Affinity

Ginmar

Chapters 36-40

Driving was ordinarily a good thing, but he noticed that driving in this case led to motion, and motion was bad. For several whole seconds, he'd been quite cheerful, quite pleased with himself, but then his stomach informed his head that both had been abused and revolt was necessary. Since his wastrel days, he hadn't done much drinking, and besides, vampires more or less lost the ability to deal with solid food early on. Alcohol, therefore, was traumatic. If he'd been chugging down anti-freeze, he couldn't have felt worse, although he very likely would not have had as bad of a hangover. Ah, the ironies of vampire existence. Although his stomach didn't like food, it could handle just about anything and survive. Spike, once upon a time, had gone about trying all kinds of liquid experiments to find out what he could survive. Pity I stopped him that time, Angel thought. He peered through the three whirling windshields in front of him, and decided the middle one seemed like the best bet. He slowly puttered over to the side of the street, and sagged over onto the passenger side seat.

Oh, God, this is bad.

He was lying in the most twisted position possible. Not that it mattered or anything, because he was dead; it just felt like he wasn't dead enough. It's not as if this position was a surprise, either; he'd been doing this for quite some time now, falling over onto the seat, wanting to die, realizing he was already dead and that there wasn't much more he could do about it. After several minutes' recuperation, he'd be perking up in the most inexplicable way and setting off again.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd been this drunk; it was very possible he'd still been human at the time. Funny how this hangover felt worse. No tolerance any more, he thought, with the pride of the ex addict. No tolerance left at all.

Strangely enough, this had once been fun. So many things had been fun. Stay up all night in some club in Montmartre, watch the silly men and their sillier girls, getting drunk on fizzy champagne chosen solely on its ability to match their clothes. Hell, it had been too much fun to kill them, when you could just sip their blood a bit, sample the vintage so to speak, then stagger back home, tipsy with the excitement of it all. No hangovers then, hadn't even been necessary to kill, not with all the pretty girls agog over his size and his build. He twisted over on his back and stared at the roof of the car. Those were the days, indeed, even better than his human days. Humanity meant hangovers and consequences.

Like sex, for example. Nothing more fun than sex. Nothing. But back in his human era, it had been actively dangerous, not to mention, well, shortcomings in the protection department. He was fairly certain he'd not have outlived his father, not with the pox. He knew for a fact Darla would have died of syphilis if the Master hadn't have turned her. Yes, definitely an upside in getting turned.

All the drinking he'd done as a human had never done more than provide a temporary escape from his father, and all that ridiculous guilt he had felt at being such a wastrel. All the beatings from the old man, all the disapproval, and he had been the one to feel the guilt, not his father. The old bastard had never once shown him anything more than contempt, and he had had every right to try and escape with the only methods available to him. The girls he'd deflowered, the ones he'd given the diseases to, the ones he'd impregnated, those had long been forgotten. So now, two hundred years later, why did he suddenly remember?

He'd been running from guilt as a man and a vampire, and all it seemed at this moment, was as a vampire he had more strength to resist it. It wasn't supposed to have worked out like that.

Like the whole deal with sex, for example. No consequences, no pregnancies, no diseases...but Darla had neglected to mention the bluntness of it, the numbing of the body. Something was lacking in it, and in all the centuries he'd been a vampire, he'd never gotten close to what it had been like, close to the worst sex he'd ever had, as a drunk and a man. Until Buffy. One brief moment in an innocent girl's arms, and he'd been a man again, ever fiber of him alive, and then it had not only been gone, it had been shattered.

He swallowed, staring up at the ceiling. Should drink more often. Even with Spike as the impetus. Spike. It just wasn't fair. Spike was his grandchild, and the bastard managed to dance circles around him when he felt like it. The fact that he seldom felt like it was another careless slap in the face, because it obviously wasn't a challenge for the bastard. Becoming a vampire had been the latest in a long series of disappointments for him; for Spike, it had been a coup. Drunk or sober, he managed to say things Angel knew he himself could have a hope of managing only after study, cramming, and an exam. The worst of it was, he saw flashes of the dolts they had both been as human, but on Spike it became something suspiciously close to humanity, and on him, it became righteousness. He'd been a vampire more than two hundred years, and even that wasn't enough to keep him from turning into his father.

He patted his head gingerly. More than anything, he needed a clear head to figure out what was going on, and he was still so sick he feared that wasn't possible. He wanted to look Spike in his beady little eyes when he asked him a few questions. The questions were so absurd, though, that that shock might almost make Spike honest. He snorted at his own paranoia. Spike in love with Buffy!

He rolled over on his side, and a bolt of lightning scorched through his head. Ah, not yet, then. He chuckled at the thought of Spike in love with Buffy; it was almost as much fun as picturing him in love with one of the lesbians. Buffy could never love him. He didn't often allow himself to remember the other night The Powers That Be had granted him with Buffy, but he kept that memory safe, like a relic. For two hundred years, even the feel of sex had been somehow muffled, and but that one night...He had never had, nor ever would again, he knew, have a night like that with any one else, and the fact that Buffy could never know it had happened made him all the more determined to protect its memory.

Grimly, he pulled himself into an upright position. Time to do something.

Unfortunately, this turned out to be getting sick.

He shoved open the passenger side door, noted that at least the car was parked in the shade of some commercial building, and miserably endured the nausea. Wondeful, just wonderful. Finished, he lay limply across the seat, and tried to figure out what building he was in front of. "THE MAG—"

Reading made his sodden brain cells hurt even worse than just thinking. He weakly shut the door and passed out.



Wes sat at the table and checked his watch while Lorne checked his nails. Both of them swore softly under their breaths. In a way, the delay was a good thing, because Spike had not yet found out the fate of his car, but in another way, it was bad, because Wes didn't much care for frogs, and didn't want anybody else to find that out. There was also the whole Angel dilemma, but he had been so hungover that Wes had stopped being concerned once he'd seen how sick Angel really had been. It was the Angel that lurked between intoxication and hangover that worried him, and he hoped feverently that wherever Angel was with the car, he was still terribly sick.

Although he did feel rather badly for Spike if that were the case.

Next time, go to a temp agency, he counseled himself.

Buffy had grabbed a bag and packed it full of stakes and weapons five minutes ago, then disappeared upstairs for a mysterious phone call, evidently to Willow, before vanishing into the bathroom. This had left Spike, Wes, and Lorne exchanging bewildered glances over the kitchen table, until Spike felt guilty and scrounged up two additional beers. He finished his first, then sighed manfully, and with every appearance of great reluctance, had headed up the stairs to pry Buffy out of her realm. There had been the sort of suspicious silence since then that indicted whispered conversation, and if Wes hadn't figured out the situation before hand, the bathroom issue would have done it for him. The bathroom was the inner sanctum, and no woman allowed a man in it during any part of her toilette unless they were very intimate indeed.

He got up and tiptoed out into the hall, hoping for sounds of progress. All he heard was that suspicious silence instead. He sighed. Lorne raised one eyebrow at him. "Can't you just go knock on the door?"

"Well, ah..."

"Wesley?"

"What?"

"Have you gone through puberty?"

Wesley just gave him a very adult sigh that indicated, entirely by accident, that yes, in fact, he had gone through puberty, had gone through it very fast indeed, and had come out barely noticing. Hm. Lorne ran down a mental list of the prettiest demons he knew and wondered what he could do. Phone numbers? Accidental meetings? Lock them in a room? There was no way an adult man should be that squeamish. He pushed around Wes and cocked his ear at the stairs. "Slayer!"

There was a pause, then, that really put the nail in the coffin on the whole bathroom theory. "Yes?"

"Are you ready yet? Because evil's afoot in Sunnydale, and I don't need any more warts. Or to be declared Queen of the Frog Festival or something gauche like that, so could you get a move on?"

There was the sound of Buffy clearing her throat, then Spike clearing his throat, then the bathroom door opening. Both Lorne and Wes looked rather startled at the visible lack of ripped buttons and disarranged clothes. After all, Lorne thought, how are we supposed to live vicariously?

"Brushing teeth." Buffy said sheepishly.

"Flossing." Spike added.

"Yes." Wes said briskly. "I'll go get the car." He looked from Buffy to Spike and back again. "And Lorne will come with me."

"I will?" Lorne looked around for confirmation. "Oh. Then, I will. Here goes."

Buffy and Spike watched the front door close, and then she smacked his stomach. "Flossing?!"

"Well, sort of." He grinned at her. "Don't know why you wear those things, although they are sort of cute."

"Well, I'm not wearing one now, am I?"

He slid his arms around her waist and pulled her against him, not kissing her, just giving her one of his wicked looks, chin down, blinking up at her through his eyelashes. "Just think, Slayer," he whispered. "Never know when, never know how.... He slid his hands down till he was cupping her bottom, lifting her against him. She wriggled to get away, but the wriggling made the seam of her jeans move around, and she finally jerked out of his grip with a gasp. He grinned at her and she summoned up her Look of Pissed-Offedness Number 17, which Spike recognized. His smirk softened all at once. This was not the pissed-off look she directed at Dawn; that was different. She had a whole repertoire of them, and this was the one reserved for male-type people who pissed her off in such a way that she had to bat her eyelashes at them furiously while sticking out her lower lip. He hooked a finger in her waistband and pulled her in for a kiss. The sound of the door opening made them both jump back. Wes shook his head for a moment and wondered why they even bothered. Buffy was clutching at the newel post with tense casualness and Spike had his hands jammed so far in his pockets he could probably pull his socks up. They both looked like they'd each just received a massive unexpected electrical shock.

"We're ready,now. Car's out front in the shade."

"No offense, Watcher," Spike said, ‘but I'll take my own." He pulled on his coat, and found himself facing two statues. Wes looked away at Buffy; Buffy looked at the floor. "What's wrong with you two? Let's go."

"Uh, we're going with Wesley." Buffy said.

"No, we're not, I'm driving my own car."

"You didn't tell him?"

Buffy looked from one to the other and spread her hands out. "Spike, there's kind of a problem with your car..."

With that, he stepped to the door, and yanked it open furiously, so annoyed he forget to check the time. He had to flinch out of the way of the setting sun's rays, and mentally blamed that momentary loss of cool on Angel, as well. Bastard. Street. Angel's convertible parked right in front of the house, Lorne smoking a cigarette while leaning casually against the front. He maneuvered around the softening sunlight to get a look in the other direction. What was missing from this picture?

Oh, no, he thought. I did not get turned, become a vampire, suffer Angel's yapping for a century, and endure disco in order to find out that vampires are subject to towing laws. No, absolutely not. I am a supernatural being, not some bloody frat boy with expired tags. Absolutely bloody not.

"Where," he hissed, "is my bloody car?"

"We don't know." Buffy said quietly.

"Did it get towed?"

"No."

No? She knew? "Well, then, what did happen?"

"Uh, we're not sure."

