Gold and russet leaves were drifting with the gentle autumn breeze on a warm October afternoon in Sunnydale that day. Buffy snuggled more deeply into her peach wool throw and took another sip of steaming tea as her hazel eyes inspected the landscape through the window. Everything was peaceful. Peaceful and quiet. Very quiet. In fact, she realized, it was too quiet.

With a muttered curse, she heaved herself out of her favorite, comfortable chair by the window and shuffled back to her room. After flipping on the light switch, she fumbled through her bedside table until she retrieved the item she had forgotten once again: her hearing aid. She looked around her bare little bedroom, which was painted what had once been a cheerful shade of yellow but had since aged to a rather sickly manila, and plopped down on the bed. Her one, tiny window threw a small ray of sunlight across half of the faded blue floral bedspread.

“Summers, how did you ever wind up here?” she said aloud to no one. She had developed quite a habit of talking to herself. Perhaps it was because she so rarely had anyone else to converse with.

Suddenly, her Slayer instincts, what was left of them, kicked in. She knew beyond any shadow of a doubt that someone was watching her through the doorway behind her.

“Look, Larry, I already took my medication today,” she replied in her cracking voice without even bothering to turn around. “Why don’t you go see if Mrs. Bunston is trying to drag race with Mr. Kemp again? Ever since she got that souped-up electric wheelchair, she’s turned into a contender for the Indy 500.”

For a long moment, there was no response. Then, so quietly that she could barely make it out, she heard again a voice that she still knew at once even though it had been sixty years since the last time she had heard it.

“Hello, Buffy.”

Her breath caught for a moment, and she was overwhelmed by a rush of different emotions, all of them terribly confusing. Swallowing hard, she turned her head and saw him standing in the shadowy doorway.

“Angel?”

Time had, of course, done nothing to him. His handsome face was as smooth and youthful as it had been when she was sixteen. Warm brown eyes were smiling at her without a hint of the many years of existence they had seen. His hands… she remembered now that she had always loved his hands… were the same as they had always been, like perfectly sculpted white marble. He smiled at her in greeting, a smile full of affection.

“No,” she whispered under her breath. “No, you can’t be real. I’m dreaming again, and when I wake up, I’ll be alone.”

“I’m very much real,” he said as he moved towards her and sat down on the half of the bed that was still in shadow. The springs creaked slightly under his weight, and Buffy turned away from him with tears in her eyes.

“What is it?” he asked gently, concern making his velvet voice even more tender than usual.

With a small sob, Buffy stood up and covered her face with her hands, preparing to run from the room. Angel caught her by the arm and stopped her, pulling her close to him and wrapping his arms around her, enfolding her form completely as she began to shake with tears.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” he urged as he placed a gentle kiss on the top of her head.

“What’s wrong?” she responded, sounding unmistakably bitter. “Don’t you mean what isn’t wrong? Angel, look at me! Would you even have recognized me if you saw me on the street?”

She stepped back from him and waited. His eyes took in the orthopedic shoes on her no longer dainty feet, the sixty or so pounds she’d put on, her liver-spotted hands, the wrinkles that radiated from her eyes and lips, the thick glasses that covered her eyes, and the short, steel gray hair that hung limply around her face.

“I would know you even if I was blind,” he chided her. “And none of this matters. You’re still as beautiful to me as you ever were. Maybe even more so.”

She choked back a bittersweet laugh. “You’re lying. But you lie pretty well for an old, dead guy. So, why are you here? I’ve been retired for about forty years now, so if there’s some big nasty to be fought, you’ve come to the wrong place.”

He shook his head. “I just came to be with you.”

Buffy blinked her eyes in surprise. After all this time he just showed up on her doorstep? Part of her said she should be angry with him, but the other part of her quickly told it to shut up. From the moment he’d stepped into the room she’d felt the old bond between them. Never, not for one day of her life, had she ever stopped loving him.

“Tell me about yourself. It’s been a long time,” he said as he sat back down on the bed. She perched herself on a small chair that stood in a corner of the room facing him. “What have you been up to since I saw you last?”

This time Buffy really did laugh. “You mean since that night out in the desert after I came back? Well, let’s see. Willow and Tara, I don’t think you ever met her, wound up as life-partners. I was godmother to the two children they adopted: Crystal and Rupert. Giles was pretty pleased about that,” she said with a wistful smile. “They’re both married now and have two kids apiece. I call them my grandchildren.”

“And Willow and… Tara, is it?” Angel asked. “How are they doing?”

“Willow passed on about fifteen years ago, and Tara followed not long after,” Buffy replied with a catch in her voice. “I still miss them every day. Especially Willow. I never would have guessed that the girl I met on my first day at Sunnydale High being pushed around by Cordelia would turn out to be a friendship that would last so long.”

Angel nodded silently. “She always was a special girl. How about Xander?”

Buffy’s face took on a pained expression for a moment. “He died not long after the last time I saw you. A Grogoth demon got him. It was going after his girlfriend Anya, who was pregnant at the time, and he managed to kill it but…” her voice drifted away.

Angel reached out a hand and stroked her arm comfortingly.

“The baby was a girl. Anya named her Alexandra, and who became absolutely smitten with the little darling but your own grandchilde Spike. Geez, he doted on her. Spike actually fell in love with Anya and ended up marrying her, something I will never get over until my dying day,” Buffy said with a laugh. “He brought up Xander’s daughter as if she were his own. Spike and I stayed good friends for the rest of his life. When Anya died five years ago, though, he didn’t handle it very well. He started trying to kill every evil demon in a fifty-mile radius, and he managed it pretty well until the last one got him, which was probably what he wanted. The population of nasties is still way down thanks to him. Idiot. I miss him,” she mumbled.

“And Giles?”

“He moved back to England about a year after Xan died. He visited Sunnydale a lot, though. He finally found a girlfriend and got married when he was forty. They never had any children, but he was very happy. He died at ninety.”

“Dawn?”

“She’s living in Miami Beach now with her husband. I call her every Sunday at six. After the whole Glory-Key business nothing ever really went out of the ordinary for her again.”

“What about you?”

“Well, for starters, I’m the first recorded Slayer who lived long enough to retire. When I was about thirty-eight, my powers started to decrease. Two years later, another Slayer was called up even though I wasn’t dead. Unbelievably, the Council appointed me as her Watcher. Which was nice, because I was really sick of working the Welcome Desk at Wal-Mart.”

Angel laughed whole-heartedly. It was a wonderful sound, one that she didn’t remember ever having heard before. “I bet you were a great Watcher.”

“Anita might tell you otherwise. But, hey, she’s currently alive and kicking and training her own replacement, so I couldn’t have been too bad. But what about you? What’s been going on with your end of things?”

“Oh, Cordelia surprised the heck out of everyone by marrying Jonathon, the kid you went to high school with. They’ve had so many children I’ve actually lost count at this point. There’s Ali, Joe, Ryan, Kate, Stephanie, Angela, Eleanor, Nate,” he listed as he ticked them off on his fingers. “I’m forgetting somebody. Oh, wait! The weird little one! Joss!”

Buffy’s eyes were huge. “Cordy actually agreed to get fat nine times?”

“Well, some of them were adopted. I always forget which ones. And, happily, so do they. I’m godfather to three of them. I’m guessing you know about Wesley?”

“He was the head of the Council for almost thirty years. Retired to Tibet with his wife, didn’t he? What was her name again?”

“Annabelle,” Angel answered. “Yes, he’s still living in a little village over there.”

“Anyone else?”

“A couple of my co-workers got married: Gunn and Fred. I don’t think you ever met them. They died a few years ago,” Angel said.

“So, you’re still carrying on the good fight back in L.A.?” she asked.

Angel gave her a little smile. “Yes and no. I’ve kind of gone through a few changes.”

Angel and changes didn’t necessarily go well together as she recalled all too clearly. With a tiny bit of suspicion, she gazed at him warily and questioned, “Such as?”

Very slowly, so as not to frighten her, he stood up and walked deliberately into the sunlight. Absolutely nothing happened to him. Her jaw dropped.

“You’re not on fire,” she said in disbelief. Then a realization struck her. “And I didn’t invite you in.”

Angel shook his head and gave her a wink. Buffy, however, was not the least bit amused. In fact, she looked positively livid.

“Now! They do this for you now?” she actually yelled as tears began to stream down her weathered face. “The Powers turn you human when it’s no longer even vaguely possible for us to be together? Do you know how many years I hoped and prayed for this to happen? For us to finally live happily ever after? There was never, ever anyone I loved the way I loved you. Eventually I just gave up trying to find my soul mate because I knew I’d already found him, and he was the one man I couldn’t have. I tried to remember I was lucky since so many people never experience love at all, but,” she began to sob, “but now, to dangle this in front of me, what I wanted for so long, and we can’t…” Her words broke off raggedly as he knelt beside her and touched her hand.

“Shhh,” he comforted her. “No, Buffy, you’ve got it all wrong.”

“But, you are human now, right?”

“No.”

The answer startled her so much that she actually stopped crying. “You’re still a vampire?”

“No again,” he chuckled.

“You’ve completely lost me,” she said with more than a hint of exasperation in her voice.

“Buffy, do you remember what we said that last time we saw each other so long?”

“How could I forget. We were both so torn apart by what had happened that we decided we wouldn’t see each other again unless we never had to say goodbye. And now you’re finally here, but it’s too late,” she half-whispered. Then, a sudden thought sprang into her mind. “Angel, if you’re not a human, but you’re not a vampire, what exactly are you?”

His smile became absolutely dazzling. “You might say my name has become particularly appropriate.”

“Angel?”

“Bingo,” he smirked.

She blinked as she tried to figure out exactly what he meant. Taking pity on her, he filled her in.

“Two years ago, I was battling a Fresnek ogre when it threw me out a twentieth story window at one o’clock in the afternoon on a particularly sunny day. At least there was no mess for anyone to clean up afterwards. Instant ashes.”

“You’re dead? So what are you doing… here…” She looked at him as realization dawned on her.

“They let me come to be with you when it happens.” He took her hand in both of his and kissed it softly. At the same moment, Buffy felt a sudden weight settle over the center of her chest and her breathing became labored. “It’s a heart attack, Buffy. I know it’s painful, but it’ll be over in a few minutes.”

“Stay with me,” she gasped out, terrified in spite of herself.

“I’m not going anywhere without you,” he promised as he cradled her head tenderly against his chest. “You’re not alone.”

She gripped his hand with the tiny bit of strength she still possessed as her rib cage seemed ready to burst from the pressure. Everything was spinning, and she felt as though she were about to black out. With a great effort, she managed to speak.

“I love you,” she said so softly that even a vampire’s ears wouldn’t have heard her. But Angel’s did.

Suddenly, the pain stopped as abruptly as it had begun. Angel had never let go of her hand, and now, once again, he brought it to his lips as he silently guided her to her feet.

It was then that she noticed her own hand. It was now smooth and white and slim, the hand she had possessed when she was a girl. She glanced down and saw the same white dress she had worn so many years ago when she had defeated the Master, her body once more young and perfect.

Angel’s eyes were filled with tears of happiness as he brought out of his pocket the same claddagh ring he had given her on her seventeenth birthday. He looked at her, and she smiled at him with just as many teardrops in her own hazel eyes aso once again the ring was placed on her finger, the heart pointing towards her.

“My soul mate.”

