."
Hank picked up what he didn't say, they would probably want a lawyer with them. He nodded. "Let's go."
~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~
Hank felt gutted in a way he hadn't since Sarah.
The fire at Hemery was enough of a mess, but then it turned out that Eathan Simpson had been an undercover investigator with the FBI and, while his department had come out of it in good shape, a number of other areas of the company were being restructured. The time that took had drawn him away from home more than he wanted.
Vin had managed to stop Joyce from having Buffy put in a psychiatric facility, though how he did it without Joyce finding out was a mystery. There were very few people in special forces who didn't know that there were things "other" in the world. So, his daughter saying vampires were involved wasn't the most shocking thing.
Unfortunately, nothing could stop the separation Joyce filed based on infidelity (which never happened) and irreconcilable differences. The judge had granted Joyce custody since all children needed their mothers. He still had visitation rights, but it was still a blow. It was worse when Joyce said they were moving to Sunnydale.
~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~
2000
Chris ran his hands through his hair as he looked at the house, at the remnants of the life he’d left behind. He hated leaving it, but Just before Buffy’s high school graduation, the contract he’d been hiding from for nineteen years went active and the man that had started it all was in the midst of an appeal. Chris Larabee was needed again.
That had been a mess and a half that had resulted in him having to move to Denver. He had not expected to take on the leadership of an ATF team, not after having been out of law enforcement for so long, but Orin Travis, his boss, had faith in him.
Thus he had missed almost a full year of Buffy’s life. Then, this morning, Vin had come in looking concerned. He called a meeting and told of a rumor he’d heard through the grapevine - something was going on in Sunnydale. Though no details were available, the word experimentation had been whispered.
For the last part, Vin had locked eyes with Chris and very calmly stated that it had been rumored that it was located under the Sunnydale College campus.
That had led them to Hank’s house, which was still in the name of Hank Summers, who was, in fact, Chris Larabee. And he probably should tell Buffy about that. And maybe Joyce. Shaking those thoughts off, he headed inside, the rest of the team following.
It took them just over a week to get in touch with Buffy, and another one or two to get her, Joyce, Rupert and everyone else on board with their assistance. Right now, they were gathering information on the operations going on under the campus.
They were using that they were following a lead of illegal weapons on the college campus. The locals were willing to let them do the work, only warning them not to go out after dark. Apparently that was more assistance than Buffy ever got. That made none of them happy.
Once this operation was complete, Chris vowed he would be having quite a long talk with his daughter, not just about his identity, but about her life as a Slayer and what exactly that meant.
End
Author: Beriaearwen
Crossover: Buffy the Vampire Slayer / Magnificent Seven (TV Series) - Modern AU
Rating: Suitable for people over 13
Word Count: 2940
Disclaimer: Characters of Buffy the Vampire Slayer belong to Mutant Enemy, etc. The characters of the Magnificent Seven (TV Series) belong to Trilogy, etc. All are used here without permission. No copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: So, I realized I hadn't done many "Hank Summers is a good dad" stories this summer, so I pondered and this came to mind. The version of "The Magnificent Seven" in mind is the one from the TV series and will use those names. There are an immense number of AU's of this fandom, this actually doesn't fit into any of them, but borrows background from the various versions of the ATF universe created by MOG. It also focuses heavily on Chris’ point of view and a plot device I've used before. Sorry about that.
Summary: Chris Larabee has to go into WitSec. He’s given the name Hank Summers
AKA Hank Summers
By Beriaearwen
Chris was practically dancing with anticipation to get home. He had just wrapped up his testimony on a case that would put away a human trafficker. There was little doubt in his mind that the judge and jury would have to find him guilty and the DA felt confident they could make the case that the sentences would be served. successively, making his earliest parole date in approximately 200 years.
The sound of a siren drew his attention to his surroundings.
Glancing in the rear view mirror, he spotted the red flashing lights of the fire truck and signaled so he could pull over and let it pass. As he stopped his truck, he was surprised by the additional trucks behind it.
He took a moment to look around to see if he could spot smoke. As dry as it had been, even a small brush fire could turn huge and deadly if it wasn't handled quickly. He eventually spotted the plume of smoke and felt his stomach clench. It looked like it was coming from his home.