Abruptly something clicked in Spike's head. "Where's Angel?" He took another look at Angel's car, trying to find out if from his elevated vantage point on the porch if he could see the miserable lump somewhere inside. Nothing. He rounded on them triumphantly. "He took it, didn't he?"

Wes and Buffy exchanged looks. "Uh, we don't know for sure."

He turned and looked at them both almost pityingly. "Please, people. If you know someone who would kidnap Angel, let me know, because I've been trying to find someone to get that poofter off my hands for ages. He took my bloody car." He shook his head, lighting a cigarette with an expert snap of his wrist. "Right, then." He grinned sharkishly at both of them. "Then I guess I'll have to take his, then, won't I?"



The only thing worse than stepping unexpectedly on a frog was stepping on one unexpectedly in the dark. Willow shrieked and jumped up mid stride without ever actually touching the ground, thereby violating the laws of God and man, but at least saving another little froggie's life. Behind her back, Tara and Dawn both rolled their eyes. Sure, the little buggers were sort of cute. Sure, they were helpless and didn't deserve their fate. On the other hand, that had been blocks ago, and the whole, ‘frogs are cute, we can't hurt them,' thing in combination with the mysterious ‘I must meet my source'charade was starting to wear thin. Dawn wanted to get to Janice's, and Tara suspected she needed to get back to the store before there were any uncomfortable silences. There'd been too much unexpected goodness today to not expect the arrival of the proverbial other shoe.

Willow stopped abruptly and held up one hand for silence. She was looking intently down an alleyway, and must've seen something neither of them did, because she made whirling motions with her hand, and took off stealthily down the alley.

"Ew," Dawn said. "What's this?"

"My source." Willow hesitated before a recessed doorway where a shadow lurked in the darkness. "I'm here. Come on out."

There was the sound of a throat clearing, then a muffled voice answered. "I can't reveal my identity."

Willow reached into the shadows and yanked out...Jonathon. He was wearing a black fedora that hung down over his ears, and a black trenchcoat that hung past his ankles and probably went around him twice. With the waist bunched up by the belt, it almost looked like some sort of bulky dress. He blinked at the three of them. "Hey!" He looked at Tara and Dawn, both of whom were wearing identical disapproving expressions, over seriously pissed-off crossed-arm body language. "You were supposed to come alone!"

"Oh, please, Deep Throat." Willow scoffed. She eyed his outfit skeptically, but kept her comments to herself. "So what's with all the phone calls? How come you know about this before anybody else does?"

"Well, it could be me, you know." Jonathon said defensively. "I know a lot of these guys that got turned into frogs."

"Uh, yeah, I'm sure you're doing this out of the goodness of your heart. Did Warren do this?"

"Not exactly." Willow leaned over him menacingly. "Well, it's true."

"So...?"

"It's a demon." Jonathon said. "We, uh, found a demon."

The three girls looked at each other. "And where did you put this demon?" Willow asked softly.

Jonathon snorted at her. "I'm not going to tell you where our lair is! We have all sorts of Sta—secret stuff there."

Willow stepped forward and grabbed him by the oversized lapels. "Where is this demon, Jonathon?"

"Oh, please." He wriggled free and Willow tried to make it look like she'd let him. "Besides, she's not even there any more. She escaped."

She escaped, Willow thought. Sort of made it sound like there'd been something to escape from. These three geeks capturing a demon? "She?" She said suddenly. "She? What kind of demon was it?"

"I don't know!" He shrank back against the wall. "One minute she just looked like a girl—a woman—"He added hastily as all three glared at him, "And the next minute, she had this awful face on." He cringed at the look all three girls gave him. "I—I have to go."

"Yeah, tell your mom ‘hi,' " Willow called absently. Jonathon, coat flapping, thudded off to the sound of trenchcoat flopping around on his body.

"Do you think it could be Hallie?" Tara asked.

"Yeah, I bet it is. And she must be really pissed." Willow thought about it for a minute. "You know, we could kill two birds with one stone here. Hallie's really pissed at the Trio, the trio have been doing all kinds of stuff, and...."

"And," Tara sighed. "That means we have to go back and tell Buffy."

And Janice, Dawn thought happily.

Wearily, they turned back and headed back toward the store. "Hey, great." Willow said. "There's Spike's car. Buffy's here already." She looked down at Dawn. "We can get to Janice's on time after all."

Very much relieved, they poked their heads inside the door. "Buffy?"

"She's not here." Anya said.

"Well, Spike's car is here..." Tara started to explain, then watched Xander's face tighten as the implication hit him. "So we thought they were here."

"They're supposed to be finding Hallie." Anya said sullenly.

"I'm sure they're looking." Willow said cheerfully. "But now we have a very big clue."

"We actually have more than a clue," Tara said. She pulled Willow out of the store onto the sidewalk, nodding at the car parked there. "We have a problem, too."

"Well, like...what?"

Tara nodded again at the car, lowering her voice to a whisper. "They're not, uh, in the store, are they?"

Willow's eyes got very big. "Oh, my God. Right here?" She looked at the vehicle with distaste. "You don't really think...?"

"I don't know, but why aren't they in the store?"

"Maybe they just couldn't...Oh. Oh. Don't wanna go there, definitely not." Willow grimaced. "Look, let's be adult about this. These things happen. I'll just...knock."

"Knock?"

"Yeah. So there." She squared her shoulders and marched over to the vehicle. Arching her body as far away from it as possible so that there was actual daylight between her and the car, she knocked on the window. Nothing. She did it again. There was a loud groan from inside, and the two girls started, then whirled and dashed into the store, slamming the door behind them. Anya looked up from the cash register, Dawn looked up from her magazine (Young Wicca) and Xander looked up from the phone book he was flipping through in a vain effort to find a listing for demons. "Uh." Willow said frantically. "Well, here's the thing..." She glanced desperately at Tara.

"We...uh.." Tara looked around for help.

"Yeah, we, uh..."

"Did, you, uh, find Spike and Buffy?" Xander asked. "Seeing as how they're joined at the hip these days?"

This produced guilty looks between the two witches. Maybe he should've said pelvis, Willow thought. Oh, God, gonna wash my mind out with soap, now. "No, not exactly." Willow said carefully. "But! Hey! We found a clue!"

"For...?" Any asked.

"For Hallie!" Willow exclaimed excitedly. "We know who took her!"



I should have figured this out when he didn't put up a fight about not driving, Buffy thought. In the front seat, Wes drove, and Lorne looked out the window. Spike, hidden under a blanket over her lap, pressed his face to her stomach and generally made it impossible to think clearly, coherently, or of much of anything except the way his tongue periodically felt in her bellybutton. Damn low-rise jeans. She should have been suspicious when he laid his head in her lap; but no, she'd actually liked it. Under the blanket, she ran her fingers through his hair, and not until he captured her hand and sucked her middle finger into his mouth did she realize she was in trouble.

The problem was, it wasn't that sexy of a gesture if you just thought about it, but the way he did it made her feel all empty and dizzy, as if her stomach had dropped suddenly to the bottom of an elevator shaft and left her behind. He nipped just a little at her finger, sucking it slowly, thoroughly, using his tongue so slightly that she automatically wanted more, and when she finally thought, Oh, my God, that' s what he does to my..! she turned so red she had to roll the window down. Wes and Lorne kept their eyes focused right out of the car, and didn't appear to notice when she gave him a half-hearted smack under the blanket. It was almost dark now, and it was almost safe for him to come out, something he obviously didn't want to do. But the creeping darkness provided even more cover, and he took the hand she'd smacked him with, and pressed it first to his mouth, giving the palm a delicate little lick in promise of things to come, then pressed it between his thighs. Despite herself, she couldn't bring herself to move away, instead stroking him and tracing curves and bulges over and over again with the slightest of movements till he finally grabbed her wrist and stopped her. One blue eye peered at her from under the blanket, and a pleasant little tendril of heat curled from her bellybutton straight down between her legs.

The car stopped at a red light and Buffy carefully avoided Wes' eyes in the mirror. The sounds of traffic...and frogs...seemed to come from very far away. She folded her hands in her lap and tried to think about amphibians. Spike had one arm under her legs and now he shifted it under her till his hand was between her legs, tickling her right where she most definitely did not want it, at least not right now. He'd snipped her thong off in the bathroom with one expert flick and the seam of her jeans had been driving her crazy ever since they'd gotten in the car. Now, he stroked her with one light fingertip, and she remembered his crotch under her hand, and didn't feel embarrassed at all. He traced back and forth over denim, breathing lightly on her bellybutton as she stared out the window and tried to keep her thoughts and sensations from her face. Oh, God, right here?

"Excuse me, huh?" She said suddenly.

"There's the Magic Box," Wes said suddenly. He paused, peering out the window—"And there's Spike's car! Guess we know where Angel is."

"Huh?" Spike said thickly. He sat up abruptly, clutching the blanket with both hands. This allowed him to conceal from the men what he revealed to Buffy with an intense look that made her shiver: the fact that he had an erection. He turned around so that he was facing her and away from them, and still managed to get her hand between his legs one more time. This time, though, she left it there, safe in the knowledge that neither Wes nor Lorne could see. Spike glanced out the window and then turned a long, intent look back on her. Finally she dropped her hand, and he settled back against the seat, his coat casually draped over his lap. She didn't dare look at him again

Wes pulled up behind the black DeSoto and parked the car, exchanging slightly worried looks with everyone. "Spike, Buffy, you'd better stay here. I just want to see, ah, what kind of mood he's in."

"Okay." Buffy whispered.

"I'll, ah, I'll help." Lorne said.

She was almost disappointed when Spike contented himself with tracing lines on her shoulder, his breath cool on her hot skin. "Sure, that's a big help now." She hissed skeptically.

"I'll help you later." He breathed, and she swallowed.

"How much later?" Then she looked at him, trying to be irritated, but failing when she saw the look on his face; he was studying her with almost predatory intensity, smiling just a bit when he found her looking back. His expression didn't fill her with a lot of hope of getting much sleep, but it made her shiver just a bit.

He smiled at her, one of those smiles only she got, the ones that started at the crinkles at his eyes, and sometimes even made it as far as his mouth.

"Ah, Spike?" Wes asked uncomfortably. "I think we might need your help."

Spike shook his head at her, then reached over and pushed open the door and climbed out. She noticed the effortless way he somehow kept his coat over his lap and wondered how she herself looked. "What's the problem, gentlemen?"

Wes stood by the open car door and looked in. Buffy came around him on the sidewalk and looked in. And blinked.

Angel. Drunk, evidently, because she could smell it from where she stood, three feet away. This was something she'd never seen.

"Uh...Why is he drunk?"

"Ah, well, long story, pet." Spike said hurriedly. "Let's get him out of there and into his own car, shall we?" He grimaced at something on the sidewalk. "At least before he gets sick again."

"Hey, I know." Buffy said. "Why don't Wes and Lorne do that, and you tell me what happened?"