With that, he grabbed her around the waist and spun her through the air, her long blonde hair fanning behind her, the walls of the dingy retirement home and her discarded body melting away like snow in the July sun. He set her back down and kissed her, their lips moving together with a bliss neither had ever known in life. Then, with a grace she didn’t know he possessed, Angel slipped one hand around her waist and caught her right hand in his left. He began to dance with her to a waltz played by the stars that had begun to come out, and as they whirled to the heavenly music, each step brought them higher into the air, leaving the earth behind.

“You know,” he whispered into her ear, “you have a whole lot of friends waiting to see you.”

Buffy gave him a mischievous smile. “I think they’ll understand if we’re a little late.”

They were very late, indeed.

The hustle and bustle of moving things from the Hyperion to the new staff quarters at Wolfram & Hart was beginning to reach chaotic proportions. Of course, Lilah had smoothly offered a moving service to the Angel Investigations crew, but all of them had immediately turned her down with a choral “No!” There was no possible way the mass of evil lawyers were to be trusted with their personal effects.

Currently, Gunn, his truck laden to bursting, was making his fifth trip to the new building. Wesley was at his own apartment, boxing up his books and weapons, and wondering why on earth he had a bucket in his closet. Fred had decided it was high time for someone to get lunch, and she had headed out on foot to the Mexican restaurant down the block, intent on bringing back enough food to feed a starving army.

Angel and Lorne, the Hyperion’s only occupants for the moment, were still going through their rooms, packing up the last of their belongings. Lorne had just found a whole pile of old 45s he hadn’t realized had even survived the explosion of Caritas. Grinning madly, he pulled out a small turntable he’d already stowed in a crate, plugged it in, and was just about to fill the air with the sounds of the Temptations when he became aware of Angel shuffling around in his own room on the other side of the hallway. The tired sound of the footsteps gave Lorne pause enough to think maybe Motown would be out of place just now.

Lorne knew Angel had been in a strange mood lately, quiet and sullen. Well, he supposed, that really wasn’t all that new. It would be far more alarming if Angel had suddenly started wearing chartreuse and doing a snappy soft-shoe routine, but still, Lorne was bothered that he couldn’t quite put his finger on why the vampire seemed so withdrawn. The demon had told himself a thousand times that he should just let this group work out their own problems without sticking his nose in, but his nose seemed to have a mind of its own. Well, technically, his nose did have a mind of its own, but Pylean anatomy aside, he cared about these kids, and that included the quarter-millennium-old kid across the hall.

Sucking in his gut and painting on his happiest grin, he sauntered into Angel’s room with a cheery, “Hey, ya big apple dumplin’, have you happened to see my orange and pink top hat lying about anywhere? Can’t seem to find it.”

Angel looked up at him with an odd expression on his face. “I think I’d remember seeing that if I had, and no.”

“Hmm, drat,” the demon said, coming fully into the room and watching Angel’s progress in packing. “Thought maybe you’d borrowed it, but it was probably Wes.”

Angel stared at him, but the demon just winked, willing him to smile even a little. No dice.

“I’ll let you know if I see it,” he said, turning his back and folding what appeared to be Angel’s thirty-fifth black shirt.

“Angel, honeybun, do you even own something in a non-neutral tone? A red, maybe, or a nice sunny yellow? I mean, just the color wouldn’t make you catch fire, would it?” Lorne asked as he noticed the predominately black, gray, and, oh yes, still more black wardrobe that was still scattered around the room.

“No, Lorne,” he answered, but whether it was to if he owned anything vaguely cheery or if yellow had vampire-incendiary properties, Lorne couldn’t tell.

The green demon frowned slightly, then looked at the bottom of Angel’s closet and broke into a wide grin at what he saw. Sitting there as though waiting for Angel to sit down before bed with a friendly book were an obviously comfy, wildly fuzzy pair of shockingly pink slippers.

“Well, now, those are definitely a step in the right direction!” Lorne said, bending down and picking them up.

“Those aren’t mine,” Angel said in a slightly offended tone. “I assumed they were yours. I’d put them aside to give back to you but hadn’t gotten around to it. What are your slippers doing in my closet, anyway?”

“My slippers? Au contraire, big boss, these little footsie wraps aren’t mine, though they are adorable!” Lorne said as he examined them.

It happened in a flash. One of the slippers opened up a very large pair of toothy jaws and lunged at Lorne’s hand, missing only by millimeters.

“GYAH!” he yelled, dropping the remaining one to the floor and jumping in a swift movement onto Angel’s stripped mattress. “Demon slippers!”

Angel stared in disbelief at the flamingo-colored pieces of fluff that were currently circling the room and making noises not unlike Smurfs on acid. They also had the disconcerting ability to run up the walls and across the ceilings, and one of them had decided to attack Lorne from above.

“Hero-type person!” Lorne shouted, swatting at the creature as it attempted biting his horns. “You wanna get your derriere in gear over there! Not exactly a damsel in distress, but definitely in need of some rescuing!”

Breaking out of his stupor of shock, Angel grabbed a nearby umbrella (color: black) he’d been about to shove into a box and tried spearing the fluffy menace with it. To his surprise, it grabbed the umbrella with a pair of previously unseen tentacles and began whacking Angel about the head.

“Good!” Lorne hollered. “You’re distracting him great!”

“Great?” Angel yelled back, narrowly missing a sharp thrust of the umbrella’s wooden handle at his heart. “Are you insane?!”

Meanwhile, the slipper’s mate took a mighty leap and began eating Lorne’s baby blue satin shirttails.

“Get your incisors off my Isaac Mizrahi!” he screamed in a war cry, whirling around quickly enough to throw the slipper off with centrifugal force.

The slipper, however, was undaunted, and came back again, paying close attention to Lorne’s ankles. Angel continued to battle its twin as it stuck a series of holes into the mattress he was standing on, filling the room with a blizzard of feathers from the rips. As ridiculous as it seemed, they appeared to be losing.

That’s when the second unexpected thing happened: Lorne’s adversary, by nipping sharply at his ankles, had gotten the green demon hopping from foot to foot. As he raised one foot, the slipper hurled itself at it, quickly sheathing his foot so he was now wearing the slipper on his left foot.

“What in the name of Manolo Blahnik!” he cried as the slipper began moving his leg around in what was unmistakably the opening steps of a one-legged Can Can. “Angel! Help!”

“Kinda having problems of my own here,” he grunted as the slipper made a particularly vicious jab with the umbrella handle, knocking Angel onto his back, then performed a rather impressive back flip off the ceiling, coming to rest at his feet and forcing itself onto his right foot.

Before Angel knew what was happening, the slippered foot was making him hop across the room to where Lorne was currently doing a one man version of a kick line, which abruptly became a two man kick line as Angel found himself compelled to link arms with the demon and mirror his steps, though in the opposite direction since he had on the opposite shoe. Consequently, Angel and Lorne were kicking the heck out of each other’s shins.

“Ow! Watch it!” Lorne shot angrily as the vampire’s foot connected with his knee.

“You think if I had any control over this at all I’d be doing a scene from Moulin Rouge with you right now?” Angel growled at him.

Helpless, the two of them kick-ball-changed their way down the hall and towards the main lobby of the hotel, fighting and losing to the demonic slippers every step of the way. It wasn’t until they were within sight of the balcony railing above the lobby itself that they realized two things and exchanged horrified looks, neither of them sure which was more terrifying: the fact that the slippers were obviously going to hurl them down the steep stairs to at least one of their dooms, or that the others had returned and were talking cheerfully in the lobby below.

Angel looked skyward and mumbled between high kicks, “You really hate me, don’t you?”

“Uh, Angel-cakes,” Lorne asked, a tremble in his voice, “any ideas?”

“Just one,” Angel said. “Hang on tight!”

With that, Angel did the last thing slipper one, slipper two, or Lorne expected and used his free leg to leap over the balcony railing and out into thin air, covering the ten-foot distance to the large chandelier hanging above the lobby. There they swung, clutching the swaying and decidedly ancient lighting fixture, their feet still attempting to dance though they were dangling in mid-air.

Wes, Gunn, and Fred looked up, their mouths agape in shock at the spectacle above them.

“Man,” Gunn finally said in an awed voice, “y’all the weirdest bunch of people I ever been around, and that includes the homeless guy my crew bunked with that one summer who thought he was Madonna.”

“Wes,” Angel said, attempting to regain his dignity in spite of the fact he was hanging off a chandelier, wearing a fuzzy pink slipper, and Can Canning better than Nicole Kidman, “the slippers are cursed. You want to try to find a way to break the spell before the electrical cord pulls out of the ceiling and we plummet twenty feet?”

Wes blinked a moment at the odd picture, then seemed to realize he wasn’t watching an extremely odd episode of reality TV. “Right. I should have a book somewhere in the office that will do the trick,” he said, dashing out of sight.

Fred continued to look at the two of them swaying precariously above, her brows knit together in disbelief, apparently completely unable to speak, a taco still stuck in her mouth.

“So,” Lorne said conversationally to Angel as they continued to dance sporadically, occasionally bashing their limbs into various large crystals on the chandelier, “how about those Lakers?”

Angel sighed heavily.

It took Wesley just under half an hour to find the proper spell to make the demonic possession leave the slippers, allowing them to fall harmlessly to the floor. Apparently, one of their old enemies had not only tried to kill them, but had tried to do so in the most laughable way he could think of. Unfortunately, it took Gunn an additional hour to find a ladder tall enough to reach the chandelier. By that time, Lorne had gone through half his repertoire of the greatest hits of the 1970s and was just belting out a lovely rendition of the Carpenters’ “Close to You,” which Angel had disturbingly found himself singing along with under his breath.

About three weeks later, Angel walked into his office one morning to find a large gift bag on desk. Cautiously, he reached inside and produced…

With a surprisingly high-pitched shriek of terror, Angel grabbed a battle-ax off the wall behind him and proceeded to hack the fuzzy pink slippers into fluffy oblivion. Finally satisfied that the slippers couldn’t possibly do any more damage, he sat back, exhausted.

“Um, boss?” Harmony asked, poking her head through the door, “Everything okay in here?”

“Fine, Harmony, fine,” he said. “Get maintenance to deliver a new desk up here though.”

“Righty-oh,” she said cheerily, disappearing though the door once more. He could almost hear her roll her eyes.

It wasn’t until that moment that he saw the envelope, chopped neatly in half now, sitting on top of the remains of his desk calendar. It should have been rather hard to miss considering it was brilliant orange and had his name written on it in blue glitter pen. Carefully piecing the contents back together, he groaned. It read:

Angel-Crumpet,

You still DO need some color in your wardrobe, so I got you these. Don’t worry; they aren’t inhabited by anything nasty. And thanks for the dance, Twinkle Toes!

Stay fabulous,

Lorne

Angel buzzed Harmony on the intercom.

“Yeah, boss?”

“How soon am I due for a vacation?”

“Right then. Let’s get a few things straight right off the bat. First, you ever tell anyone about this and I’ll make sure your mum finds out. Got it?”

“Yeah. Mouth sealed.”

“Second, you put the tiniest scratch in my baby, I’ll…” he paused to think of something the chip would actually permit him to do that she would find unspeakably terrifying, “… I’ll run your training bra up Sunnydale High’s flagpole.”

Her eyes widened in horror. Chip or no chip, he thought smugly, he still had it.

“Okay, okay, no dings.”

“Finally, you do exactly what I say. Don’t give me any lip. Clear?”

“Fine. Let’s get started before your list lasts until sun up.”