"Sarah," he whispered, putting his car in gear and following the trucks as quickly as he could.
~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~
He sat staring at the ceiling of the room they'd put him in when the ambulance brought him.
A lot of that night, while clear in his memory, seemed to happen to someone else. A trauma response.
He was here on oxygen due to smoke inhalation and for his burns. He owed a thank you to the firefighters who risked themselves to drag him out.
He knew better than to behave as he did. He'd been trained, extensively, to handle emergency situations, first in his ROTC training and especially in his SEAL training, but all of that went right out of his head when he pulled into the yard to find flames consuming his house and Sarah's car in the drive, but no sign of his pregnant wife.
He wanted to close his eyes, but knew he would only see her mangled body, broken neck and the neat entry hole in her forehead.
The curtain around his bed twitched and he fixed his eyes on the person coming near.
"Hey, there Chris," came the soft, comforting drawl of his long time friend, Buck Wilmington.
"Buck," he rasped out softly, trying his best not to aggravate his irritated throat.
The normally smiling man was looking serious and Chris could see the grief on his face. Sarah had been like a sister to Buck and the man had been looking forward to being a godfather. Reaching out, the ever tactile Buck, rested a few fingers on a small patch of non-burned skin. "They're looking into it, Chris, but they're pretty sure it was a hired hit," he informed. "And they're also hearing rumors that there is an active hit on you as well."
Chris just glared, throat hurting too much to express himself verbally.
Buck took a deep breath. "They want you to go into WitSec. They'll protect you until the sentencing and then give you a new life."
"No," Chris rasped, his voice, soft and rough though it was, held a bite that stopped people arguing.
Nodding as if he'd expected the answer, Buck added, "Just think on it. Give it a few days and let us get the whole story."
Chris turned his head back to the ceiling. He absolutely wasn't ready to hear this. He needed to find Sarah's killer. He needed to...
"Mr. Larabee?" a soft voice asked, interrupting his thoughts. It was Dr. Jackson. Her husband had been the EMT who brought Chris in earlier. The doctor seemed more tense, almost nervous. "We're going to be moving you to a room now. We need to keep you here at least overnight. There are some treatments we'd like to try to make sure your lungs heal correctly."
Chris only nodded.
~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~
Four Months Later
Chris sat at a table in the back of the bar. Well, Hank did. Hank Summers. He still cringed slightly at the name chosen. Sarah's father was Hank.
He took another sip of his whiskey.
He wouldn't drink too much, he couldn't afford to, not when he might still forget who he was supposed to be. He was pretty sure his Marshall contact wouldn't be happy with him, but he was doing his best, living a lie.
They had set him up in Los Angeles at an Insurance Company, doing investigations on claims. Not always the most exciting thing, but not bad. He'd already been moved up to Assistant Supervisor.
It wasn't an easy fit, but at least he got to keep some of his skills.
He finished his drink and put the glass down. He should head back to the house they'd gotten him. He did, after all, have work tomorrow.
Before he could stand, the door opened and a couple of young women stepped inside. He noted they were good looking and let it fade as Sarah's face rose into the front of his mind.
Taking a deep breath, he rose from his seat and headed out.
~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~
He's been Hank Summers for a year, had risen in the ranks and now had his own team of investigators that he managed. He was successful and lonely.
He spent random weekends helping out at a homeless shelter to which the company donated time and money. The man who ran it, Josiah Sanchez, was an interesting character. It had taken Hank weeks to find out what Josiah did as a profession. Turns out he was a Profiler who did consulting work for the police and other law enforcement when he wasn't working at the shelter. Hank liked the man and also suspected Josiah noticed that the mask of Hank Summers didn't always fit comfortably on him.
Tonight, he was particularly haunted by the ghosts of his past and had gone to one of his usual bars. He was tucked away in a corner already buzzed when he spotted Joyce walk in alone.
He'd seen her here off and on, often enough to get a name and an occasional date to cover himself. Joyce was well educated and blended with just about everyone. They weren't dating seriously, but she was his go-to date for work events.
She spotted him and stopped by the bar to order something.
His eyebrow rose at the bottle and glass she was handed. Looked like he wasn't the only one who was having a bad day.
"Joyce," he greeted as she placed the bottle on the table and took her seat.