"Uh, now, love, you know...."

The door to the store opened, and Xander looked out, frowning as he recognized everyone, then glaring at Buffy and Spike. "What the hell....?"

"Uh, Xander, what is your problem?" Buffy asked. "Cranky much?"

"Well, I think it's understandable, being cranky, when Spike's car's been there for....how long?"

Willow and Tara poked their heads out, too, goggling at Angel sprawled on the front seat of Spike's car. They each looked around, trying to avoid each other's eyes, but when they glanced at each other, both burst out laughing. Lorne glanced back at them curiously, then caught Xander's annoyed look, and Buffy's desperate-trying-not-to-be-here look. "One big happy family," He said sardonically. "So tell me, kids, how long has Angel cakes been baking out here?"

"We noticed the car earlier." Willow said.

"Yeah, after we came back from the meeting with Deep Throat." Dawn said. She danced around behind the girls and Xander, trying to see around them. Wes and Spike had grabbed Angel by the hands and were pulling him out of the car like sausage out of its casing, and finally Xander stepped forward with a sigh. "Jeez, is he heavy!" He grunted, and then all three, two humans and one vampire, collapsed under Angel's dead weight. The minute he hit the pavement, his eyes snapped open, and everyone took a jump back. There was a confused moment while people who happened to be men wriggled and clambered to their feet and brushed themselves off as far as possible from other individuals of the male persuasion. By the time he was done swiping at his clothes, Xander was practically in the doorway. "Well, looks like Daddy's home." Spike alone looked more disgusted than startled, snapping a match alight to his ever-present cigarette.

Angel blinked up at the ring of faces peering down at him, and tried not to think that alcohol made people a lot uglier. He clambered to his feet, his head throbbing, and looked around till his bleary eyes found Buffy.

"Buffy."

"Angel." She said quietly... Oh, boy, I can just tell this is going to be bad, she thought.

"Can we talk?"

"Sure, but why did you steal Spike's car? I'm just curious here."

"Oh." Why was she asking such an embarrassing question in front of her friends? Was she trying to make him look bad? "I was really really drunk."

"Are, you, ah, sure you're not still intoxicated?" Anya said from the doorway. "Because I can smell it from here."

"Well, I don't feel really good," Angel said dryly.

"Which is consistent, because your appearance isn't very attractive, either." Xander's head swiveled between Anya and Angel, genuinely confused as to whose side he was supposed to be on. Everyone turned to look at Anya, and she beamed, pleased at having said something accurate.

"Look, we really need to talk." Angel said.

"Well, sure, but why couldn't you have called me? What's so important?"

"Look, I need to talk to you now."

"Buff..." Spike started to say. "...y the Slayer,"he finished lamely. "Can I say something first?" Now everyone's head swiveled in his direction. Buffy looked around and counted those heads.

"Yeah, that's a good idea." Angel said. "I'm sure he's got a really good explanation for how all the petty cash disappeared from my office."
Buffy turned a furious look on Spike and grabbed his arm. He stared at her, a wounded look on his face, before she yanked him into the alley a short distance from the door of the shop. Once safely out of sight of the Scoobies, he turned on her with something like despair on his face, but didn't get a word out as she grabbed him and slammed him against the wall and kissed him hungrily. "Doing that to me in the car," She muttered angrily. He pulled away from her and looked down at her.

"What?" She demanded.

"Are you going to ask?"

"Oh, that? Yeah, what's going on?"

"Huh?" Spike shook his head at her. "Are you going to be mad at me?"

"You mean, mad-er?"

"Was is that bad in the car?"

"Yes. Now you're stalling."

"Sure." He stepped forward, eyeing her seductively. He slipped his hands into her back pockets and lifted, pulling her up against him abruptly. "I almost forgot to ask, how does it feel getting older?"

"You're the old fart around here, maybe I should ask you?" He was delaying, and it was starting to bug her, because she'd given him a huge out and it evidently wasn't enough. He released her, touching her chin with one fingertip, sliding along the line of her jaw to the tender spot by her ear, down the collarbone he pressed his head against sometimes when he came shuddering to a stop inside her, and continuing to the upper slope of one breast. With the barest of touches, he traced a trail down to one suddenly hardened nipple, then skidded down the soft bottom curve of one breast to her bellybutton, where he toyed with her innie by swirling his fingertip delicately inside it. Last but not least, he traced the fly of her jeans down to the seam and stroked there with exquisite lightness, not even touching her enough to intensify the sudden hungry tension there. "Feels pretty good." He said quietly. "What do you think?"

"Nice try. One the rare day that I don't give you enough rope to hang yourself, you have to go and...?"

He sighed. "You're going to be mad."

"I will if you keep stalling like this."

"Here." He reached into both pockets and started pulling out huge wads of cash, practically tossing them at her in his eagerness to get rid of them. She scooped them up, holding them to her breasts, staring at him, blank-faced. "What did you do?"

"I figured I could get Angel drunk off his ass and then take his money, but Wesley decided he could use me so he gave me all this."

"You wanted money all of a sudden?"

"For you."

"For...?"

"Can't stand watching you work at that place." He said quietly, not meeting her eyes. He tossed the half-smoked cigarette aside because it gave him a chance not to look at her. "Kills me, it does, even though I'm already dead, makes me die again, seein' you have to suck up to those bastards for minimum bloody wage when you've saved the fucking world four or five.....times." He stopped suddenly, abashed.

"You...?" Buffy's face was completely, utterly blank.

"Whatever he's telling you, it's a lie." Angel said suddenly.

Spike and Buffy both looked at him stupidly for a minute. Spike pulled out another cigarette just to have something to toss aside, but Buffy caught his arm, just a half a second before realizing there wasn't anything worse she could have done. Angel just stared at her hand on his arm, his face full of the sort of bad temper some people get from drinking. Had she known it, she was looking at the same face that had scared Wesley earlier. "How would you know?" She said quietly. "It's been two years since you were around. How would you know what's true or not?"

"What?! Are you defending Spike?" His hands clenched into fists, and Buffy's eyes flew to them. Even drunk, Angel noticed that and consciously relaxed himself. Later would be good. Later he'd have enough time. "God, what did he tell you?"

"Well, you know, Angel, at least he's around to tell me things." Buffy snapped. "I thought it was really nice the way you kept in touch after I came back."

Angel flinched. "Look, Buffy, I'm sorry, but..."

"But?"

"But why are you defending him when he's tried to kill you all those times? When he cleared out my petty cash? You don't actually...Oh, God. Oh, God." He sagged against the wall. "You're not...He's not....You..."

"Why is that your business?"

"Because he's Spike!"

"And here I thought he was the Lost Backstreet Boy." Spike rolled his eyes at that. Some things were too evil even to joke about. Not funny, he mouthed at her.

"All right, then, why is it not my business and my business alone? Why is it your business?"

"Because you don't know him like I do." Angel said grimly.

"Maybe," Buffy said quietly, "You don't know him like I know him." She crossed her arms. "I'm still trying to figure out why after two years it's your business. What about you, Angel? You haven't exactly been sending me reports on your life. What have you been doing? I want to know everything. Then maybe we can talk about how Spike saved my life and Dawn's life while you cared so much about me those two years that you didn't bother to call."

"Cordy's got a baby." Spike spoke up. Both of them glared at him. "Well, catching up on gossip and all..." He ran his hands through his hair again.

"Is everybody in LA trying to keep me in the dark?" Buffy burst out. "I talked to Cordy, why wouldn't she tell me that? I'd have sent a card. Unlike some people," she added darkly.

"Buffy, it's complicated."

"I bet it is." She said grimly. "It's just that whenever stuff gets complicated, you disappear. And if that's not bad enough, you tell me it's for my own good."

Angel flinched. "That might be true, Buffy, but he still stole all that money. What's he going to use that for?"

"Ah, excuse me." Wes poked his head through the entrance reluctantly. "Couldn't help but overhear. Uh, that's not correct, Angel. I gave that to him. As a retainer."

"A...retainer? Spike? For what?"

"Well, with Buffy being so overloaded with responsibilities, it seems to me it would be a good idea to have someone here in Sunnydale who could keep us posted on activities here. And elsewhere." He finished lamely. "Besides, I gave him a receipt." He glared into Spike's eyes. "Didn't. I. Spike. I. Gave. You. A. Receipt."

"No, you didn't, mate, you said it was...Oh. Fuck, yeah, lost the bugger. Horrible with little slips of paper, always think they're for my fags, then realize they. Were. Ah. Important." He looked away to avoid seeing the reaction to his Grade Z acting job.

"See?" Wes said. "Retainer."

"Well, if you don't like Wes giving out retainers, Angel," Buffy said helpfully, "It just seems to me you should discuss that with your staff, not with me."

"Ah." Wes said regretfully again. Angel glared at him. "You see, Buffy, that' s changed as well."

"What?"

"I don't work for Angel anymore. He works for me."

Buffy glared at everyone impartially. Then she took the money, and stuffed it back in Spike's pockets. "I need to talk to Angel alone. Go talk about frogs or something."

When they were alone, she uncrossed her arms, recrossed them, and cocked her head at him. "So? You wanted to talk? Talk. Why is Wes the Boss man now? And if you really want to be part of my life in some capacity, you'd better tell me the truth."

Angel shook his head and looked at the ground, knowing then and there that one of them was screwed. "I'm sorry, Buffy. I can't."

"You're not even going to try?"

"It's too complicated."

"I hate that." She hissed. "I hate it when you do that, you always do that!"

"Do what?"

"You don't even know, do you? C'mon, Angel, guess, what do you think pisses women off?"

"Buffy.."

"You're really good at that, you know?"

"What?"

"Thinking that you're doing stuff for my own good, that you're making some sacrifice for me. But you made me sacrifice you. You left me, Angel, and I didn't want you to, but you left. It was too hard for you, so you left, but you said it was about me. And now you're doing the same thing to me that you always do, you just shut up and say it's best or whatever. I want to know."

"Buffy, that's not what I came here for. You can't trust Spike...I don't care what he's told you."

"And you don't listen to me, either, do you?" Buffy said with something like wonder in her voice. "Where were you when my mother was dying? You didn't even call. Yeah, you came to the funeral, that was nice. But that was all. You can't do this to me, Angel." She started to say something else, then stopped herself, tightening her arms around herself. "You know, you don't change, either. Spike changes. He thought he was helping me when he went to you."

"I...didn't know it was for you."

"Does it make a difference now?"

Angel looked away. "Yes, yes it does. You can keep it. I hope it helps."

She gave him that look again, partly astonished, partly disgusted. "I don't believe you."

"I can't do anything about that, Buffy. Your mind is made up." He turned away from her and stood in the alleyway entrance. "I'm sorry."

"Yes, you are." Buffy said. "I can't believe you're walking away again."

"I have to. You're not listening to me."

"Angel, I loved you." Buffy said quietly. "But until your business is my business, and I get to interfere with what you do the way you do with me, there's nothing to listen to."