He rolled his eyes. How on earth had he ever gotten himself into this? The Slayer, he thought glumly. She’d asked, he’d jumped at the chance to impress her, and that had wound him up right where he was now: giving Dawn her first driving lesson.

“’Kay. Put the key in the ignition,” he coached her. Inside, he whispered a silent prayer to whomever or whatever might be willing to protect his precious De Soto. Please, he internally begged, don’t let this child turn my pride and joy into a pretzel.

“Which key?”

“Little one next to your thumb.”

“What are all these other ones for?” she asked, examining the dozens of keys that jingled from the ring.

“They’re the keys to the rooms where I left the bodies of annoying little adolescent girls who pried into my private business. Now stick the bloody key in the bloody ignition!”

“All right, all right, don’t get your knickers in a twist,” she said, unaware she was starting to talk like the blond vampire. She shoved the key into the ignition and turned it, making the huge black car growl into life. Wow. She’d done that. Cool.

“This concludes our lesson,” he said as he attempted to take the keys back.

“What?!?”

“You learned to start the engine. Good enough for day one. Tomorrow, if you’re lucky, you learn how to work the windshield wipers.”

Dawn stared at him in disbelief. “The windows are all painted black. What would washing them even do?”

“Now that you mention it, not a lot. On second thought, no lesson tomorrow.”

That did it. Her glare made her look almost as demonic as Angelus in a full rage.

“We. Are. Going. To. Drive.” She said, enunciating each word so clearly that they were like stakes in the vampire’s ears.

“Oh, all right! Don’t get all psychotic on me.” Spike looked around the vacant lot he had chosen as the safest possible place to entrust his De Soto to a fifteen year old. There were no buildings, no trees, no other cars… in fact, nothing at all, considering he had driven her out to the middle of nowhere. What trouble could she possibly get into? “Step on the brake and shift from park to drive.”

Dawn promptly hit the gas and switched to reverse, earning an angry groan from the car and a surprisingly high-pitched scream from Spike.

“Not that one! The other one, you nitwit!”

Panicking, she threw the car into neutral.

“Hit the brake when you wanna change gears. The brake! THE BRAKE! THE OTHER BLEEDING PEDAL!”

“Ooops,” she mumbled. “How was I supposed to know which was which?”

“Any idiot knows where the brake is!”

“Well this one doesn’t,” she said, starting to tear up. “I’m doing the best I can!”

Spike sighed. Yeah, that’s exactly what you want to do, mate: give the Slayer’s kid sister an inferiority complex while she’s behind the wheel of your car.

“Look, I’m sorry I snapped, nibblet. Let’s try this again. What do you know already about driving?” he said in what he hoped was a reassuring tone.

“That’s the headlights, right?” she said, pointing tentatively.

“No,” he said as gently as he could, considering his teeth were gritted. “That’s the cruise control.”

“Oh. Well then, is this the headlights?”

“You’re getting warmer. That’s the windshield wipers we were talking about earlier,” Spike intoned, wishing like mad that he’d managed to get the keys away from her the first time.

“Um, here?”

“Yes, that’s them. Go ahead, turn ‘em on.”

She nervously flicked the lights on.

“There you go! You’re startin to get the hang of it already. Dru was with me for over twenty years in this car and she never figured out how to do that.” She beamed happily. Spike suddenly remembered something and made a mental note that he needed to remove some of Dru’s more colorful mementos of past victories from under the seat. He’d been wondering what that smell was.

“Okay, since you’ve figured out the brake and the gas and the headlights and windshield wipers and the cruise control, what do you reckon that is?” he asked, indicating something to her left.

“Uh, turn signal?” she ventured.

“Got it in one that time. Push down for left, up for right.” Maybe if I just keep introducing her to all the gadgets, she’ll forget about making the car actually move, he thought hopefully. “Now the radio’s over here…”

“Spike, I can turn on a radio. I want to drive.”

So much for that theory.

“Just take it very, very slow. Now, step on the wider pedal. Good. Now move the lever to D for drive. Right. Now ease off the brake and…”

“And hit the gas,” she said happily. Her foot stomped on the accelerator, making the car lurch forward at almost sixty miles an hour.

“WHOA! WHOA!” Spike had automatically slipped back to his years as a mortal, yelping at the car like a horse that had shied and was starting to bolt. “Easy there! Let up on the gas and press the brake down slo…” she practically put her foot through the floor in her attempt to stop. The car lurched to a halt violently, making a series of offended noises and throwing the occupants forward. “...ly.” For once, he was glad he was actually wearing a seatbelt. His head going through the windshield couldn’t kill him, but he was thrilled that the glass hadn’t shattered.

“You’ll need to work on being a bit more delicate, pet. You don’t have to jab your foot down to the pavement like Fred Flintstone to get her to stop. Just take it slow and easy.”

“Since when do you watch the Flintstones?”

“What’d you think I do all day long? Don’t need as much sleep as humans do. Just think about not wanting to dirty your shoes on the grunge on the floor of my car.”

“What is that stuff anyway,” she asked warily, looking at the filthy floor.

“Whatever you’re thinking, you’re probably right.”

“Eew,” she whined, wrinkling her nose up in disgust.

Spike grinned. Honestly all he’d done was spill a cup of coffee a few weeks ago, but he was happy that he’d finally found a way to get her to ease up.

“Alright then, you’re going to try making a right turn. Ease off the brake, there’s a girl. Now put your turn signal on.” Good, she’d remembered where it was at. “Now, remembering all the nasty stuff under your tootsies, give her a bit of speed.”

With surprising delicacy, she managed to give his darling just the proper amount of gas to get her moving.

“Now, start to turn the wheel to the right.”

What happened next took a few moments to recover from.

“Okay,” he said in a very shaken voice. “You made three mistakes there. First, you turned left.”

“But the bottom of the wheel was going to the right…”

“Pay attention to the top of the wheel only. Second, you don’t have to spin the wheel like you’re a contestant on The Price is Right shooting for the ruddy dollar spot.”

“Check. Little movement better than big movement. Gotcha.”

“Finally, you once again hit the gas as though your foot was made of iron and the pedal was a magnet. Remember, icky, eewy floor.”

She nodded.

Dawn had, in fact, almost succeeded in getting them airborne, tearing the car in half, and yanking the wheel out of the steering column in one fell swoop. What she had actually accomplished was driving completely in a circle and tearing massive amounts of turf out underneath the wheels.

“Spike, I hope you don’t think I’m a wimp or anything, but would you mind if we called it a night? I don’t think I’m up for this just now.”

He was about to literally stand up and cheer when he suddenly realized something. The tone of her voice told him she was extremely discouraged and very possibly would never be getting into the driver’s seat of any vehicle ever again. Come on, he told himself, the kid’s had it. Get out of here, ditch the demonic driver, and take your car back to the safety of your garage. Unfortunately, that tiny little voice that had been causing him so much trouble lately wouldn’t stop its yammering.

“Fine, little one. But before that, I just want to see you drive once, in a straight line from here to,” he looked around desperately for a landmark, “to that tall bit of grass over there.”

She looked at him in shock. “Really?”

“Yeah. Give it one more go.” When her gaze shifted back to the windshield, he quickly crossed all his fingers, his arms, his legs, and as many of his toes as his Doc Martins permitted.

With a look of determination, Dawn gently lifted her foot from the brake, tapped lightly on the gas, and steered the car forward with tremendous concentration. Another twenty feet… fifteen… ten… five…

“I did it!” she shrieked gleefully as she pressed on the brake and shifted back to park.

Her wild triumph didn’t quite cover the other sound from Spike’s vampiric hearing. It was a low, soft, hissing noise. Practically ripping the car door off its hinges, he collapsed onto his belly to survey the damage.

“What’d I do? What’d I do?” Dawn kept repeating in a terrified whisper.

Spike’s eyes rolled up in his head. Nails. There were at least five rusty nails imbedded in the right front tire. They’d been hidden in the high grass when he’d scouted out the site for any possible problems earlier that night. He sighed and patted the car’s fender sympathetically before returning to Dawn.

“Not your fault, pet. We’ve got a puncture.”

“Can you fix it?”

“Got a spare in the boot.”

“The what?”

“The trunk. You’ll have to get out a second.”

His strength meant a jack was unnecessary, and within moments he had replaced the tire. He wondered blandly if he could get the Slayer to pay for a replacement, then decided he shouldn’t push his luck. He threw the already nearly airless tire into the trunk, then turned his attention back to Dawn.

“Hop in. Let’s go home.”

“I’m sorry,” she managed to squeak out before completely dissolving into tears.

“Now, now, none of that,” he said awkwardly. Oh, why not. It wouldn’t be the first lie he’d even told. “You didn’t do so horrible.”

“I didn’t know where the brake was, I didn’t know right from left, and I made your tire blow up!” she sobbed miserably.

“Yeah, well, still not as bad as my first time out.” She looked up in curiosity. “Don’t ask. There were farm animals. It wasn’t pretty.” He neglected to mention that he was referring to his first time riding a horse. There had indeed been farm animals, but they had merely gazed at him stupidly while he tried to make the old mare do something other than stand there like a very large, rather smelly rock.

“Really?” she sniffled.

“You’ll get better. Just takes practice is all. Now come on; let’s get you home before that sister of yours puts a bounty out on my head for kidnapping.”

Twenty minutes later, the car pulled up in front of Buffy’s home. Dawn scurried out the door and around to the driver’s window.

“Thanks Spike. You’re the greatest!” she gushed before dashing up the front steps.

“Yeah, tell the Slayer that, will you?” he muttered under his breath after she was safely out of earshot. Then he turned his attentions back to the car. “Come on, precious, let’s get you back to the crypt. I’m so sorry, baby. Did she hurt you? Can you ever forgive me?”

He continued to apologize to his car the entire way home and wound up sleeping on the floor next to it in the garage out of pure, mind-numbing guilt.

A month had passed since the debacle with Spike had outed Willow’s relationship with Xander. Giles had watched the fallout from the painful revelation with silent anger and sympathy. The group had been split, probably permanently so. Willow and Xander both seemed honestly remorseful for what they had done, and they were getting the support they needed from Buffy. Cordelia’s plight was much worse. Hospitalized, emotionally crushed, and ostracized by her popular “friends,” she had become bitter. Giles had made an attempt to see her, only to have a vase of tulips thrown at his head, shattering against the door, as she yelled, “I don’t want to see any of you freaks!” He had not attempted a repeat visit.

But the one left squarely on the sidelines, the one no one seemed to think about, was Oz. Maybe it was because of his quiet nature, his lack of histrionics or internal bleeding for that matter, but no one noticed that the young man was obviously in pain. Except Giles, of course. The watcher had been trained to notice small things others passed over, and when he studied Oz, it was plain to see how damaged he was. It showed in a dozen little ways: his band no longer played the Bronze, his rainbow-colored hair had lapsed to its natural rusty state, but more than that his posture had closed in on itself, making him blend seamlessly into the cement block high school.

Giles wouldn’t have that.

Oz didn’t know what to make of it when the note on school stationary was delivered to him by a school runner in his third hour music class. It was the only one he showed up for with any degree of regularity anymore. However, instead of Snyder’s cramped handwriting telling him to clean out his locker for shirking responsibility, it read “please meet me in the library during lunch. G.”