"Hank," she returned, pouring a generous portion in her glass and downing it far too quickly.
"Bad day?"
"The worst," she replied, pouring another glass, but, thankfully, not downing it, but taking a sip. "You?"
"The worst," he replied, a wry smile on his face. When she held up her glass to toast, he lifted his own and tapped it against hers before taking a sip.
The next morning, with his head pounding, he cracked an eye open and identified Joyce as the one he was spooning.
His current state of undress told him how his evening had ended. He let out a breath as the guilt he expected didn't hit nearly as hard as he thought it should. Chris Larabee was behind him. It was time to make a life as Hank Summers.
~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~
Sixteen years later
Hank sat at his desk in his office, keeping a weather eye on Eathan Simpson, which Hank's gut told him was absolutely not the man's name. He was too smooth. If he had to guess, he would guess the man was FBI, but he wasn't sure what exactly the FBI would be doing investigating his department. He made sure they operated by the book.
His phone ringing drew his attention away. It was his personal phone, so, despite not being authorized at work, he pulled it out. It was, after all, after hours. A soft curse escaped as he recognized the number of his Marshall contact. "Summers," he barked.
"We need you to come to the restaurant next door," his contact said.
"Why?"
"We'll cover that when you're here. Dinner's included."
Hank paused for a moment. He'd been working through dinner quite a bit recently and eating out. Joyce was unhappy with it and had let him know, but things with Joyce had been strained for a while. He was mostly still there because he couldn't imagine not seeing Buffy and Joyce had threatened to take her. Still, it was Friday night and Buffy usually had something going on. "I'll be there in ten," he assured, ending the call.
He carefully made sure that everything sensitive was locked away in his desk, paused, and then slipped a piece of tape on the underside of the desk. It would come undone easily enough if the drawer was opened. Something about Simpson just didn't sit right.
Rising from his seat, he headed out of his office. "Planning on moving in, Simpson?" he called out.
The man looked up and offered a slight smile. "Paperwork due tomorrow. It just never seems to end," he drawled in a Southern accent.
"Won't get any better if you're too tired to think," Hank offered, his look conveying that he wanted Simpson to wrap it up.
"Another few minutes and I'll be gone. Have a good night."
Hank paused a moment before nodding. "You as well." Turning, he left, an uncomfortable prickle on the back of his neck. Something wasn't quite right.
Pausing for a moment in front of the door to the restaurant, he took a deep breath and released it, plastering a smile on his face as if he was off to see a good friend.
Entering, he paused just before the Hostess stand and scanned the crowded room, easily spotting his contact. He felt his expression freeze slightly as he also spotted someone else at the table. The man looked more like he should be in High School with Buffy than working, but knowing the laws, he knew the man had to be older than that.
"Frank!" he greeted, holding out his hand for his handler to shake.
"Hank!" the man replied, grasping the hand and laughing slightly like the name announcements were a long time joke between them. He motioned for Hank to sit down. Once seated, he made an introduction, "Hank Summers, meet Vin Tanner."
Hank shook hands with the younger man, head tilting to the side slightly as something seemed to click at the contact. It was the same sort of feeling the first time he and Buck met and he and Sarah. Like this person was going to be an important part of his life.
"Pleasure," the younger man stated with a slight drawl.
Hank thought the drawl sounded similar to several of his fellow teammates in the Navy who hailed from Texas. He nodded at the younger man and picked up his menu. He knew what he wanted, but wanted a minute to settle his thoughts.
Their orders had been given and drinks delivered when he leaned forward slightly. "So what's going on?"
Frank seemed to deflate slightly. "I'm being reassigned. Some old business has cropped up and I'm needed back East. Vin will be your new contact."
Hank's eyes darted toward the other man. "Little young," he grumbled, testing the man.
Vin seemed to settle back into his chair and met Hank's challenging gaze, saying nothing, letting his gaze and expression speak for itself.
And what Hank saw brought to mind missions in the dark and secrets he could never repeat. Tanner may be young, but he was experienced.
"Old enough to shave," Frank jested, breaking the staring contest and earning a small, if slightly offended, smile from Tanner. He waited for Hank to meet his eyes before assuring him seriously, "Only the best."