He shook his head in exasperation, and went back to the little circle waiting expectantly in front of the store. Buffy followed quietly. Willow eyed her worriedly, searching her face anxiously for clues, but it was Spike who didn't meet anyone's eyes, smoking with his eyes on the ground. Buffy just glared at everyone impartially. "So, Will, anything new on the frogs?"

"We, ah, think it's Hallie." She glanced nervously at Angel and his little entourage as she spoke. "My, ah, source, okay, it was Jonathon, said they'd, well, I don't know exactly what they did but she wound up 'escaping' from them and now she's getting her revenge on nerds everywhere."

"So, once Angel leaves, we'll start looking."

"We're not leaving." Angel said grimly. "We can help."

Buffy stared at him, then said, "Whatever. So we go look for nerds. Where do a lot of them hang out?" She looked at Spike.

"What are you looking at me fo...? Oh, c'mon, Slayer, I know just the spot."

"Xander?" Buffy asked.

"There's place out on the highway that sells D&D stuff, but can I go home first? I need to change."

"Xander, you don't look geeky," Anya said helpfully. "But you could put on your construction man outfit."

"We have to go home for the big, ah, nothing." Willow said. "But, hey, we can call around. We'll help."

"Great."

"Ah, Buffy..."Wesley said.

"Wes, you guys don't have to stay." Buffy said icily.

"No, this could be educational. What can we do?"

"Uh...look for frogs?"

"Will do."

"Spike?"

"Huh?"

"I guess we have to go look for geeks."

"Oh, sure, Slayer."

"Everybody..."

There was a strange moment while they all got themselves arranged and allied; the two witches with Dawn, excited at the prospect of illicit sleepovers; Wes and Lorne waiting for Angel, who gave Buffy one last stare before climbing in the back seat of the car, because Wes refused to let him drive, and Xander and Anya dithering with keys and belongings before driving off. Then Buffy and Spike were alone, leaning against his car, arms crossed, staring at the sidewalk. Long and silent minutes passed by. Guy-like it finally got to Spike and he heaved a huge sigh of capitulation.

Spike looked at her. "You pissed?"

"Yes."

"Why, for fuck's sake? I did it for you, it's not like I've got a bloody fucking trust fund. I can..."

"Can we not do this in public?" Buffy asked quietly. "I've just had about enough today with lying men."

They scrambled into the car, and Spike sat stiffly behind the wheel. "I didn't lie."

"You didn't tell me the truth, either."

"Well, I couldn't..."

"Why?"

"Because you'd have stopped me."

"Why would I do that?"

"Don't want Angel knowing how bad it is for you."

"You are so stupid sometimes." Buffy snorted, turning to him. "Just drive, okay?"

The old DeSoto rumbled into life and they pulled away in silence, Spike nursing a entirely male anger at female capriciousness, and Buffy merely biding her time.

"But, you know..." She said thoughtfully. "Sometimes you can be real smart."

"Thanks."

" Just not now."

"How am I ‘sposed to be smart when...? What?"

"You were right. I didn't want Angel knowing how bad it was. But you never noticed I didn't mind for you to."

Spike stared straight ahead, then dared to look at her. His mouth dropped open in surprise. "Oh."

"And you never asked me who I was pissed at."

"And that would be?"

"Well, right now, it's Hallie."

"For frogs?"

Buffy leaned against him and put her fingers on his arm. When he turned her head to her, she suddenly flowed against him so that he had to jerk the vehicle over to the side. When they finally surfaced from the kiss, she was smiling at him and he was startled witless. "For delay."

"Told you!" Wes said triumphantly. "There is a Barnes and Noble here in this town."

Lorne managed not to roll his eyes. "Well, I'll just sleep so much easier now." He sighed, seeing his impending shower recede ever further into the future. "I've been tossing and turning forever, wondering exactly where..."

Both Wes and Angel glared at him. Two for the price of one, he thought. They were following a trail of frogs to find some PMS demon, when they had a whole city full in LA. Why did it have to be just the one demon? The two of them together were obviously having difficulties, and he quite frankly thought they were asking for more by insisting on specific demons. Hell, they'd managed to find him, hadn't they? Why couldn't they just call it a day already? "So what's the allure of this joint?"

"Ah...Books. Games. A mall with lots of geek-type stores." Wes said, making a tight turn around a batch of frogs that had wondered into the road in front of the Radio Shack. Safely past them, he stopped, put on the four-way flashers, and jumped out. While Angel stared and Lorne gaped, he stepped out into the lights of the high beams and shooed the frogs to safety. Somewhat abashed, but refusing to be defensive, he slid back into the seat, gunned the engine, and pulled into the parking lot to look for a spot. Lorne pitied the hapless 9-11 operator fielding the phone banks just about then. "Uh, yes, sir, but what sort of dumbass was it that rescued all the frogs? A wussy dumbass? I'm sorry, sir, but could you give a description? Did you get a description on the frogs?"

"So." He said crisply. "Why did we volunteer to help?"

"Well." Wesley said. "We've already found you, and I've never met a vengeance demon, so I thought it would be educational..."

"Educational?"

"Yes, Lorne, everything is not about entertainment, I'll have you know."

"I'd like to reiterate my question about puberty, there, bucko. "

"Lorne, really."

"You want education? Hah!" Lorne said as they pulled up in front of the store. He looked out of the window suspiciously. Lots of empty spaces, and in the prized first row nearest the stores, too. Then he heard a 'ribbit.' Down on the sidewalk, a tiny green frog looked up at him, and cheeped again. "Damn." It was sort of cute, now that he thought about it. He glanced around warily, in case somebody could see him looking at the lonely little creature.

Wes got out of the car and looked around slowly, automatically weaving through the frogs at his ankles. "Lots of spaces." He walked out a bit and peered out into the lot. "Lots of rubber, too."

Lorne froze at that statement. "Huh?"

"Yeah," Angel said. "Somebody decided to leave really fast."

He and Wes exchanged glances. "Several somebodies." With that, they headed decisively toward the mall entrance, every bit the Action Heroes, but they only got about four steps before they had to modify their Masters of the Universe strut into a Afraid of Squishiness mince. Lorne composed himself, glancing longingly at the cute little frog on the sidewalk.

Well, Wes needs a girlfriend. He thought. I need a pet.



"Hah!" Buffy said triumphantly. "Willow said the biggest geek hangout is the B&N at that nasty new strip mall. Take a left up here."

Spike smiled to himself as he wheeled the car around. "So..the losers in town hang out at a law firm or something?"

"Barnes and Noble." Buffy corrected. "Lots of well, geeky, stuff."

"Which, of course, you wouldn't know anything about."

"'Course not."

"Oh, of course."

She gave him a sideways glance. "Okay, spit it out."

"Never been a geek yourself, then, is what you're saying?"

"Nope." Buffy shook her head with the confidence of the fashionable and the I-Just-Told-The-Ex-Off. Nothing could destroy her mood.

"It's just that..."

"Spit it out."

Good thing she doesn't have super vamp vision, he thought. She sees this look on my face, it's all over. During the summer that would not end, Dawn had developed a terrible urge to go over memories she didn't, technically, have. Therefore, Spike had been treated to the pigtail phase, the big hair phase, and the scary Stepford Junior High experiment. At the time, of course, it had been awful, seeing a Buffy he'd never known, but now, of course, listening to her blithely deny the existence of Pippi Longstocking hair, it was all he could do not to burst out laughing.

"Nothing, love, nothing."

"There's something."

The something was a purloined photo of Buffy, grinning in a wide, carefree way that he'd seldom seen her do since. She had her hair done up in braids, boasted huge braces on what seemed to be thousands of teeth, and looked so utterly adorable he'd had to ration glances at the photo. This was the Buffy he'd never known, and during all that long summer, he'd dreamed that that Buffy was alive, somewhere, blissfully unaware of vampires and demons and evil. For some reason, it had been perversely comforting, as if he had been preserving something for her that had been utterly impossible.

Now, of course, although he was still fond of the picture, it served almost as a talisman. This Buffy would have a chance at that sort of life, now. This Buffy was his Buffy, and she was alive and well. Of course, she also had a secret past composed of Dorothy Hamill obsessions and Ice Capades fixations but that was no longer a matter of nostalgia, but of carefully-plotted blackmail.

"Oh, sure." She stared out the window, replaying the conversation with Angel in her head. How come I spend so much of my time telling people to stop doing stuff for my own damned good? Whenever they said they were thinking about you, that was a sign that they weren't. She snapped back to reality guiltily. "What?"

"Geeks aren't so bad." He said firmly.

"Because you used to be one."

"That I did, pet."

"How bad could you have been?"

He snorted at her, pulling out the lapel of his coat and displaying it to her. "Look at this. This is a bloody one eighty away from where I was."

She was silent for a moment, the immortal sign of Incoming Question of Death. "And Cecily?"

"You know how geeks are, right, pet?" To his surprise, he could actually hear the bitterness in his own voice. "Always want the one thing they can't have."

"What was she like?" Buffy asked, then hesitated. For his part, he was somewhat surprised to find her at his shoulder, not because of the closeness, but because of the speed with which she'd moved. And then it occurred to him what a luxury it was not to be surprised at the way her chin fit on his shoulder, or even at the fact it was there at all.

"I know what it can be like," she continued cautiously. "And you said you were awfully geeky. And...Cecily wasn't."

"One day, I'll get drunk enough to dig out the pictures." Spike said dryly. He drove on silently, no sound but the breeze through the windows, and the creak of leather as Buffy nudged closer.

"There's pictures?"

"Aren't there always?"

"I wouldn't know." Buffy said archly.

"Wouldn't you then?"

She looked at him for a moment, mystified, then scowled. "Don't look at me, Mr. Buffybot. That was you."

"Right, then, Miss-I've-No-Idea-Where-That-Lighter's-Gone-To."

"Accident. Plus I was pissed off at you."

"Was that what that was?" He tipped a glance in her direction he knew he couldn't get away with in stronger light. He looked at her and saw her the first night, or the second, or the third...

She stared at him in the dark, then slapped him lightly in a very girly way. "That was different."

"Oh, yeah? Why then?"

"Well, you may be the Big Bad in a lot of ways..."

"...Really? Do tell...."

"But when it comes to breaking the news in front of my friends, you are kind of ...impaired. Come stomping into the house in broad daylight, all...'I've lost my lighter.' Slow."

"I thought...." Spike leaned closer to her ear, never taking his eyes off the road. "Funny, I thought you liked that."

She smiled off into the distance, then found her inner Buffy. "So what about Cecily?"

"What about her?"

"Well....What was she like?"

"Actually, she's more tolerable as a demon." He said thoughtfully. "Couldn't bloody understand her as a human at all. I thought she was mysterious. Maybe it was constipation."

"That's awfully mean."

"Is it mean to be accurate?"