Oz blinked slowly, stuffing the paper into his ratty spiral notebook and considering his options. He could ignore it, and a large part of him wanted to do just that. He didn’t want to see Willow yet. Brief glimpses of her in the school corridors were already almost too much to handle, and if Xander was there he wasn’t sure what he’d do to him. Seeing him brought out the wolf’s most dangerous aspects. Still, a nagging part at the back of his mind whispered that maybe people’s lives were at stake, and if anybody died because he decided he didn’t want to show up, it wouldn’t be right.

The clock ticked. Music led into history, which he realized he hadn’t been to in over a week, and then the bell rang for lunch. With the smooth ability of a long-time practitioner of the art of simply becoming part of the background, he edged his way towards the library, hoping he hadn’t made a mistake in coming. He stood for a moment outside the swinging doors, taking a deep breath and readying himself before walking in.

The library was completely empty. No Scoobies were grouped around the main table. There weren’t even any large, dusty books sitting around in haphazard piles. Instead, there was only a white plastic bag on the counter along with a red and white-checkered tablecloth.

The sound of a door shutting nearly made him jump, and he looked up to see Giles locking his office door.

“Oz, oh, yes, good afternoon. I see you got my note.”

“Yeah. What’s up? Where are the others?”

Giles pocketed his keys and shook his head. “No others. We’re taking a lunch break.”

“A… what?”

“Lunch, Oz. It’s a custom common in most civilized countries. Rather like tea,” he said, picking up the bag and the tablecloth, “only for some reason the Americans got hold of this one.”

“I don’t really… follow…,” Oz said, baffled.

Giles sighed, then said, “I should like you to have lunch with me today. Is that all right, or do you have other plans?”

“No. I mean, no other plans. Yeah, we can do lunch,” Oz said, shifting his backpack.

Giles nodded as he put a sign in the library window saying he would be out for an hour. Then he led the way out through the stacks and to his Citroen, fumbling with his keys once more to get into the car. Oz watched him thoughtfully.

“You have a lot of keys,” he finally said. “Must be hard to find the right one, especially in the dark.”

“Yes, well, it’s an occupational hazard, I’m afraid,” Giles said, finally unlocking the door. “A watcher does tend to have to keep a lot of things locked up.”

“Yeah, I get that,”Oz said in a flat tone. “So, where we going?”

“You’ll see when we get there,” Giles said, hoping to coax a smile out of him but failing.

After a drive of perhaps ten minutes, the Citroen rumbled to a stop in a suburban section of Sunnydale. Actually, all sections of Sunnydale seemed to be suburbs, but this was a place where it was particularly difficult to think of vampires and werewolves and the rest of the creepy cavalcade that made up their daily lives. It was green and lush, with large trees and a small brook running underneath a stone footbridge. On closer inspection, Oz found that a small sign declared the open space before them to be the Wilkins Nature Park.

By this time, Giles had exited the car and looked over his shoulder at the teenager still slumped in his front seat.

“We’re here,” he said, rather pointlessly.

“Yeah,” Oz said. “Okay.”

To Giles’s relief, he opened the car door and followed him over the bridge. The path led them over a small hill, and on the other side nestled a shaded picnic table as well as a children’s play park. It was deserted now at mid-day, though it was easy to imagine kids climbing over the monkey bars and daring each other to go higher and higher on the swings in a few hours after school let out.

By this time, Giles had neatly covered the graffiti painted and weather-scarred wooden table with the cloth and had taken several small, white cardboard containers out of the bag.

“Chinese?” Oz asked, sitting across from him.

“No, actually,” Giles said, opening one of them. “Sushi. There’s a small restaurant not far from my home. I’ve developed something of an obsession over it lately. Ehm… do you like sushi?”

Oz regarded the boxes with a slightly suspicious expression. “Depends what kind it is.”

“No California rolls, though I admit a perverse fondness for them regardless of their being labeled for amateurs only,” Giles said, and the tiniest upturn of Oz’s mouth rewarded him. “I have some unagi, kani, tekkamaki, kappamaki, edamame, soy sauce, pickled ginger, and, of course, wasabi.”
By now the table was littered with small boxes and containers, and Oz’s eyes were wide.

“Man, they actually let you order that as take out?”

“I know the itamae quite well by now,” Giles said, wincing slightly at the number of times he had been to that sushi bar by himself in the last year. “It’s highly irregular, of course, but he did me the favor. I do hope it won’t be spoiled.”

Oz picked up the chopsticks and snapped them apart like a pro, immediately threading them through his fingers. Giles hid a sigh of relief. At the very least, he hadn’t guessed wrong about Oz’s experimental nature when it came to food.

“Thanks. This is really cool of you,” Oz said, deftly picking up the unagi and popping it in his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully. “Eel. Not bad. You know, for it being… eel.”

“I rather prefer not to think about it prior to its current form,” Giles agreed. “The kappamaki is quite good.”

“Not exactly the kind of cucumber sandwiches I picture you eating normally,” Oz said, and there was a definite smile now.

The meal continued in relative silence, but it was a silence that wasn’t at all as leaden as the one in the car had been. The crab and tuna disappeared as well, Oz taking almost insanely large portions of wasabi on his sushi.

“You ever have fugu?” Oz asked out of the blue.

“What? Poisonous blowfish? Yes, actually,” Giles said between sips of green tea. “When I was in college, I had some on a dare.”

“Worth it?”

“Worth risking cardiovascular and nervous system shutdown for a piece of fish? Not particularly, no. However, it was worth it to see the look on Ethan’s face when I faked gagging halfway through. The itamae nearly had a heart attack. We were thrown out and black listed from every sushi bar in London,” Giles laughed. It was only after he’d done so that he realized just how long it had been since the last time he’d laughed.

Oz quirked his head to one side and regarded the librarian. “You’ve got layers.”

At last, the emptied boxes were piled into a nearby garbage bin, and Giles simply stared at Oz. He had no idea how to say what needed to be said, or if there was even any point in saying anything at all.

“That was good,” Oz said. “Thanks.”

“Yes, well, I’ve been concerned about you, you see,” Giles said, stammering a bit. In a movement that was now so ingrained into him that it was becoming cartoonish, he slipped off his glasses and cleaned them on his pocket-handkerchief. “Since things have happened.”

“Yeah. Things,” Oz said, and Giles immediately regretted having said anything as his face became tense again.

“Have you, ehm, spoken with Willow?” Giles asked as delicately as he could.

“Did she ask you to talk to me?” Oz said, his head whipping towards him abruptly.

“No,” Giles said softly.

Oz nodded, trusting him. “No. I’m not… ready yet.”

“Will you ever be?”

“I’m just not… I need time to think,” Oz said, gazing off to some horizon Giles couldn’t see.

“Fair enough,” Giles said. “But in the meantime, I’m still worried about the effect this has had on you. You’re isolating yourself.”

Oz glanced back to Giles’s face. “And you don’t?”

“Excuse me?”

“Giles, you’re about the most isolated person I’ve ever met. When was the last time you didn’t eat alone before this?”

Giles blinked uncomfortably. “I don’t recall.”

“Right. So have you got room to throw stones? Because I’m thinking no,” Oz said, a trace of irritation in his voice.

“I’m not throwing stones,” Giles said, exasperated, pushing his glasses on again. “I’m saying that I’ve done what you’re doing, and I assure you, it will not make you happy.”

Oz remained silent for a moment, then looked back at Giles. “Saw and we talk.”

“What?”

Oz nodded towards the empty seesaw.

“You want me to sit on a child’s toy in broad daylight to have a conversation?” Giles asked.

“Distraction. I don’t have glasses to clean,” Oz said as he got up and walked over to the old wooden plank, seating himself on the low end pulling the beam up so that it was level. “On?”

Giles squinted his face together in discomfort, then muttered, “Oh, why the bloody hell not?” before sitting on the other end.

“Kay,” Oz said, beginning the slow, soothing motion. “It’s like this. I still love Willow.”

Giles nodded, not wanting to break Oz’s tentatively begun words.

“But it hurts, you know? Trust got broken, and then Xander was a friend, and now that’s messed up too, right?”

The seesaw continued its movement, making them switch back and forth between low and high, worldviews changing and then slowly moving back. This method of communication wasn’t easy for the boy, and Giles knew it. Music, perhaps, but words were not his friends.

“What do you want to do?” Giles asked him, risking breaking the quiet.

“See, that’s it,” Oz said softly. “I don’t want this to have happened, but it did.”

“You could try forgiving her,” Giles suggested softly.

“I could,” Oz said. More silence followed.

“Do you want to forgive her?” Giles asked.

Oz didn’t respond for a long minute, stopping their progress with him at the seesaw’s lowest point. Giles could see the conflicting emotions warring on his face: betrayal, anger, fear.

“Yeah,” Oz finally said, moving again, the board going upwards.

“Then do it,” Giles said. “I wish I would have sooner with Jenny. We’re on a Hellmouth, Oz. Anything can happen. It’s not a place to waste time.”
Oz didn’t say anything, and the soft movement of the seesaw continued unabated.

“Okay,” Oz said. “I’ll talk to her today. Thanks. I feel clearer.”

“Good,” Giles said, and though the conversation had ended, they continued to seesaw in silence for a few more minutes.

“You ever wish you were a kid again?” Oz finally asked.

Giles thought of all he’d seen, all he’d lost, all the scars that had accumulated since he had become a watcher. “Yes,” he said frankly.

“Me too,” Oz said, then patted the seesaw fondly. “School?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes, I suppose we should be going, shouldn’t we, before Snyder sends out the police or some nonsense,” Giles agreed.

It took them a moment to work out how they could both dismount the seesaw with some level of dignity, but they managed it. The drive back to the high school was predictably quiet, and as the parking lot came into view, Giles had a strangely heavy feeling come over his heart. For an hour or so, they’d been away from this place and all the strain it symbolized, but now they were back. Life continued.

The Citroen’s motor died away, and they fumbled open the car doors, Giles vaguely wondering if he should even bother to lock the ludicrous thing. They went through the back door of the library and through the stacks to the site of so many evenings.

“Do have a good day, Oz,” Giles said, as the boy began to go through the swinging doors and back into the whirlpool of teenage life.

Oz stopped and turned around. “Giles, what’s your first name?”

“Ehm, Rupert,” he said, surprised.

“Rupert,” he repeated. Oz looked at him. “Daniel.”

It took Giles a moment to realize that Oz had just told him his first name as well, to take in the fact he’d never even realized Oz wasn’t his first name, but by the time the thought had traveled all the way through his brain, the doors had swung shut.

William had more than had his fill of obedience. Angelus had threatened him, but he was far past the point of caring about the older vampire's words. For twenty-two mortal years he had lived in fear of one person or another, always with the looming promise that if he stepped out of line, if he didn't keep his mouth shut, if he didn't do exactly as he was told, if he caused any fuss, he'd catch hell for it.

Well, hell had already caught him, and as far as he could see, he had nothing left to lose.

"If you touch her, I swear that you'll regret it, boy."

He could still see the dark look on the face of the taller man… demon… being… whatever he wished to be called. It had been utterly benign: an expression that would have been at home at a Sunday school picnic if he'd been asking the vicar about his new roses. The muscular body had been relaxed and at ease as he pulled off his boots before the fire after a night of preying in the wet streets of Venice, but the eyes had been quite different. The fire had flashed in them for a moment, and they were as yellow as a wolf's. Angelus kept what was his for himself alone. There had been vague hints that if William behaved properly, if he proved himself so completely that even Angelus would be forced to admit he had become one of them, then, only then, would Drusilla be free to choose him.