Hank relaxed slightly at the praise of his new contact. He took a drink of his cola and shook his head. "Look like you should be in school with my daughter," he muttered. At the offended look, he grinned. Obviously Tanner had done his homework and knew his daughter was a freshman in high school.
Their food arrived just then and the three of them settled into easy conversation.
~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~
Hank was frantic. He had just arrived at the agreed meeting place to meet with Vin when they announced the fire at the Hemery High Dance.
Tanner had insisted on driving him.
When they arrived, Vin was able to get the information they needed to find Buffy quickly. Hank pushed through the crowd and soon found his daughter facing three police officers, her dress torn and smoke stained looking like she was in shock. "What do you think you're doing with my daughter?" he demanded, pushing past the officers and catching Buffy as she threw herself at him.
"Can't question a minor without their parent or guardian present," Tanner drawled, moving between Hank, Buffy and the officers.
Hank accepted the interruptions and decided to leave the officials in Tanner's hands. He drew Buffy a safe distance away. "Are you Ok?" he asked, voice frantic as he scanned her from head to toe.
"Yeah, I... I think so," she stammered.
"Can you tell me what happened?" he asked, keeping his hands on her shoulders to help ground her. He listened to her story and it seemed pretty straight forward, but she was hiding something. She had just run down her narrative when the word 'vampire' drifted over from another conversation. Hank locked eyes with her and knew what she had left out. He drew her close and wrapped her in his arms, whispering how much he loved her.
Vin arrived a few minutes later and waited for Hank to acknowledge him.
After a few more moments, he pulled back. "Vin Tanner, my daughter, Buffy."
"Nice to meet you," Vin politely added. He then looked at Hank before turning his attention to Buffy. "Sounds like some of the kids are blaming you for the fire. Need to get you out of here so they can talk to you tomorrow at the station."
Hank picked up what he didn't say, they would probably want a lawyer with them. He nodded. "Let's go."
~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~
Hank felt gutted in a way he hadn't since Sarah.
The fire at Hemery was enough of a mess, but then it turned out that Eathan Simpson had been an undercover investigator with the FBI and, while his department had come out of it in good shape, a number of other areas of the company were being restructured. The time that took had drawn him away from home more than he wanted.
Vin had managed to stop Joyce from having Buffy put in a psychiatric facility, though how he did it without Joyce finding out was a mystery. There were very few people in special forces who didn't know that there were things "other" in the world. So, his daughter saying vampires were involved wasn't the most shocking thing.
Unfortunately, nothing could stop the separation Joyce filed based on infidelity (which never happened) and irreconcilable differences. The judge had granted Joyce custody since all children needed their mothers. He still had visitation rights, but it was still a blow. It was worse when Joyce said they were moving to Sunnydale.
~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~
2000
Chris ran his hands through his hair as he looked at the house, at the remnants of the life he’d left behind. He hated leaving it, but Just before Buffy’s high school graduation, the contract he’d been hiding from for nineteen years went active and the man that had started it all was in the midst of an appeal. Chris Larabee was needed again.
That had been a mess and a half that had resulted in him having to move to Denver. He had not expected to take on the leadership of an ATF team, not after having been out of law enforcement for so long, but Orin Travis, his boss, had faith in him.
Thus he had missed almost a full year of Buffy’s life. Then, this morning, Vin had come in looking concerned. He called a meeting and told of a rumor he’d heard through the grapevine - something was going on in Sunnydale. Though no details were available, the word experimentation had been whispered.
For the last part, Vin had locked eyes with Chris and very calmly stated that it had been rumored that it was located under the Sunnydale College campus.
That had led them to Hank’s house, which was still in the name of Hank Summers, who was, in fact, Chris Larabee. And he probably should tell Buffy about that. And maybe Joyce. Shaking those thoughts off, he headed inside, the rest of the team following.
It took them just over a week to get in touch with Buffy, and another one or two to get her, Joyce, Rupert and everyone else on board with their assistance. Right now, they were gathering information on the operations going on under the campus.
They were using that they were following a lead of illegal weapons on the college campus. The locals were willing to let them do the work, only warning them not to go out after dark. Apparently that was more assistance than Buffy ever got. That made none of them happy.
Once this operation was complete, Chris vowed he would be having quite a long talk with his daughter, not just about his identity, but about her life as a Slayer and what exactly that meant.
End