"Depends. So how come you loved her?"

"Because I was a twit?" Spike shrugged. "What did I know about women? Me mum, and the others..."

"The others?" Buffy perked right up.

"Me....my sisters, my brother." Spike added slowly. "Much older than me, you know. All married and gone by the time I was your age."

"How old were you?"

Spike actually glanced at her as if he could find this piece of information on her face, honestly bewildered. How long had it been since he'd pulled out these memories? Not since Dru, easily. Only since Buffy had he tried to find his memories of his humanity. "In my twenties. Much younger at that age than somebody today would be. Odd it was. We died so much younger, then, but we were so much younger too. No," he corrected himself. "Not younger. Innocent." He savored the word on his tongue as if it were some exotic flavor he was trying to place. "God, I was so innocent. Worse than Dawn."

"Did you steal stuff, too?" Buffy couldn't help herself, and Spike gave her one of those laughs that the Scooby Gang never heard. "I mean..."

Spike waved her off, amused. "Just wait, pet, just wait. I won't tell Dawn you said that."

"If..?"

"Oh, I don't know yet." He said airily. "I'll think of something."

"So..You. Portrait of the Vampire as a Young Geek. How bad was it?"

"Awful." Spike sighed in earnest, not exactly wanting to tear open this particular wound at this particular time. "Just didn't feel like a man, amongst that lot. And Cecily...I thought she was mysterious, I really did. Thought she saw something in me I could barely see myself. That's what I really wanted, you know? Wanted people to see what I wanted to be, not what I was. Nobody did."

"And you thought Cecily did?"

"Stupid."

"What about me?"

Spike hesitated, all the sounds around him fading into a silent roar. "What about you?"

She dropped her eyes then, picking at non-existent lint on his shirt. "I do, you know."

"Yeah?"

"Yes." She raised her eyes, looking up at him gravely. "Know what else?"

"What?"

"That was our turn back there."



"Well, that was a bust," Xander sighed.

Anya tossed a Cheez Doodle in her mouth and chomped. "Except for the part where you ran in there and shouted, "Where are the frogs? Get out while you still can! I enjoyed that."

Xander climbed into the car with the weariness of a much older man. "I didn't think it was funny."

"Oh, but, it was! Especially when the man in the strange uniform pointed that thing at--"

"It was a tricorder."

"Yes, a tricorder. It was very funny. "Anya sighed happily. "Hallie's always been so good at things like this."

" 'Things like this?'" Xander said. He turned the ignition and tossed his hard hat in the back seat, checking the review mirror for amphibians. "What do you mean, 'Things like this?'"

"Well, this." Anya said. "Obviously, she's mad, but she's not doing actual harm or anything. It's temporary."

"How come you're so sure about that?"

"Like I said, it's temporary. I mean, remember what I told you about us vengeance demons not being allowed to use our powers for ourselves? Even if she's found a way around it, it's got to be some jerry-rigged thing that will fall apart as soon as she stopped being pissed."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Well, there's only one way otherwise," Anya said thoughtfully. "And that would never happen."

"What's that way?"

"Well, D'Hoffryn could grant one of us a wish, but he'd never do that."

"What makes you say that?" Xander stopped at the light, and looked around. Almost no traffic---in their direction. Coming from the new strip mall, however, traffic was heavy.

"Oh, I know he never would." Anya said again. " I mean, I asked him for it once and he refused me, and I was always his favorite. For a thousand years, too. He always liked me best."



"This is like that dream where I'm at the club, and I'm in my underwear." Lorne said queasily. He tiptoed over to a pillar and leaned against it, mopping his brow with a hankie, while Angel and Wes rolled their eyes. "Except worse."

"How could that be worse?" Angel demanded.

"Underoos?" Lorne specified, and the vampire winced.

"How could this be worse?" Angel nodded at all the frogs, who seemed to recognize helpful-minded humans in some scary movie of the week kind of way and were hopping single-mindedly en masse in their direction. It was startling, to say the least.

"They're frogs." Lorne whispered. "At least temporarily, they are. They're kind of helpless. I know the feeling."

Wes shook his foot gently to dislodge and frog climbing on it, and shot a glance at Lorne. "It's okay, Lorne, they'll be okay soon."

"Yeah, but I've met the babe who did this to them. I'm not sure."

They tiptoed forward, and Lorne shook his head at the image they must present to both prospective opponents and clients. While Angel and himself certainly looked ominous, the effect was somewhat spoiled by the fact that he hadn't showered in a day, and felt bad about it, aned Angel actually looked quite dead. Wes, well, Wes was a great guy with the books and the language and the research, but he just didn't strike terror in the heart of anyone...who actually had a heart. Maybe it's the glasses, Lorne thought. Maybe it's time for a makeover. Then he glanced down again. Maybe we just fix all the frogs so we can stop tippytoing through them like Tiny Tim and his ukulele.

They got closer and closer to the big store at the heart of the stripmall, and it became apparent that Wes had been right; occasionally, people ran past, but mostly they were wending their way through frogs, with the occasional snake for good measure. Wes wondered privately at those. Was that some feature of the spell? Or was it some feature of the victim? Visions of research danced through his head, and he mentally made a list of his references, stopping only when Lorne saw his eyes glaze over with book-lust, and poked him sharply. "Knock it off," he hissed.

"You knock it off," Lorne said. "We need you here in reality, not La La land."

"I'm here, I'm ready, I'm---"

They had reached the entrance to the huge store, and from within came a huge roll of smoke that boomed out over htem and made all three duck. "...ready." Wes said faintly.

They slipped inside, past New Releases, past Staff Recommendations, (Wesley snorting at a copy of something that offended him) past Travel, past Foreign Language, where he lingered at the dictionaries for just a moment, till Lorne grabbed his collar and yanked. They reached Literature and Fiction, just around the corner from Games and Media, and all three cowered behind Poetry for a moment, while frogs hopped past briskly.

"Well, that's all of them here,"came a female voice.

"Yes, I guess so. How disappointing." There was a pause. "Still don't remember precisely what they looked like?"

"Awful hair."

"Anything else?"

"Just...geeks." The female voice said again, sounding regretful. "They're all the same."

"Well, then, we're done here."

"Oh, bugger," Wes breathed feverishly. He took a deep breath, visibly puffed himself up, and stepped out from his hiding space. Both Lorne and Angel cringed tighter against the books.

"Oh, look," Hallie said. "Another one." She looked significantly at the demon next to her, and D'Hoffryn sighed and started to search the pockets in his robe.

"I thought you were done." He complained. "I put it away."

"I just like to be thorough." Hallie explained.

"I completely understand." Wes said politely.

"Oh, you're English? Where from?"

"Oxford. You?"

"A long time ago." Hallie said coquettishly. She reached up and patted a stray hair into place.

"Certainly not that long ago." Wes blurted out. D'Hoffryn snorted at this and glanced up skeptically as he turned a pocket or two inside out. Balls of lint drifted to the floor.

Hallie shook her head at D'Hoffryn and realized it was her turn. "I really should have known, just by the manners alone, that you weren't from here. Americans are so rude."

"Almost as bad as the Irish." Wes agreed. "So, would it be rude of me to enquire as to..?"

"Oh, this?" Hallie's little hand wave, no less flirtatious than her earlier hair primping, encompassed an eerily deserted store and a sea of frogs. "Well, I'd like you to know I was extremely provoked."

"Really? Sometimes, it can be helpful to discuss it."

"Oh, well, what's the harm?" Hallie glanced at D'Hoffyn again. He was patting himself distractedly, looking for pockets he'd forgotten about. "I was kidnapped."

"Really?" Wes was genuinely startled. Granted, she was in human face now, but he couldn't imagine..."That's awful." He stepped forward, so as to be able to lower his voice. "Were you hurt?"

"Not physically." Hallie sighed, packing a lot of just-because-I'm-a-demon-did-I-manage-to-get-away into those five syllables. "But it was terrible."

"And because of the shock, you can't identify them."

"And who'd listen to a demon?" Hallie added. "Nobody believes us. You know what I heard someone say?"

"What was that?"

"Demons ask for it." She shook her head mournfully. "It's just terrible." Next to her, D'Hoffryn jerked suddenly, and yanked a slender dowel of wood out of his pocket. Wes' mouth dropped open.

"A..wand? You're using a wand?"

D'Hoffryn shrugged, refusing to be embarrassed. "I like the way it looks. I've read all the Harry Potter books. I always wanted to be a wizard. Oh, well." He looked at Hallie. "This one, too?"

"Sorry." Hallie said. "But I can't make exceptions."

"Well..." Wes hesitated.

"What?"

"It's just that....do I really look like a geek?"

Hallie looked him up and down. "Well, not as much as the others, but, you know, it just wouldn't be fair. You know how it is."

"Certainly. It's just that, well, really, shouldn't you..?"

"What? Shouldn't I what?"

"Well, I'm not denying I might have once been a geek, but shouldn't you be more scientific? Perhaps develop a questionnaire?"

Hallie looked startled. "You know, that's an awfully good idea. Now why didn't I think of that?"

"Shock, probably." Wes said quietly. "I understand. I've been abducted myself."

"Really? How bad was it?"

"I was tortured." Wes aid truthfully.

"Oh, dear. Hm." Hallie turned thoughtfully away and contemplated the shelves of books next to her. "So a questionnaire? I like that idea." She took a deep breath. "What was the significance of the Federal Fair Credit Act?"

"I beg your pardon?" Wes gulped.

"The Federal Fair Credit Act. What, for example, was its significance for women?"

"I'm sorry, I'm a bit..."

Hallie sighed regretfully, and Wes stepped forward, holding up both palms placatingly. "No, I just wanted..."

"Sorry, I have to be fair." Hallie stepped aside, and D'Hoffryn raised the wand.

"No, I just wanted to ask one question!" Wes blurted out.

"And that would be?"

"Which one?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Which one?" Wes whispered. "The British or the American?"

Dawn looked wistfully out the window, and heaved a huge Life's-unfair sigh. Behind her back, Willow and Tara tried not to look at each other. The sound of frogs coming in through the window was very loud.

"Dawn?" Willow asked tentatively.

"Janice is still in the bathroom?" Dawn plotted strategy. Damn. Be careful what you wish for, indeed. How long had she wished for this?

"Yes?"

"Oh, it's just funny, you know, pulling one over on Buffy, but it looks like she got the better thing."

"Huh?"

Dawn flopped down on the couch. "I just can't win. I get to have Janice over, but there's demons and stuff."

"Maybe they're...." Tara thought frantically for a moment. "Maybe they're gooey demons. With mucous. No fun at all."

"Maybe." Dawn said softly. Willow flopped down on the couch next to her.

"Gooey demons are not fun, Dawn." She said seriously. "Not even dry-cleaning helps. But, you know, maybe we could sort of study up on demons."

Tara eyed her over Dawn's bowed head, not quite sure what she was up to.

"Why? What's the point?"