It sickened him in a way he couldn't begin to describe that the beautiful brunette was held under the older vampire's rules. It was perfectly obvious to anyone who spent five minutes in the same room with Drusilla and William that he was painfully in love with her. Angelus, on the other hand, used the girl and abused her, usually keeping her from the more violent punishments that Darla could devise for her though he quite often visited them on his childe himself later. But there was a secret growing.

When William had first risen to his new life, Drusilla had clapped her hands prettily at her new toy and beamed, but then she had wandered off to see to her daddy. As weeks had drawn on, things had very subtly begun to change. The girl had never been shown the tenderness or devotion that William now lavished upon her, and he suspected that she never even knew that anyone could care for her so deeply as he did. He had begun to eclipse Angelus, just barely, for now she understood. Just as a candle can be thought bright in a dark room, she had doted on the occasional kindnesses and backhanded compliments of her sire. Now, though, William was showing her the sun, and that little flame was beginning to look pale in comparison.

And Angelus had begun to realize it.

Two hours had passed since Angelus had retired to his room with Darla, the door pointedly shut. It had been just over half an hour since William's ears had ceased hearing any signs of consciousness from the duo, and after the evening's activities and the lateness… or perhaps earliness… of the hour, he was certain they wouldn't stir again for hours. With a cautious and silent tread, he made his way deftly down to the far end of the hallway and to Drusilla's room.

Her door was open, and he found her gazing out the window towards the east at the lightening blue. For a long moment he simply stood still and adored her. She wore a long dressing gown of white satin edged in lace and ribbon, the back trailing behind her in a short train. Her face was turned towards the stars overhead as she watched them slowly vanishing into the growing light. Her luxuriant black hair, glossy as onyx, was dressed in masses of curls that reached all the way to the small of her back. Even from the other side of the room he could catch the faint scent of the violet perfume dabbed daintily behind her ears.

It was then that she looked towards the door and saw him standing there, gaping at her like a schoolboy. For a moment he was embarrassed, but then she smiled at him so gently that every other thought was drowned from his mind but the perfect beauty before him. She moved across the room to him, her tiny footsteps silent as petals dropping from a rose, and it was all he could do not to melt into the floor.

"William," she said in the softest whisper when she was only an arm's breadth from him, "what are you doing here so late?"

Words. Words would be good, he repeated to himself fervently. He wasn't sure of his own name at the moment, let alone why he'd dared to broach the sanctity of her boudoir. Therefore, he blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

"Sun. Coming up. You don't want to be by the window then," he mumbled quickly.

She nodded gravely at him, then turned around once more and shut the thick drapes tightly against the oncoming day.

"Thank you," she said politely as she came back to him. "I forget, sometimes."

Her eyes glowed, reflecting the soft gaslights that burned with a gentle rushing sound in the chandelier above them. Despite the fact he'd been a vampire for nearly five years, completely free of any compunctions of conscience, he felt himself growing shy in her presence. How could she make him feel like he was on fire and dipped in ice at the same time?

"Drusilla," he breathed in the stillness. It was her name, nothing more, but it was the most perfect word he could think of.

"William," she asked in the long pause that followed, "what do you feel for me?"

One trembling hand reached out to brush against her face as he spoke the simple answer.

"I love you."

She began to walk past him, towards the door, and for one awful moment he was again William the poet, spurned by the woman he loved, left to stand alone in the middle of the room with her silence far louder than any rebuke could be. But then, from behind him, he heard the sharp click of the door being shut and the lock turned.

He faced her once again with almost comic quickness, and indeed, she was still standing there, her gaze on the carpet at her feet.

"I love you too," she whispered. "I know I mustn't, but I can't help it. Angelus shall be most displeased with me. I'm a bad girl."

Unable to move, unable to speak, he stared at her. She loved him? Not merely didn't mind him caring for her, not that she was fond of him, but she actually loved him? It took a moment for it to sink in completely, but when it did, the bliss he felt was almost painful in its perfection. He moved towards her with lightning speed, intent on taking her in his arms and showing her how deeply he cherished her in a thousand ways words never could, but she flinched away from him and he came to a dead stop inches from her.

"What is it? You're not afraid of me, are you?" he asked in complete confusion.

She wrung her hands distractedly in a gesture he'd long ago realized meant she was on the verge of tears. "No, my pretty one, not you. Daddy. I'm not to… we're not to be…"

"Dru, he doesn't own you, you know, no matter what he's told you. Run away with me. There's no reason for us to stay here. I'll care for you myself. Please, love," he said desperately.

"He'd find me. No matter where I hide, he always finds me. Always," she half-cried. "Always."

William wasn't exactly clear about what had happened before Drusilla had been turned, but he wasn't stupid either. He was certain Angelus had been completely obsessed with her, and he knew from watching him exactly how relentless he could be. If Angelus took it into his massive head to hunt them down, he very well might.

"Please, Dru," he said desperately, "I don't think I can go on like this. Let me stay with you today. Whatever consequences Angelus gives me, I won't care. Even if I can't make love to you, please, just let me lie beside you. Let me hold you?"

She looked up at him for a moment almost timidly before her eyes shone with a spark of determined rebellion.

"Yes."

His hand reached out to stroke a wayward curl that had slipped over her shoulder, and his fingers felt electrified by the thrill of the simple yet forbidden contact. He wound his fingers around the smooth, gleaming strand, loving the feel of it, relishing being connected to her, and Drusilla moved still closer to him, her eyes shut in a moment of stolen ecstasy. For this moment, this single time, all that existed in the world was this room, the two of them, the feelings coursing through them. He brought his hand around to the back of her neck and grasped her curls, burying his face on the top of her head and breathing in her scent deeply, rubbing his cheek softly against her hair, lost to everything but her, the dizzying nearness of her. He wanted more, but if this was all they could have, he'd make do. It could be enough.

"Pretty picture this. Quite moving. Have to sketch it sometime or other."

Both of them went completely rigid at the sound of the sarcastically purring Irish brogue, but William didn't release his hold on her.

"Drusilla, I've come to spend the rest of the day with you. Darla is rather fatigued, and I have an excess of energy and some to spare. Imagine my surprise to find you're already busy entertaining another gentleman. Poor manners, my girl," he said in a casual tone as he twirled the door key around his finger lazily, -- the tone he usually reserved for those who were about to die horribly.

"You're not touching her," William stated blankly, his arms still around her.

"I believe it was I who said that to you," Angelus countered as his face shifted in a split second from human to demon.

"Please," Dru begged quietly, "it's alright, William. Don't let's make Daddy angrier. The song is starting to play all out of tune."

"I'm not a wet behind the ears pup," he growled at the other man as his face quickly mirrored the other's change. "She's not your property anymore. Never was."

The two males glared at one another through golden eyes, waiting.

Who attacked first would have been impossible for a mortal to tell. Savage growls split the air like a thunderstorm, broken occasionally only by the tearing sound of fangs in flesh, biting bone deep. An end table was broken into matchsticks, and the cream carpet was turning crimson beneath them in a wide circle. Though the younger vampire was lithe and determined, Angelus had him in experience and sheer size. There was little doubt who would eventually win when a scream ripped from William's throat as the other vampire plunged razor-sharp claws into his abdomen and twisted his hand in a vicious movement that would have instantly killed him if he had still been alive.

Drusilla had not stood idly by, though. Insane as she was, she still knew that Angelus would kill William before her eyes if she didn't act quickly. For a moment, she glanced at the remains of the broken wooden table, it's wooden legs within her grasp, but she couldn't bring herself to try to stake the one who, in spite of his abuse and his threats and his cruelty, was still somehow in her mind part of the only family she had left. Inside her own twisted heart, she couldn't help loving him regardless of how little sense it made. Instead, she grabbed up her heavy, metal dressing table chair and lifted it high above her head, aiming for her sire's unprotected back.

Unfortunately, she'd completely forgotten about Darla. The sounds of the fight had disturbed her sleep, and she had decided it might be amusing to watch the brawl. The blonde knocked her off balance with a surprise lunge through the doorway, and the chair fell harmlessly to the floor. Drusilla put up quite a mighty struggle, but the brunette was pinned under hands that, despite their fragile appearance, were imbued with well over two hundred and fifty years of strength, hands that had managed to bring even Angelus to the ground more than once. Whimpering pathetically, Drusilla fought in vain as Darla held her down.

By this time, William's valiant attempts to continue the battle were beginning to annoy Angelus more than anything else. He took advantage of the weapon Dru had planned for him and cracked the chair across William's head, knocking him unconscious. His body was splayed lifelessly across the floor like one of Drusilla's broken dolls, and his face smoothed back into its human form once more.

"Well, that wasn't exactly how I intended to spend the night, but it'll do for a start," he said, kicking the vampire's bleeding stomach forcefully. "No, Dru, I won't kill him this time," he yawned as he stretched languidly, answering the girl's silently questioning eyes.

"And why not?" Darla shot over her shoulder imperiously. "He's been nothing but trouble since the day he was made. We'd finally get a little peace around here."

"Now, now, my dove, William is family, after all. He's an unruly, disrespectful brat, of course, but then he's young. There's time to train him to know who his master is. And if not, I can always kill him later. Besides," Angelus said as he wiped blood from his jaw, "he has his uses. Entertainment, for one thing."

Darla turned her eyes towards the ceiling in exasperation at Angelus's malicious grin. Out of all the men in the world, why had she turned this one who had a ridiculous fixation on mind games? Probably, she answered herself, because you find them almost as amusing as he does.

"How exactly are you planning on controlling him, though? Beat him even more senseless than he already is? Brand your name on him? Starve him until he's as insane as this one," Darla said as she gestured with her head towards the girl still trapped beneath her.

"T'would do no good, none of it. I can't do a thing to him that he wouldn't ignore just to spite me. Headstrong, but he's got his one weakness, as most do, myself excluded of course."

Darla regarded him curiously before the obvious answer came to her.

"Darlin', would you be after leaving me and my wayward childe alone, then?" Angelus requested silkily.

"And miss all the fun?" she laughed.

"Nay, you'll miss little. T'will be a lovely surprise for you when you wake up from a long day's slumber."

"Now you've got me curious. All right then, my Angel, I'll leave you. But I do hope you know what you're doing. I don't relish the thought of waking up in a dustbin."

Darla finally let go of Drusilla, who had gone completely limp, and disappeared down the hallway. The brunette, ugly purple bruises already forming on her wrists, crawled to her fallen William and was about to touch his face when Angelus abruptly picked up the limp body and tossed him into the hallway like a sack of meal. He slammed the door behind him and turned the lock once more before rounding on Drusilla furiously.

"Did I tell you that you could have him?" he asked angrily.

"But, we didn't. We did nothing," she pleaded brokenly, sobbing. "Forgive me for I have sinned!"

"I heard everything, you naughty girl. I know exactly what you didn't do. What bothers me is what you did let him do," he explained in a deceptively calm tone as he righted the chair in the middle of the floor. "I told you not to let him touch you, and you disobeyed me. Unless you want me to grant Darla's dearest wish and turn that boy of yours to dust, you will do exactly as I say. Do you understand me, Drusilla?"

She nodded resignedly.

"Good. Sit, and do not turn around," he said, indicating the chair in the middle of the floor.

She did as she was told and sat facing the dying embers in the fireplace as he moved around the room behind her. She could hear him searching through the drawer of her bureau until at last he found what he had been looking for. The drawer slid shut sharply, and then she felt his presence behind her, one hand resting lightly on her shoulder.