"Well, Buffy, uh, had to read about lots of demons and stuff so she could, ah.... fight them. So maybe if you read a lot, not only can you avoid the messy ones, you could, ah..." She tiptoed to the border of the cliff of Not-My-Business, and peered over its edge. "And, ah..." Tara shook her head frantically at her over Dawn's head. "You can't do anything unless you know what you're dealing with. Like magic!" She said suddenly, as a thought struck her. "See, I had to study years before I could do magic. So, if you start now..."

"But you can't do magic now." Dawn pointed out.

"Yes, but that's because I didn't study enough." Willow countered. "I rushed into a ...lot of stuff.... that I shouldn't have. See? I just didn't study enough."

"Really?"

"Yeah, really?" Tara asked skeptically.

Willow glanced from one to the other, all dewy innocence. "Of course. There's just nothing you can't fix by studying."



"Oh, look, parking spot."

"Yeah, an asphalt oasis in a sea of frogs." Spike said dryly, but he pulled into one right in the front row. Even after a hundred-odd years as a vampire, several wars, all the continents, getting a front-row parking spot still counted up there as a major victory.

Buffy was mildly startled to find him abruptly at her door, opening it for her with don't-you-dare-say-anything-bravado. Vampire speed, with that added Spike touch. Every now and then he did that, reminding her that he was still a vampire. She cocked her head at him as she climbed out. The sidewalk was full of frogs, but the parking lot wasn't, which made her wonder uncomfortably how much of their personalities they still
had. "Look." She pointed out. "They're avoiding the parking lot."

Spike squinted. "Well, most of them are. Don't suppose that---" he gestured at a spot that Buffy, thankfully, couldn't see. "Don't suppose that could be Warren, could it?"

Buffy sighed wistfully. "I don't think we're that lucky."

Spike shrugged. "Survival of the fittest, then."

"Ew."

They maneuvered their way into the mall, sidling past frogs that blocked their way in huge groups. Buffy wondered how many former classmates were among them, and she almost took off her shoes for a minute, so she wouldn't hurt any of them. They seemed to be avoiding the parking lot, which meant that they must understand the concept of frogs + cars = inadvertently amusing obituary. "How much do you think they understand?"

"Smart enough to stay away from cars." Spike considered. "Smarter than Angel with a hangover, I'd guess."

"Stop."

"I'm not doing anything at all." He glanced at her sideways. "So?"

"So what?"

"So? What do you think, so? Why did he come here? I don't even know."

Men! Buffy thought. Always jealous.

Women! Spike thought. Millions of women out there who'll jabber on till you want to stuff a sock in their yap, but no, I've got to fall in love with a Slayer, no less, who had problems with...

Buffy really tried to be angry, something that would have been easier several days ago, but she was mentally shaking her head at Spike instead. It was far more entertaining. He was jealous of Angel? She stopped, looking down at her sandals, and the frogs who hopped closer, as if hoping to attract her attention. It was oddly...touching. She was certain there was still some capacity for reasoning there somewhere, otherwise, why would they be avoiding the cars, and crowding around her?

"Spike..."

"Yeah?" His voice was rather muffled, as he made quite a show of turning his back on her to nudge frogs aside with his boot.

"Angel and I talked. He thinks it's a bad idea, you and me."

You and me, Spike thought. You and me in the same sentence with an and.

"And I told him that it was none of his business anymore."

He blinked at her. "Just like that?"

"Well, there was more, too." She glanced down, at the frogs now gathering around her feet. "But we can talk about it later. You know, in detail."

"In detail."

"Yeah, you know, old boyfriend gossip. Always fun."

Spike just stared at her, mouth open, till Buffy finally reached out, grabbed both lapels, and jerked him toward her. Miraculously, the frogs hopped frantically away just in time to avoid being squashed, and when she kissed him, it was in a frog-free zone. "Just cope, okay? Would you relax?"

He shook his head at her, some of his old swagger returning, and managed a smirk. "Not around you, luv. Never around you."



"Well, up until the passage of that particular bill, an Englishman could legally marry a woman, strip her of all her property, sell it---and her---and then leave her with nothing. Her relatives could write wills, but women who were alone were essentially helpless, because what was to prevent unscrupulous people from..."

D'Hoffryn, sitting in one of the easy chairs with his face propped up on one hand, sighed loudly, and Hallie glared at him. "Yes?"

"Uh." He straightened up in his chair. "It was ah, the radishes, for lunch." He beckoned, almost regally, at Wesley. "Go right ahead." Hallie turned eagerly back to the conversation.

"And the American?"

"Well, did you know, that up until the Seventies here in the States, it was very similar? I admit, I'm not as up to date on the American situation as I am on the British..."

"Oh, of course." Hallie murmured.

A snort came from somewhere in the region of the Harry Potter section, where D'Hoffryn had stealthily migrated was now pretending to be bored. Hands clasped behind his back, he blinked as both Hallie and Wesley eyed him impatiently. He patted his chest. "Radishes. Terrible thing, middle age."

"You're only three thousand and seventy two."

"Yes, but I have a far more active life style than my father did, and now I have arthritis."

"Well, then sit down." Hallie said. D'Hoffyn slumped back into a chair with a sigh.

"Well..." Wesley said, having lost his chain of thought. "Where was I?"

"Americans." Hallie said helpfully.

"Oh, yes...." He cleared his throat. "Would you mind if I got something to drink?"

"Oh, of course." Hallie smiled at him. "I wouldn't mind something to drink myself."

"They've a cafe here." Wes said thoughtfully.

"Oh, a cup of tea would be lovely."

Wes hesitated, then offered her his arm, which she took. Neither one paid any attention to D'Hoffryn, who was once again propping up his face with his palm, or to Angel, who was hiding behind one of the bookshelves, and who started quite violently when they passed by him, chatting amiably so amiably that he barely registered. They stopped talking for a moment while Angel collect himself, then detoured around him as the deserted café appeared at the end of the bookshelves. "You know, I haven't had a good cup of tea in ages," Wes said.

"Americans don't really appreciate good tea." Hallie dropped her eyes, then looked up at him. "You have to realize, it's unusual to find a man with your interests?"

"My...? Oh." Of course it is, Wes thought. She's too tactful to blurt it out. "Ah. Yes. My mother."

"Was your father...?"

Once again, he felt a curious stab of curiosity at her tact, so at odds with what he knew of her. He decided on something daring. "You, ah, aren't going to call me a mama's boy, or something similar, are you?" It was risky because it might very well backfire.

"Why would I do that? I don't think there's anything wrong with that."

"Well, not if it's my..."Ah. He reminded himself. Primary motive here was to rescue all these poor frogs, not swap secrets with the demon responsible for their being frogs. "Ah, look, I wonder if they have tea."

Hallie eyed him curiously, noting the abrupt shift. "It's the frogs, isn't it?"

"I.beg your pardon?"

"The frogs, right?"

"Oh, that." Christ, Wes thought. Now she gets to be blunt. "Ah, well..."

"Well, you know, they abducted me."

"All of them?" He asked weakly.

"Well, no." She dropped her eyes. "That was D'Hoffryn."

"Who did abduct you? Do you know?"

"I don't like your tone." Hallie said tightly.

"You almost turned me into a frog!" Wes exclaimed. "I think my tone's understandable." They glared at each other, and it was Hallie who looked away.

"They tied me up." She said quietly, studying her shoes.

"I'm sorry."

"Are you?" She asked skeptically. "I mean, really?" She smiled at him wryly. "Don't think I don't know what you're doing, by the way. I just wanted to believe it for a while."

"I wasn't..."

Hallie gave him a look that was almost kind. "You don't want to be a frog. Does anyone? But, still, it was sort of charming..." Wes gave an enormous twitch that, had he been able to see it, would have reminded him exactly of Spike's earlier in the kitchen. "Oh, relax." Hallie clucked at him.

Wes found himself flushing with embarrassment. Of course, he actually had been a little proud of himself for fooling her, and now oddly enough, he was ashamed of himself. Made him no better than the rest, really. Made him no better than all the guys he didn't want to be like, and actually, made him worse, because he knew what it felt like to be on the receiving end. "You're, you're, um, right, actually."

"I know."

"But not about all of it. You tell me then, you've much more experience than I do, what does a man do? My father..." He swallowed. "If I don't want to be like him, other men call me a---a---and then---and women say, 'how sweet.' So, seriously, would you mind explaining how I do this? Because quite frankly, I'm out of patience with the whole thing."

"I...what?"

"Well, it seems I'm perilously poised between being a geek and being a brute, and I'd really like to know what you want."

"If you knew, would you care?"

"Of course I would!"

"You're just saying that because I'm a demon."

"Partly." Wes swallowed, then steeled himself. "But you're not a demon right now, are you?"

Hallie cocked her head at him, startled. "I think I'm both."

Wes snorted, almost exactly as D'Hoffryn had. "Sometimes, I have to think, what woman isn't?"

Spike stopped, and held up his hand. "What's that?"

"The sound of you whispering?" Buffy whispered back, which got her a raised eyebrow and a disgusted look.

"No, that."

They both, stopped, and listened. Laughter. A woman's laughter. The frogs around their feet actually seemed to cower. Buffy glanced wistfully at Spike, thinking, My line of work, where the sound of a woman laughing doesn't mean amusement, it means impending amphibious disaster.

They tiptoed forward cautiously, Spike reaching back and grabbing her hand. He stopped, suddenly, stiffening and straightening, and drew himself up to his full height. Then he pounced around the corner of the bookshelf. "Well!"

Angel leaned against the bookshelf and examined his fingernails. Slowly, deliberately, he looked up, steadily regarding Spike for one long moment, then Buffy. His eyes dropped to where they held hands, and Buffy deliberately tightened hers. Angel sighed. "I wish there was a way I could make you listen to me."

"Well, sign the adoption papers, because you're starting to sound more and more like my dad. At least when he was around." Buffy snapped. "But you already act like him, because you're the one always taking off. Do we have to do this all over again?"

"It's got to be settled, Buffy, because you're making a big mistake."

"No, you made a mistake." Buffy had to drop Spike's hand to plant her hands on her hips, but Spike didn't mind, because then he could flop into one of the armchairs and watch an impossible fantasy come to life in front of him: Buffy arguing with Angel. About him. . Better than Man U, he thought happily, and wished for a beer. "You left me. I really liked the card, by the way."

Angel shook his head, puzzled. "What card? I called you, I came to see you."

"The card that said, "Gee, happy you're back from the dead. How are you doing? Oh, that's right. You never sent one. Why did you bother coming, Angel? I mean, that meeting...." She looked away. "You want to know why I'm so pissed off? No, you don't, you just don't want me to be pissed off any longer. You don't care what's going on with me, it's just when I do something you don't like that you get interested."

"Buffy..."

"Angel, you have your life, I have mine. You can't come in here and tell me what to do when you haven't exactly been keeping up to date on what I've been doing this whole time. And it's not like you call me up to chat."