"Don't move," he ordered quietly close to her ear, "and don't speak either. Do you see this?"

He held the object in front of her, and tears filled her eyes as she realized what he was going to do. She nodded her head once again in answer.

"Well, then, let's begin. Let's see, where should I start? There's so much to work with," he said in a pleased voice.

Snip.

"There we are. What do you think of that, my pretty thing?" he asked as he held the severed curl in front of her face. A tear rolled silently down her cheek.

"Oh, yes, I agree. Your hair has gotten far too long, Dru. Why, I believe poor William had caught his fingers in it, hadn't he? We'll just fix that then," he purred softly as he sectioned off another glistening coil at her temple.

Snip. Drusilla could see the rough ends of her hair out of the corner of her eye. They rested against the hollow of her cheek, and in a moment they darkened with her tears.

"Yes, far too long here as well," Angelus commented gleefully as he took another curl, this one from the top of her head, in his hands and closed the shears around it only an inch from her scalp. "And here, too," he said as the glorious curls spilled over the silk of her dressing gown and slid to the floor in a pile.

Snip. Snip. Snip. Each closing of the blade cut off another of her tresses, one by one. He purposely chose small strands so that it would take far longer, prolonging the process. Drusilla's hair had been very thick, and he delighted in the time it took to so utterly destroy a thing of such perfect beauty. By the time it had been half cut off, Drusilla was crying freely, and her head had begun to shake from the force of her sobs.

"I told you not to move, Drusilla. You're making your lovely new coiffure come out all lopsided," he taunted her as he brought the long hair above forehead before her face and snipped it off inch by inch in front of her eyes until it was no more than stubble at the top of her brow.

There was no rhyme or reason to his cutting, and by the time he had finally grown bored with the game, a few long strands still clung mockingly to her nape while the rest had been reduced to different, uneven lengths all over her head. Drusilla could not see the result, but when he finally left the room and the weeping vampire behind, her fingers felt well enough what she must look like.

It was another two hours before William, still lying in the hallway, awoke to the sound of muffled crying. Blearily, he got to his feet. Many of his wounds were beginning to heal, but several of them still hurt horribly, particularly his stomach. He grasped the doorframe in an effort to remain standing, then lurched unsteadily into the room.

"Dru? You here?" he questioned softly. Please be here. Please don't let him have hurt her, he repeated to himself desperately, not even sure whom he was begging.

There was a small cry from the floor on the far side of the bed and a sudden movement of the tumbled blankets. He made his way carefully towards the misshapen pile of bedclothes and collapsed beside them. From the shape and the scent he could tell she was beneath them and that she was still able to move, for which he was insanely grateful.

"Did he hurt you, love?" he asked tentatively as he reached a hand towards her.

She moved further away from him at the question, and his relief quickly turned to concern.

"He did, didn't he? Come now, let me see. Let me help you," he coaxed gently in a voice he had once reserved for speaking to his timid little sister. Inwardly, anger was boiling in the pit of his stomach, but for now it was secondary to making certain she was all right. With a cautious hand, he touched the bundle before him and slowly began to draw it back.

"No!" Too late, she tried to cover her head once more and hide from the eyes that were surely looking with disgust at how ugly she was now. "I was a bad girl. I was a bad girl. I was a bad girl," she repeated over and over, sobbing quietly.

Gently, he pulled the cover away again and looked at her again, full in the face, forcing her to meet his gaze. His demon was screaming silently at the sight that met him, his girl crying and holding one of her curls in her hands, twisting it desperately. In spite of her haphazardly shorn tresses, she was still utterly beautiful to him. In a moment, Angelus be damned, she was gathered into his arms, kisses being rained upon the course remains of her hair.

"Don't cry, pet. Please don't cry. Shh, now, it's alright. It'll grow back again, and even as you are you're still my best beauty. It doesn't matter at all, my love. Please don't cry. My beautiful Drusilla, you're still the loveliest thing I've ever seen. I love you, my sweet. Shush now."

Eventually, after many long minutes in his embrace, the feeble crying stopped and she drew back from him reluctantly.

"He did this because I touched you. This is my fault. I'll keep my distance from you from now on, I promise."

He rose to leave, but a small hand reached out for him, catching his sleeve firmly in her grasp.

"William," she said quietly, looking at him from beneath her lashes, "it was worth it."

He didn't know whether to weep or smile. After he had tucked her safely into her own bed with the promise of a new dress and armloads of jasmine and she was soundly asleep, he went directly to Angelus's bedroom, breaking the doorframe to get in.

"Well," Darla cooed from her place on the otherwise empty bed, "looks like sleeping beauty finally woke up."

"Where's Angelus?"

"Downstairs, in the parlor. He had some crazy craving for brandy, so," she began, but stopped when she realized she was speaking to empty air. "Now that was plain rude."

Angelus was indeed sitting in the front parlor, sipping a snifter of brandy and prodding the fire when William stormed in.

"Have a good nap, did you, lad?"

"Why would you do that to her? You know full well that hair and nails don't grow any faster on us than they do on a human since cutting them isn't really an injury. She's going to look like hell for at least a year, Angelus. Was one little embrace worth that?"

He raised an eyebrow at the younger man. "No. But her disobedience, and yours, was."

William lunged at him, but his injuries worked against him and Angelus was able to merely bat him away like a pesky mosquito.

"I hate you."

"Yes, I suppose you do. But you love her, don't you?" he sneered.

"Something you wouldn't be able to understand, you empty-hearted jackass," he spat out, clutching his side.

"Never call me that again. Do you see this picture," he said, gesturing towards a delicately done portrait of Drusilla on the wall. He carefully took it from its nail and brought it toward the injured vampire. "Here, take a closer look."

"I'm not blind."

"No, not yet, though I may choose to remedy that situation if you keep acting like an imbecile. This is an absolute masterpiece of mine. A great deal of hard work went into it. I spent months finding just the proper pose for her, just the right lighting, just the perfect dress. Then, the actual drawing, well, it took me a solid month. Finally, I had made her just as I wanted her to be, my flawless creation. Don't you agree? Isn't she superb?"

The blue eyes took in the portrait of Drusilla, and it was indeed so lifelike that it was nearly frightening. The eyes, in particular, seemed almost alive. "It's her. What else would it be but perfect?"

"Quite true from your opinion. Now, my boy, watch this," he said off-handedly as he threw the portrait into the fire.

The frame blackened in a few moments and the flames quickly ate across the paper, devouring the image with startling speed. In less than a minute, there was nothing left of it but a handful of ash glowing on the stone hearth.

"If you ever try to defy me again, ever try to get her to leave me again, in spite of the great pains I have taken to make her as she is, it won't be a portrait that goes up in flames, boy. You're not strong enough to fight me, and she was completely correct about my ability to find her. You've seen me track prey; you know how it always ends. She will die, and I will make you watch. Are we clear?"

William gritted his teeth forcefully. He knew Angelus wasn't bluffing.

"We're clear."

"Good. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a surprise to deliver to Darla," he said as he left the room.

William looked dully at the embers of the fire, wanting to kill someone: actually, a very specific someone. He heard the loud laughter of Darla from the upper floor and shuddered as he realized what it must be about, but he knew that unless he was willing to risk Drusilla's life there was nothing he could do. Someday Angelus would pay for everything. He'd see to it.

Weeks passed. Darla, with many a snide remark, cut the rest of Drusilla's hair into a short crop, and when the four of them went out into the mortal public, they explained that the pale girl had recently recovered from a brain fever. It was a long time before William felt safe enough to even hold Drusilla's hand in private, but at least he could speak to her.

One night a few months later, as the three of them were at a society party in Paris that was boring William out of his mind, particularly since Dru hadn't felt presentable enough to come, something quite strange happened. As William grabbed his fifth glass of wine from a passing waiter and threw himself heavily onto a petit point covered gilt chair, a woman sat beside him and stared at him intently.

"You," she said, "are not happy."

He blinked in shock at her perfect, accentless English and decided he may just possibly have found dinner for the night. There was something about her that was vaguely familiar, and quite annoying as well.

"Do I know you?" he asked carefully, peering at the woman through slightly bloodshot eyes.

She giggled strangely. "I get around quite a bit, but I guess I just have one of those faces."

"Yes, right. Must be that," he told himself out loud. Still, if he squinted just right, she almost looked like…

"Anyway, you looked so completely tired with everyone here, and so am I, so, I thought I'd just join you for a little chat," she babbled as she pulled her chair a mite closer. "Now, what exactly is the problem?"

"Problem?" Who was this girl?

She tipped her head to one side and then the other questioningly. "There's always a problem, isn't there? So, tell me why you hate that man over there so much," she said, gesturing offhandedly at Angelus, who was currently laughing loudly at some pathetic joke of an important-looking figure.

"S'that obvious, is it?" he shrugged. Well, what could it hurt? She wasn't going to live to see the dawn anyway. "You might call him… my father, in a very strange way."

"Uh huh," she said, completely unaffected by the fact the dark haired man looked no more than five years older than him. "So, you're angry at your father. What did he do?"

"Won't let me have the girl I love. Wants her all to himself, he does," he slurred a bit as he downed the wine in a single gulp.

"Oh, my, now that's just terrible. I bet you really wish you could do something about it, don't you?"

William looked at the woman again. There was just something off about her, but he couldn't place what. Of course, it would help if the room would stay in focus, but it was patently refusing to do so.

"Know what that old boy deserves? I wish that he'd fall head over heels in love with his soul mate and never be able to touch her. Let him see what it feels like first hand. That'd be rich, that would," William said angrily. "Then he can go straight to hell."

The woman looked at Angelus thoughtfully, a troubled expression on her face as she quietly mumbled, "Now there's a problem I haven't run across before."

"What's that?"

"Hmmm. It's possible, but it's going to take a while. Well, William, your wish will be granted someday, I'm sure of it. Just be a little patient," she said as she patted him on the arm. Then, with a strange flourish of her arms, she disappeared completely.

"Huh. Well, that was interesting. How'd she know me name?" he wondered, squinting drunkenly at the vacant spot before he drifted off to sleep, dismissing the entire strange conversation as a hallucination.

Faith never wore shoes if she could help it. July evening heat shimmered off the pavement, creating unreal images of the rock quarry, so she had begrudgingly worn sandals to avoid scorching her feet. But when asphalt ended in sand and gravel, she kicked them off, savoring the feeling of warm, rough stone. It had rained earlier, and in the shade of the larger boulders the wet sand made her feet deliciously cool.

Grimacing, she noticed the usual crowd of cheerleaders and jocks had already arrived. She loathed them as much as they loathed her, and she wished she could be alone.

"Love the outfit," said Mindy, one of the popular girls lounging near the quarry pond and dressed in bright, provocative bikinis, in a voice of false sweetness.

"Thought I'd leave the Malibu Barbie look to you," Faith replied, conscious of her worn cut-offs and faded black tank.

Mindy flipped her blonde hair irritably. "Whatever, freak," she muttered.

"Wanna repeat that? Didn't quite catch it," Faith said, her tone promising a fat lip if she did.

"Nothing," Mindy said, wandering away with her hangers-on.

The distraction erased, Faith turned her attention to her real goal. The cliff rose threateningly out of the water. No one had dared to climb its rough face, let alone dive. Biting her lip, she eased her way up the side, dimly aware the others had stopped talking.