Connor, Angel thought uneasily. But that's different. She wouldn't understand.

"Look, Buffy..." He glanced at Spike. "Could we not do this here?"

"In front of Spike? You were the one who came up here and wanted to lecture me about my life. The life that you don't have any interest in at any other time, by the way. I had to find out about Cordelia's baby when it's, like, months old!"

She was paying attention, Spike thought, and sighed happily. Then froze in horror because Angel glared at him and Buffy gave him a look he simply couldn't define.

"Oh." Angel muttered, glancing at the floor. Cordelia's baby, he thought. "Well..." Christ, now what? He tried to imagine telling her the truth, and the mental image this produced was so horrifying that he had to look away from her.

"The only way it would be okay for you to do this would be if we were chatting on the phone all the time. Like adults." Buffy said uncomfortably. "You know, grown ups. And...talking about stuff that's going on, so it's not such a shock. You can't come charging up here and..."She crossed her arms, and looked up suddenly, startled. D'Hoffryn had ambled over, and was now glancing expectantly from one to the other.

"So, do any of you want revenge, or are you just going to keep going over it over and over again?"

"We're done." Buffy said quietly.

"Buffy..." Angel said, half in warning, and half pleading.

"All right, Angel." Buffy said. "I'm done. I've done all the changing I'm going to do. It's your turn now. When you want to actually talk to me, you know, back and forth, then we'll talk." All that was missing, Spike thought, was Buffy dusting off her hands with a great flourish of finality. He almost felt sorry for Angel, but the self-preservation in his character made him profoundly relieved it wasn't him on the receiving end of Buffy's wrath.

"Hallie!" D'Hoffryn shouted. "Where are you?"



"Oh, hell. He's so impatient." Hallie said irritably. " You know why he's so mad? He just refuses to learn how to set the VCR, and then he gets cranky when it's time for one of his shows."

"Do I want to ask?" Wes asked.

"No." Hallie whispered. "I don't want to know, but I have to. He has this awful fascination for this show ...." She shook her head at The Show That Dare Not Speak Its Name, and Wes let it go. They both got up from the table, and Wes picked up his teacup and put it near the cash register, using it to anchor the money for the tea. Hallie glanced at him rather sharply, then at the money, then at the way he put her teacup next to his.

"You know, I have to ask..."

"About?" She prodded hopefully.

"The frog thing."

"They can't be allowed to do that to a woman. If Anyanka were still a demon, she could have handled it, but really...."

"But these aren't the frogs who...the men who actually did this to you."

"I can't find the ones who did it, though."

Wes thought about it, sighing as he went over the options in his head. He computed expenses, gas, mileage, and came up with a plan. "If I help you find them, will you release these?"

"You'll do that?"

"Yes." That didn't sound firm enough, perhaps because of the monumental ambivalence he was feeling, so he tried it again. "Yes, I will."

"That's very sweet." She said, and Wes winced.

"Could you pick another word? My y chromosome just shudders when someone uses that word."

"All right, then." Hallie said. "Very nice."

They stopped at the bottom of the steps to the cafe, and looked around for a clue as to where they'd been. Wes listened for voices, and grabbed Hallie's hand and pulled her in that direction. Hallie looked down at her hand, and then gave him another one of those curious glances, trying to reconcile his appearance with his actions. He hadn't shaved in a while, and he was wearing old jeans, but he had the sort of manners that came from kindness, and it just didn't seem to fit together. But his hand felt very nice.

Wes stopped, and looked around, glancing up over the tops of the bookshelves, and checking for any sign of what was going on. He noticed Hallie's look and explained. "Oh, smoke, you know, that sort of thing."

But without smoke signals, they were forced to follow the voices, which sounded like they were bickering. Finally they rounded a corner and found themselves confronted with the sight of one elderly vengeance demon, slumped in a chair with his face in his hands, staring at the floor, Spike flipping through a volume of Byron's poetry, and Angel leaning against a bookshelf while Buffy pawed through a book furiously on the other side of the area.

"Well." Wes said loudly. "Here we are."

"So, to frog or not to frog?" D'Hoffryn asked eagerly, sitting up straight and shooting a glance at his watch.

"We've reached a compromise." Hallie explained. "I get my vengeance, and anybody who didn't kidnap me gets de-frogified."

Everyone exchanged glances.

"Huh?" Buffy said. "How are you going to do that?"

"It's going to be, ah, um..." Hallie searched for a word. "Well, seeing as how I'm a justice demon, you know..." She glanced around modestly, as if expecting a response. "I should be more... just. So I'm going to concentrate on the actual guilty parties."

Great. D'Hoffryn thought. This is a volume business, and I have an IRA to think of.

"You're going to find the trio?" Buffy asked.

"I promised to help." Wes added modestly.

"Wow." Buffy said. "Freebie."

"I beg your pardon?" Wes asked.

"You have to find the trio. I've been looking for them. Does this mean I get a day off?"

"Well, you drove me up here." Angel said. "I guess I'll have to..."

"Take a train." Buffy interjected.

"You said I can't tell you what to do, but?"

"Give it a rest." Buffy said quietly. "You promise, Hallie?"

"I promise."

"Then I say, we party."

Buffy had experienced lots of uncomfortable silences in her life. For example, there was the one that had occurred after she'd reluctantly admitted to her mother that she'd slept with Angel. Then there had been the tiny moment of silence with which she had contemplated her death. Her second resurrection had prompted its own share of silences, too, as her poor, tired, brain tried to come to terms with what had just happened to it.

But, really, for vivid, uncomfortable silences, the one that descended over their little group at the shopping mall after all the geeks in Sunnydale had dashed for cover, really deserved the prize. There was Angel's glowering silence, Spike's cheeky gloating, and Wes' visibly nervous consternation. Hallie alternated between looking bored and looking at Wes, while D'Hoffryn was eyeing his wand with a mixture of disappointment and betrayal. Lorne just leaned against Angel's car, buffed his nails, and looked expectantly from face to face. "So, Superfriends?" He drawled. "Now what? And I expect to hear the phrase, 'Lorne gets to take a shower at my place' figure heavily in the next few sentences." He glanced around the twitchy little group, making sure he glared into everybody's eyes before, at last, he caught Hallie's eye. "You're a vengeance demon, right, sweetie?"

"Well, I prefer just---"

"Whatever. Listen." He looked around firmly. "Listen up, because hell hath no fury like a hygienically frustrated member of the Deathwa clan, okay? I want to take a shower. I must take a shower, or I will lose my mind and run amuck.Do I make myself clear?"

"Uh, not exactly." Buffy said. "But... my place?"

"A party, too, you said?" Lorne asked.

"Well, did the last one count?" She asked, rather annoyed at the implication she was some sort of party person.

"Why wouldn't it?"

"Well, it's hard to get into the party spirit when you're actually trying to prevent a real party from breaking out."

"I see your point. So, will there be music?"

"Uh.."

"Let me be specific... Will there be music that I, and I alone----because I know what these two listen to when nobody's around--- can pick through and save us all from the horrors of boy bands?"

"Hey." Wes said defensively. "I've been told I have very good taste in music."

"You do have great taste in music, that's the problem." Lorne said agreeably. "You know I think you're a great guy, Wes, even if you do iron your boxers. But---"

"Hey!" Wes said again, this time flushing.

Hm. Hallie thought. Boxers?

Oh, God, Buffy thought. Watcher underwear. I'm too old to have childhood trauma.

Humans and underwear, Spike thought.

"But while 'Ode to Joy' is, in fact, great music, and good for air-conducting, it is not, in fact, dance music. So I and I alone will be in charge of the soundtrack."

"Definitely." Buffy said with great relief.

"Well, then, let's go." He poked Angel, who was standing as if he'd been turned into granite. "That means you, too, gorgeous. The only thing between me and my shower is your, ah, attitude." He raised an eyebrow at Hallie and she smiled to herself in a way that made Wes visibly straighten up and look at Lorne.

"Well, then, I say we have the ingredients for a party." Buffy said brightly.

"Alcohol would be good, too," Lorne said. He opened the back door of Angel's car, sliding in and laying one arm with perfect nonchalance out the window. He looked from one to the other, but everyone seemed frozen. Only D'Hoffyn perked up, blinking at this indication of progress and exclaiming, "Shotgun!" Nobody else moved.

"Just give me one of those." Spike muttered, and Buffy poked him.

"I heard that."

"Sorry. I'll whisper next time."

"Right." She glared at him, in what he correctly interpreted as a 'just-wait-till-we're-alone' glare. Fine with him.

"Buffy... " Angel said.

"Not now, Angel." Buffy said quietly.

"Get some beer, Oxford, would you?" Spike said, but Wes was eyeing Hallie as he slid behind the wheel of the car. Hallie, now looking a bit bored that Lorne had evidently decided against vengeance, slid in from the other side and crossed her arms over her chest, staring straight ahead. D'Hoffryn plopped in next to her and slammed the door enthusiastically, caressing the car with appreciation.

"Such a nice model." He glanced around Hallie at Wes. "What year is this one?"

"Oh, I don't know." Wes said apologetically. "Angel, what make is this car?"

Angel climbed in the back seat with Lorne, not bothering to answer D'Hoffryn, but taking the time to give Buffy a long, thoughtful glare.

"Uh, Buffy... " Wes said cautiously. "We're sort of crowded. Could you and Spike... .?"

"Sorry, Wes, we've got an errand." Spike answered for her. The fact that he spoke for her irritated her, as did the fact that he'd said what she'd wanted to before she'd thought of it. Not a chance on sharing the car after that last car ride, she thought. Not a chance.



"Well, that was Angel's car." Anya said.

"Angel and who else? Was he driving?"

"Someone scruffy looking, but not Angel." Anya said thoughtfully. "It looked crowded, that's all I could really see."

"Well, I said I was sorry I got lost."

"It's okay, sweetie. I understand about not asking for directions."

Xander risked a glance over at her, despite the speed he was going, and the amount of irritation he was feeling. She was placidly looking out the window, utterly unbothered by the idea that something might have happened to Buffy. In fact, she would probably be glad if something did happen to Buffy. He felt instantly guilty at the thought, then irritated again at his guilt, then guilty all over. He reached out and squeezed her hand as penance.

"Xander... " She said.

"What, sweetie?"

"Could you slow down? I know you want to get there, but I think whatever was going to happen has probably happened by now. There must be a reason we saw all those naked Star Trek people."

"A Star Trek streaking convention?"

"Well, maybe it was a gay Star Trek streaking convention." Anya said thoughtfully. "Because I didn't see any women."

"You didn't look too disappointed."

"Oh, I know what you mean."

"Huh?"

"You just think I liked looking at all those strange men's penises. Hm." She said thoughtfully.

"Huh? No, I do not. It's fine if you... " Xander stopped himself with an effort. "I mean, it's not okay if you look at... but if you did, I wouldn't mind... because... ..because... ."