She'd realized there was something different about her, but she didn't have a name for it yet. Usually she hated it, but there were moments when she slid into her power like a velvet glove was encasing her skin. Those were the times it felt right, and this was one of them.

Finally, she stood on the edge of the cliff and looked into the cool, dark water below. The sultry air caressed her lovingly, as though she were made of the night as well, and she felt a belonging beyond anything she had known.

Her feet met empty air, and her body knifed through the darkness. The rush of wind in her ears was the sweetest music she had ever heard. The descent felt like blissful ages as the water drew nearer.

The tips of her fingers broke the mirrored surface first, followed by the rest of her body until the water closed over her toes, wrapping her in its chilly embrace. Her hands explored the quarry's bottom, her palm closing around a perfectly smooth black stone veined with gray.

A few kicks brought her to the surface. Walking out of the water, her drenched clothing clinging more erotically than anything Mindy could buy at the mall, she met stares of shock and hidden admiration.

"She's crazy," Mindy said under her breath.

Faith didn't pretend not to hear, walking to her with a tigress gait. She tossed the stone in her hand, catching it directly under the girl's nose.

"Don't forget it," she said as she prowled away, her fist clutching her new treasure.

Once upon a time, not very long ago, in a lovely little cottage at the edge of the woods around Sunnydale, there lived three very happy vampires.

“Wait a minute. How happy is happy?”

Break out your leather pants, honey buns. No brooding for you in this story.

“Whoo hoo!”

Anyway, as I was saying before we were so rudely interrupted, these three vampires lived surrounded by peace and harmony.

“Now I’m breaking in. She’s not going to be in this one, is she? I swear, if I have to hear her bloody chewing gum pop one more time…”

No, I wouldn’t do that to you.

“Thanks, luv.”

This time. Anyway, peace and harmony for vampires looks a heck of a lot like open warfare to humans, so things weren’t really all that placid in the charming bungalow. The big daddy vampire, the petite mummy vampire, and the itsy-bitsy baby…

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence! I’m the Big Bad!”

Fine, fine. The really-nasty-but-still-youngest-vampire…

“That was almost too easy.”

Shut up, Blondie, or I’ll make you wear a lacy bib and a propeller beanie for the rest of the story.

“I’m quiet.”

You’d better be, because I thought was a pretty interesting image. Anyway, the three of them were all gathered around the kitchen table one evening, preparing for breakfast.

“Daddy, I’m tired of blood bags. Can’t we go out and find something warm tonight?” asked the mummy vampire peevishly.

“Love to, but Junior over there still has that chip in his head, so he’s kind of stuck eating in for the duration. And even though I think he’s a spineless little wimp, I can’t let him croak. He’d be a real mess to clean up.”

“Can you feel the love tonight,” the vampire in question warbled off-key. He added in a low murmur, “What I wouldn’t give for Peaches to run into a good, old-fashioned wildebeast stampede…”

“But if we did all the bludgeoning, wouldn’t the nasty old chip let him be?”

“Cor, pet, that’s a great idea!”

“Hmm, yeah, that does sound like a plan. Well, let’s just go out for a walk and see who we run in to.”

With that, the three vampires walked out the front door and melted into the shadows. Don’t ask me how they did that. It happens again and again in all the fan fiction. I’ve never really understood it, either.

Not long after, Goldilocks, who was a pretty, blonde little girl…

“Hey, I’m not a little girl! I’m twenty years old!”

You’re five foot two, Slayer. That’s little.

“Well, when you put it that way, I see your point.”

As I was saying, the girl came across the vampires’ home and, noticing the odd lack of any windows, decided to investigate. She knocked on the front door, and when there was no answer, she cautiously went inside, breaking any number of laws, both criminal and etiquette-wise.

“Nice digs,” she said, taking in the extremely expensive and highly sophisticated furnishings. Her eyes fell on the cozy little kitchen nook.

“Looks like somebody left right in the middle of a coffee break,” she muttered to herself as she saw three steaming mugs lined up on the mahogany kitchen table.

Goldilocks picked up the first mug, which was jet black and emblazoned with the phrase “IRISH FOREVER… LITERALLY” in eye-searing red. She took one whiff of the contents and darn near spewed.

“Ewww! Hemoglobin ahoy!” she sputtered as she slapped the mug back down on the table. “So obviously we got a minimum of one vampire living here.”

She moved on to the second mug, which was shocking pink and had “DADDY’S FAVORITE LITTLE PSYCHO” scrawled across it in frighteningly disjointed handwriting. Spying contents identical to the first one’s, the Slayer tallied up yet another undead occupant.

The third and final mug was plain white and had no inscription on it at all since its owner had grown extremely weary of novelty mugs during his stay at a certain librarian’s. Expecting yet another Bloody Mary minus the Mary, Goldilocks peered inside and found…

“Hot chocolate! And the little marshmallows are all nice and smooshy!”

With one gulp, she drained the whole thing. Then, deciding to be nice, she grabbed three coasters from the kitchen counter and set the hot mugs on them so the lovely mahogany finish on the table wouldn’t be ruined.

“Huh?”

I had to rent the furniture from another fan fiction: you know the kind, one where vampires are always inexplicably wealthy. I lose my security deposit if there’s any damage.

“Sheesh. All right.”

Feeling pleasantly drowsy after her little snack, Goldilocks wandered back into the living room. She noticed three chairs standing in a row in front of the massive, roaring fireplace. Granted, it wasn’t exactly intelligent for the vampires to leave with the fire still blazing away, but hey, they liked to live dangerously. The first chair she came to was a massive wingback upholstered in black leather. She sat down in it, but simply couldn’t get comfortable because her feet were a good eight inches off the floor.

“Big dang vampire,” she noted, deciding to try the next chair instead. This one was a lovely little Victorian chair covered in red silk and fluffy pillows.

“Now this is more like it,” Goldilocks sighed as she eased into the dainty little seat. However, she quickly sprang back up again.

“What in the…” she began, feeling something decidedly lumpy underneath one of the cushions. Lifting it up she, she found…

“Ewww! A heart of the no-longer-beating variety!” she managed croak out as she turned a nasty shade of green that didn’t match her shoes.

Slamming the cushion back down, she moved on to chair number three. This one was a nice, unassuming seat.

“That’s an understatement. It’s a metal folding chair like the kind you find at a church basement bingo parlor!”

How would you know that?

“When I ran away after season two, I swung by a few to pick up a little extra cash. But that’s not the point. I mean, heck, the seat’s dented in, and it’s covered in rust for crying out loud!”

Do you remember the original story?

“Yeah.”

Remember what I said about the security deposit on the furniture?

“Yeah.”

Well, I couldn’t very well afford the King of England’s throne if it’s going to be “smashed all to pieces,” now could I?

“I am not even going to consider parking my keister on that thing.”

Fine. Do me one favor.

“What?”

Exhale on it.

“You’re nuts, but okay.”

With that, the chair fell over and was indeed smashed all to pieces. With that plot device neatly handled, Goldilocks decided to venture up the stairs to where the vampires slept during the day. The first bed she saw was enormous and draped from canopy to dust ruffle in black.

“He has a dust ruffle?!?”

Yup. Feel free to use this as an opportunity for later verbal torment towards said vamp. In any case, the second bed was covered in so many dolls that the color of the bedspread was entirely obscured. At least three hundred of the porcelain lovelies were staring at her, as well as one short alien who was sitting very still and trying to blend in. He must have done a good job, because the Slayer moved on to bed number three.

This one was a simple, ordinary bed, but there was one thing about it that was unusual. It hadn’t been made. The sheets were all rumpled up and the pillows were askew. Feeling herself starting to become even drowsier than before, Goldilocks decided to take a little nap in…

“The doll-covered bed.”

Wait a minute; that’s not how this goes.

“Narrator, I’ve already figured out who all three of these vamps are, and there is no way on the good green earth that I am climbing into you-know-who’s bed!”

With that, the Slayer quickly dumped the dolls on the floor, sending the poor little web-footed alien shrieking into the night to find Steven Spielberg, double checked the bedding for any major organs, and snuggled down for a quick forty winks.

“You know, before I doze off, I just have to say that…”

I know; purposely falling asleep in a vampire lair is among the dumbest things it is possible to do. Point taken. Now snooze already.

Not long after, the three vampires arrived back at their humble abode, all of them glaring at each other silently. The tension was so thick you could have cut it with a stake.

“It wasn’t my fault!” blurted the daddy vamp suddenly.

“Pop, every single victim we picked out tonight got a 300 yard start on us because of your fashion victim wardrobe,” sneered the youngest vamp.

“Okay, I admit I should have broken the new pants in a little bit before wearing them to hunt,” he began to explain.

“You couldn’t run more than two paces without collapsing and whining about them cutting off your circulation! You’re dead, man; you don’t have a circulatory system anymore!” griped the youngest vampire as he made his way into the kitchen, resigned to nuking yet another dinner. However, he came to an abrupt halt.

“Someone’s been in here,” he said in a low, dangerous voice as he beckoned the other two vampires to come closer.

“Somebody’s put a coaster under my mug!” shouted the daddy vampire angrily.

“Somebody’s put a coaster under my mug as well,” added the mummy vampire vaguely.

“Well, somebody put a bloody coaster under my mug too, and whoever it was went and drank my hot cocoa and marshmallows,” he declared in fury. Nobody messed with Junior’s cuppa.

“Coasters? Who broke in? Martha Stewart?” the daddy vampire asked in confusion.

“Oh, I don’t like her,” whispered the mummy vampire fearfully. “She’s too evil for me.”

The other two vampires nodded in solemn agreement. If it turned out that Martha was indeed the burglar, they would simply leave the house without a fight. There are some things so horrible that even a full-fledged creature of the night can’t face them.

The little family wandered over to the fire, the mummy vampire still haunted by images of color-coordinated spice racks. This time, it was the daddy vampire who noticed something was wrong first.

“Somebody’s been sitting in my chair!” he roared in fury as he noted that the pillows were slightly moved.

“Somebody’s been sitting in my chair as well!” cried the mummy vampire frantically. She started digging through the cushions like a deranged woodchuck, then fished out the heart.

“Oh, thank evilness. I thought they’d stolen the remote control,” she said as she sat back in her chair. She proceeded to stare at the fire before her as she held the heart and occasionally pushed at it with her thumb. The other two vampires exchanged looks.

“Um, pet? That’s your late night snack. We don’t own a telly. They won’t even be invented for several hundred years yet. You only know about them because you’re a seer, remember?”

“Oh, yeah. I forgot. I was wondering why all the channels were showing the same thing. Sorry,” she said as she threw the heart at him. It bounced off his head.

“Great. Once again, I get conked in the gourd with an organ. Just lovely. And hey, look at this,” he said, finally noticing his own chair. “Somebody’s been sitting in my chair, and it’s smashed all to pieces!”

He paused for a moment, considering the rusty remains of the folding chair.

“Maybe I should write whoever did it a thank you note,” he mused thoughtfully.

Deciding that they should check to see if the intruder was still there, they cautiously crept up the stairs to their sleeping quarters.

“Well, somebody hasn’t been in my bed,” said the daddy vampire. “And here I thought I was irresistible to women! That means our burglar must either be a male or Willow.”

The youngest vampire rolled his eyes in disgust.

“Besides which, I know how this story goes,” he said, practically bouncing off the walls in anticipation of being able to say the infamous line, but mummy vampire beat him to it.

“Somebody’s been sleeping in my bed, and there she is!” she squealed. “And she’s not Martha Stewart after all. Can we eat her, Daddy?”