"Oh, Xander, it's okay. You know there's only one penis I want to look at, and it's yours." Anya beamed proudly, incontestably certain that she had finally Said The Right Thing.

"That's nice to know." Xander said quietly, but he was abruptly irritated again, and he didn't know why. He didn't want to discuss whether or not his fiance wanted to look at the genitalia of strange men, and it made him irritated that he was having a conversation in which the word 'penis' figured heavily. Having such a conversation with a doctor was one thing; having such a conversation with Anya, however, in which the appendage in question belonged to another man, or other men, made him feel so confused that his head hurt.

His silence continued too long for it to be comfortable, and he glanced over guiltily at Anya. She was looking at him with wide, puzzled eyes, and guilt won out over irritation. "You know what, An?"

"What?" She asked in a tiny voice.

"Angel's left; I bet Buffy has, too. Let's just go and figure out what's going on, okay?"

"Okay." She said softly, still looking at him. Yes, let's find out what' s going on. She thought. I wish I knew.



"Payback's a bitch." Buffy said.

They were pretty much all alone in the parking lot, and they were eyeing each other over the roof of Spike's car.

"And you're telling me this because... ?"

"Because of all the stuff you were doing to me in the car."

"You helped." She flushed abruptly at the memory of feeling him beneath her hand, hardening beneath fabric...

"Well, still... ."She said lamely.

"Don't distract you with facts?" He speculated. With that, he climbed in the car, reached over the seat and shoved her door open, not yet sure enough of her mood to actually do his opening the car door routine. She peered in at him, and that with vampire fast timing, he grabbed her and pulled her in.

"And those would be which facts?" She demanded, wriggling, but he let her, because it was becoming very clear very fast that she was only giving him a hard time. She maneuvered onto his lap and looked down into his face. He raised his hand, hesitating, and then traced her cheek with one fingertip.

"This fact," he whispered. Another fingertip, this time on the other side of her face, resting the back of his head against the head rest, looking up at her with serious, solemn eyes. After the shenanigans in the car, she felt a curious mixture of disappointment and excitement. "And then there's the fact you liked it." He murmured, looking steadily into her eyes. And that was, in fact, true. She couldn't argue with that one. However, there were certain rules to be upheld about behavior, not that she knew what they were, and didn't really care, because she was just screwing with him to get back at her for firing her up in the car.

"Yes, but... "

"Bugged you, being in front of those two, didn't it?" He asked suddenly, looking down, and not, she saw, at any part of her, so conveniently close.

"Well... ." Whoops, what just happened? She thought. He's all serious? Huh?

She stared at him, so puzzled her mind went blank for an instant. Oh, crap, he believed me. She thought. How come none of the others... ? What is it with guys, anyway, they always believe all the wrong stuff... ? She studied him curiously, assessing the abrupt mood swing. Not your typical guy mood swing, either. Those tended to take the form of, 'Oh, it's not you, it's me,' and usually involved the male half of a duo making an exit. What a pretense. Pretense. She looked at him afresh. With Angel, it had been pretense, on whose part, she wasn't entirely sure. Parker had had so many, she still wasn't certain he had his own personality at all. And then Riley... .What was the difference between pretense and defense? She shook her head for a moment at the many varieties of male obtuseness before simply grabbing his face with both hands and kissing him till he was the one who pulled away, rather mystified. "Duh, already, okay? Boy, men."

She called me a man, Spike thought.

"This whole timing thing of yours." She looked at him. "Birthday party, remember?"

"Always an appropriate present, that." He grinned at her.

"Maybe it's impeccable, who knows? But your timing? Seriously sucks."

He wrapped his arms around her waist, sliding his hands slowly against her skin, while she slid hers around his neck. Parking lot, she thought. Parking lot, bright lights, and who knew when all the fleeing shoppers would return? But also... . hands against skin, denim against denim, the slow tempo... She pressed her face against his, and he sighed into her throat. "Timing, is it? Care for a demonstration?"

Buffy frowned at him for moving away, tightening her arms around his neck and not moving anything else. "I have a houseful of demons coming over."

"This is different from the other day how... ?"

"Actual demons, as opposed to hormonal demons."

"Didn't stop us before."

"One of the demons being Angel."

"Great." He said sourly. "I don't know how I'm going to recover from that." Actually, I can think of several good ways to recover from that.

"Dawn's sleeping over at Tara's."

"I feel better already. Hey, the sooner we get there, the sooner they're gone, right?"

"Right." Buffy agreed.

They looked at each other. "I guess... " Spike said reluctantly.

"I have to move, don't I?"

"Well, just for now... ."

"Good point."



"Uh, thanks, Spike, 'preciate that." Tara said uncomfortably.

"Spike?" Dawn squeaked. "What's going on?"

"Yes, that was Spike. Ah, Dawn, stay away from the window, okay, sweetie?" Tara sat down a shade too precisely and smoother her robe over her knees. "It seems the nerd problem has been, ah, well, I don't know if I can call it solved... ."

Willow cleared her throat at that impatiently. "You know, I don't know if that's what I'd call it, sweetie."

"I'm sorry?"

"Well, you know, oh, nerd problem. What problems do nerds really cause, anyway?" She exclaimed. "I mean, really, what's wrong with being all serious about punctuation and---and---spelling? They really didn't do anything, well, except for Warren and his, his, whatever--- and I don't think you can really say it was something they... " Dawn and Tara both eyed her as if she'd sprouted another head, and both heads were having a conversation in front of them. "Okay, shutting up now. What, ah, what happened?"

"It's got to be something in the water here." Tara sighed. "You know how some people answer a question with a question?"

"Like this?" Willow demonstrated.

"Yes, like that." Tara smiled at her. "Well, uh, it seems that D'Hoffryn needs a few more classes in wand management because when he turned all the nerds back into humans... "She grimaced again.

"So what does that have to do with answering a question with a question?" Dawn asked.

"Well, okay, that's just what it made me think of." She said absently. "You know, fixing one bad spell with another bad spell."

"What do you mean... bad?" Willow asked delicately.

"Well, ah, something went wrong." Tara said dryly. "Somewhere. Somehow. And wand using is kind of a lost art, anyway. Don't see lots of people using them much any more. It's just that when D'Hoffryn turned them all human again, he must've left out part of the spell, because they came back... without their clothes."

Dawn's eyes widened and she jumped back from the window sharply. "Okay, then."

"How come you guys all look like that?" Janice said from the hallway.

"Sometimes," Willow said, "You just have to look like this."

"Well... " Dawn frowned thoughtfully. "I bet that'll make finding the nerds easier."



When did I grow up?

Seeing Angel sitting on the top step of her porch, his face in his hands, jerked Buffy back to high school, to innocence, to possibility. Seeing him vulnerable, so attractive to someone whose job description included the very antithesis of the concept, ricocheted her back to Senior Year, to things like cheerleading and pep rallies. Odd that a two hundred year old vampire could do that to her. Odder still, that despite her irritation, she found a certain longing for innocence, when his every kiss had been a revelation, when every touch was a conquest. What happened?

She lingered so long in the doorway that he felt her, and he stilled, lifting his head from his hands. She raised the beer she had impulsively grabbed by way of explanation. He shook his head wryly in answer. "I've already done my drinking for the week."

"The week? Really? That's impressive."

She was standing in the doorway, his back to her face, and it took her a while to interpret the body language of his bowed head, his stiffened shoulders. I loved you, she thought. But would I love you now? Another part of her brain whispered, and with sorrow, she calculated all the killing, the wars, and the deaths. Who was he, now, and who was she? What solace he had once been had changed into distraction. He had been a refuge, but now he had become a complication.

Oh, God, my life. She thought. Vampire. Slayer. Vampire with a soul. Slayer. Capulet. Montague. Cubs. Yankees. What else? What better? They stared up at the stars together, and it was Angel that finally looked down, and tried to find a way around the lump in his throat. "I'm sorry."

She wanted desperately to wipe away the distance, to go back to innocence, to lay a hand on his arm, to offer some comfort, but it seemed like a retreat. He should be sorry said one part of her brain. Shouldn't we all? Said the other.

Instead of touching him, she looked at him. It was the defeated slump of his shoulders that got to her, and made her move through the door to him, rather than away. Men, she thought. Who knows what goes on in their heads? Who cared if he was right about Spike? She was an adult now, and he had no business giving her orders when he gave her nothing else.

She'd often suspected that vampire hearing was so good he could practically hear her thinking, standing in the doorway, so when he sighed and looked up, she wasn't surprised. She held up the beer she'd brought with her as an excuse---one of Spike's, actually----and asked, neutrally, "Run out of things to say?"

He grimaced at that. "Afraid to open my mouth, actually."

The thought struck her that he felt this was unreasonable, that he blamed her for it. In more than two hundred years, he'd evidently seldom felt the need for self-reflection, but she saw for the first time the self-pity that Spike hinted at. She brushed it aside and charged in. "So what's really pissing you off?"

He glanced at her, startled. "Well, when I told you that, before... "

"No, that's not what you're pissed about. What is it, really? Every time somebody tells me they're pissed off about something, it's never the thing that they're really mad at that they talk about." Except Spike, came the thought.

"I really didn't want to intrude." He said quietly. "Your life... "

Buffy tamped down the anger that flared up, then took a deep breath and threw caution away anyway. What, is he going for a prize or something? She thought furiously. "God, men." She said with great precision. "You didn't want to intrude? Yeah, sure. You don't want to intrude when it really would have been a big help, and you do want to when it's just a pain in the butt."

"It's Spike, Buffy. It's Spike. I've known him for a hundred years. I made Drusilla, and Dru made him. He doesn't have a conscience, he doesn't have a heart, and he doesn't have... ."

"Enough.You know what? We're not going through all that again." Well, okay, she thought. Except for this part. "Angel, I don't want it to be like this. And by that I mean, I didn't want you telling me how to live my life---" She stopped and swallowed, hard, to keep the words, 'when you weren't interested in helping me live it,' inside her. They sat on her tongue but after all she'd already said to him, she just couldn't add that to the pile. She looked at him, and tried to feel sixteen again, but there were too many deaths between that Buffy and the Buffy she was now. There'd been too many funerals, including her own, too much mourning rushed through and glossed over, and too many wounds that hadn't so much healed as they had hardened. It had all changed her, sometimes in ways she didn't like. Maybe he just didn't change; maybe he was beyond it. The thought came to her, then, that if she had just met him, it was possible she wouldn't fall in love with him. They'd loved each other when everything had seemed possible for her, but when things had become impossible, he had not been there at all. She had been sixteen when they'd met, after all, and he had been the same man he was now. She had been the malleable one, but looking at him now, she couldn't think of a single time he'd gone against his judgment for her; always the other way around. The only time she'd ever talked him out of something he supposedly wanted to do was the suicide attempt that Christmas.

When you can't die, what are the st