“Now hold on just one ruddy minute there, narrator!”

You got a problem, oh blond one?

“Darn tootin’! That delinquent drank my hot chocolate, broke my chair, and I don’t get to have her pick my bed!”

Yup.

“Well, I just won’t stand for that.”

Junior, I’m warning you; you’re two seconds away from serious consequences.

“I’m not afraid of you, you second-rate, two bit, cheap imitation of Hans Christian Anderson!”

Oh really? With that, the lacy bib and beanie propeller hat from earlier suddenly materialized on the vampire.

“Now that’s rich,” the daddy vampire said as he spun the little propeller on his childe’s head. “That is just too perfect!”

The mummy vampire had fallen to the floor in a fit of hysterical giggles at the sight of him.

“Get this bloody thing off of me!” the now none-too-threatening looking vampire yelled as he tried to pry the firmly placed hat from atop his peroxided tresses. It did no good.

Suddenly, Goldilocks woke up, which was no wonder considering the brouhaha that was going on right under her nose.

“Hey, the gang’s all here,” she yawned as she opened her hazel eyes. “Whoa, nice chapeau.”

Unable to stand his sire’s smirk for another moment, the younger vamp leapt across the room, knocked him to the floor, and began to pummel him mercilessly. Mummy vampire and Goldilocks looked on in avid interest at the display of domestic fury.

“And this is for taking my girlfriend away,” the blond yelled as he landed a left hook to the other vampire’s jaw. “And this is for all those ‘sit and spin’ comments, and this is for making me sit on a ruddy folding chair, and this is for sending me to bed early on my one hundred and sixteenth birthday, and this is for cutting up my duster to make those bloody pants!” By this time, daddy vampire was seeing little stars that mummy vampire heard singing the “Star Spangled Banner.”

Wait a minute. Junior, can you hold up on the assault and battery for a second?

“What in blazes do you want now!”

Did you just say that he made those pants out of your duster?

“Yeah, he did.”

That’s what I thought you said. Now that is just going too far.

“Oh, I like the gleam in your eyes, pet.”

Hold on to your bib, because it only gets better. As the two vampires continued to thrash each other, daddy vampire was suddenly thrown against his bed. The force of the blow knocked several pillows to the floor with a dull thunk.

“Now hold on just one second! I know where you’re going with this, and…”

You touched the duster. You knew you were going to have to pay sooner or later, so button your overbite. There, underneath one of the pillows, lay the daddy vampire’s little secret.

“Um, Pop, what is this?” asked his childe with false innocence as he held the object up.

“Give me that!” the older vampire cried out in panic.

His childe had absolutely no intention of letting go of the golden brown, fluffy teddy bear that had been revealed. Mummy vampire’s eyes crossed in confusion.

“Why do you have a teddy?” she asked in a perplexed voice.

“Yeah, well, why do you have tea parties with hundreds of dolls?” he countered defensively.

“Because she’s more than a bit round the bend, you doddering nitwit. Oh, this is just too good. The Scourge of Europe wants back his wittle… wait a minute. What’s its name?”

“Hand it over or I swear…”

“Not unless you tell me its name,” replied his child in an annoying singsong, holding the bear just out of reach. The other vampire sighed.

“Mstetwnke.”

“How’s that?”

“HIS NAME BE MISTER TWINKIE! NOW GIVE TA BEAR BACK, OR I’M LIABLE TA CRACK YOUR BLOOMIN’ ENGLISH SKULL IN TWA!”

“Whoa,” Goldilocks declared in an impressed tone of voice. “You freaked him out so much he reverted to his bad Irish accent!”

“I’ll take that as a compliment, luv. Catch me if you can!” yelped the now bibless and beanieless teddy-napper as he darted down the stairs, closely pursued by a very ticked off daddy vampire who was soon clutching his waist in agony from running in his far-too-tight leather pants.

Mummy vampire and Goldilocks looked at each other in amusement.

“Well, looks like the boys may just finish each other off. Makes my job a whole lot easier,” Goldilocks said as she pulled a stake out of the sleeve of her little gingham dress.

“Oh, don’t let’s fight,” mummy vampire implored. “It’s been ages since I’ve had had some girl talk. Far too much testosterone in the house. Want to go downstairs and have some cocoa with me and Miss Edith?”

Goldilocks regarded her for a moment, then said “What the heck? Why not?”

As the two females went back down the staircase, the Slayer took one look back over her shoulder.

“A dust ruffle? Who knew?”

It was just another ordinary Tuesday for most of the world. There was no holiday, school wouldn't let out for a few more weeks, and people went to their jobs as usual. A few news reports mentioned it since it was such a slow day: the first anniversary of the giant sinkhole that had swallowed Sunnydale, California, whole. That was, of course, the story everyone believed. Denial wasn't limited only to the denizens of the now defunct city.

Willow shoved her hair behind her ear as she stared at the computer screen, trying to weave her way through the labyrinth of codes for the web page she was building as her final college project. In a month's time, she'd hear "Pomp and Circumstance" play as she walked across the unniversity's auditorium to receive her diploma. It was a year late, but considering how many times she'd had to avert the apocalypse in those five years, she thought she'd managed pretty well.

Things were so quiet that it was almost distracting. She was living alone in an off-campus apartment in Boston. She was almost willing the phone to ring with Buffy on the other end, or Xander or Giles. The lives of the remaining Scoobies had scattered them to the four winds after the demise of Sunnydale, but that hadn't kept them from staying in touch with each other. Still, ever since Kennedy had left six months ago, there were times Willow couldn't help feeling awfully lonely. The thought of her ex-girlfriend intruding upon her thoughts decided the matter.

"Time for a hot chocolate break," she said firmly as she got out of her desk chair, cracking her back as she did so. She glanced at the clock and realized she'd been working for nearly six hours straight. Groaning slightly, she stumbled into her kitchenette and took out her favorite coffee mug. Dawn had sent it to her for her last birthday. In wildly decorative script, it loudly declared "Don't mess with me or I'll incinerate the earth!" That it could be a joke now gave her a good feeling.

She filled the mug with milk and Hershey's syrup, then popped it in the microwave and watched the cup turn around and around inside. After several months of this she'd become an old pro, never once getting a skin on the milk anymore or ending up with luke-warm hot chocolate. When the timer rang, she pulled out her mug and flipped in a few little marshmallows. The marshmallows were actually kind of odd. She never remembered buying them, but they were always there in her cupboard. She shrugged and chalked it up to one of the more pleasant supernatural occurrences in her life as she sipped her drink.

The wafting steam made her feel sleepy as she watched it rise slowly and evaporate, and her thoughts wandered again, though not to a particularly happy place. Kennedy. It hadn't taken Willow long to realize that the other girl did, indeed, usually get what she wanted. Unfortunately, when they'd moved to Boston together, it turned out what she wanted was the underwear model down the hall. The brunette had been rather shocked when Willow had confronted her about the other woman. Apparently, Kennedy had been under the impression that living together didn't automatically mean they were exclusively seeing one another. She'd actually suggested that maybe Willow might want to see other people too although they could still have "fun" together. The witch had shaken her head in disbelief at how self-centered Kennedy had proven to be and had firmly stated that the other girl needed to move out by the end of the week. It had broken her heart, but it seemed to be for the best now.

Buffy had come in from Cleveland to visit her for a while as she handled the situation. It had been good to see her again. The Slayer, who was now no longer quite so alone in fighting the forces of evil, looked healthier than Willow remembered her being for a very long time. She'd put on a little weight, just enough so that she wasn't all angles, and she smiled more, all the way up to her eyes. Things were finally going well for her friend. She, Dawn, and Xander had all taken up residence at the other Hellmouth after Sunnydale imploded, setting up a training facility for the Slayers who had been called. Of course, to the rest of the world, Buffy was just an aerobics instructor, but after hours she taught a handful of girls at a time how to survive. Dawn was in her last year of high school and would be going to college in a few months. She'd already picked her profession: Watcher. There were a few members of the Council who hadn't been there when the headquarters was blown up, most of them Watchers who had been on the outs with the Council due to their rebellious behavior. Although being a Watcher usually ran in families, with so many Slayers called all over the world, they weren't about to be choosy. Dawn would be going to school at Oxford, taking a few extra classes that weren't on the normal curriculum while majoring in ancient languages and mythology. Giles did his best to appear utterly unmoved by the situation, but Willow was sure he was more than a little proud and would probably be quite happy to have Dawn drop by his flat in Bath occasionally.

Buffy had been able to sympathize with Willow over the end of an ill-fated relationship. She and Xander had tried to make a go of it in Cleveland, but things didn't really go according to plan. It became plain after a while that, while Buffy and Xander did love each other, they weren't in love with each other. They did manage to remain close friends, though, and when Buffy had come to visit, it was Xander who checked in on Dawn while she was gone. He was working for a cabinetmaker in the city and moving up rapidly through the company, and, almost unbelievably, was dating a perfectly normal girl who was not a demon. At least, she said she wasn't. Willow couldn't help wondering about her slightly pointed ears.

Faith, who was now going by the name Diana, had settled in Phoenix. She'd taken a cue from Buffy and begun teaching some of the new Slayers the ropes. Exactly how she managed to elude the police was a matter only she and Angel, who seemed to suddenly be remarkably well connected, knew. It was strange, but the near-apocalypse washed away much of the bad blood between her and the rest of the group. It wasn't uncommon for Willow to get a phone call at 3:00 in the morning only to hear "Dude, how the hell do you use a search engine again?" on the other end of the line. She might have reformed, but that didn't necessarily make her polite.

So here was Willow, alone as usual these days, staring at a cooling cup of hot chocolate. It wasn't a bad life, but occasionally, she'd have liked a hug. Still, it was good to know everyone was okay.

A knock on the door broke her out of her reverie, and Willow jumped, spilling the last of her hot chocolate on her sleeve. It was nearly midnight, and she obviously wasn't expecting anyone. Cautiously, she looked through the peephole in the door and saw the last person she'd ever expected waiting on the doorstep and wearing a pensive expression. She undid the door chain and fumbled with the lock in her haste before she swung open the door.

"Hey."

"Oz!" she squealed. "Come on in!"

The currently purple-haired bass player half-smiled and walked inside, looking around the room curiously.

"Um, so, what are you doing here?" Willow asked. "Not that I don't like having you here, because, well, big happy to see you."

Oz sat down on the couch and took a deep breath. "I was living in a little village in the Amazon rainforest for a while. Nice place. Lots of trees. Shaman there helped me out a lot with the wolf. Didn't hear about Sunnydale until a group of tourists came through five months afterwards."

Willow's eyes got very large as she realized what must have happened. "You didn't know if we were okay, did you?"

"Not exactly. I tried calling Angel after I hitchhiked into Rio, but he'd moved and there wasn't a new number, so I went to L.A. and tracked him down. Took me a while. Not really where I expected him to be. He told me where to find you," he said softly. "I knew you weren't dead. I mean, I just would have known, you know?"

"Yeah, I know," Willow said. "So, you want a cup of hot chocolate?"

"Sounds good," Oz said with a smile. "But can I have a hug first? Is that, like, okay?"

Willow smiled back happily. "Yeah. Yeah, that's okay."

They embraced tightly for a moment, Oz reassuring himself that she was really there, really safe. Eventually, they let go and sat down over cocoa. A pleasant silence filled the room. Neither was sure about anything in the future, but for the moment, it was just nice to be near one another again.