Weird morning. I woke up to a phone call from this girl who works with my best friend, wanting to know if I'd heard from her today or if I knew any other ways to get ahold of her. She said Tess hadn't shown up to work and she hadn't called in, and she was worried, because that's just not like her. Nobody was answering her phone at home and the answering machine wasn't picking up. So I sent Tess an e-mail, hoping maybe she just wasn't answering her phone because she was online, and spent about 30 minutes being freaked out and getting ready to go over there when she called. Turns out she did call in sick, but apparently either the folks she called never checked their voice mail or her messages didn't get saved. Or something. Anyway, Tess is okay, if a little under the weather.

I could not drag myself out of bed to go to class this morning. I don't think I missed anything too important, and it was worth it for this wonderful feeling of being caught up on sleep. I'm debating on whether or not to go to my afternoon class. Again, I don't think they're going to cover anything too important, and I could really use the extra time to work on stuff.

Watched Angel last night. Thought it was pretty "eh." Except for Wesley. My God, he just keeps getting hotter. I hope he never gets un-scruffy and goes back to looking like an English priss. Right now he's in the process of working his way onto my imaginary boyfriend list. Mmm, Wes!

New Buffy tonight, at long last. I wish I could get excited about it instead of anticipating the rest of the season with a sense of dread. Stupid spoilers.

The below post is an example of Blog This publishing to the wrong blog. Grrr. Anyway, parts one *and* two of Getaway are up at DL, if you want to take a gander at the cleaned up version of the bits I've posted thus far.

Part 2 is up. Part 3 is in progress.

Well, I got my intro drafted, and it passed muster. Now I've a week to do the math and write up a report of my findings. And graph them. Yeesh. Another busy weekend ahead. Looks like I won't be seeing Spider-Man on opening weekend after all. I also have to write a ten page comparative paper on two individuals in different stages of childhood by Thursday. Since I'll have all day Wednesday to devote to that, and since I won't get my interviews back from my subjects until tomorrow at the earliest, I have tonight off. From schoolwork, at least. This of course means that after I go take a nice long nap I'll get cracking on the fic.

One more week, and then I'm done.

Hmm. I'd thought it was the quiz image that was causing the horizontal scrollbar at the bottom of this frame, but that has rolled off of the page and the scrollbar is still there. I can't see any reason it should be there. If any of you who are reading this who know about this stuff could take a look at my blog source code and see if you can figure out what's causing it and let me know what I need to do to fix it, you'll get a big, sloppy cyber-smooch for your efforts.

I shouldn't have logged onto AIM last night, but I did, and as a result I stayed up way later than I should have, and I fell completely off of the spoiler wagon. I now have this sinking, anxious feeling regarding Spike's future that I was perfectly happy not to have before. I'm still delusionally hopeful, mind you, but it's taking a lot more work to maintain now. And now I'm obsessing over ways that what I was told could work out in his favor -- or rather, in favor of his relationship with Buffy and/or his redemption -- instead of focussing on things I really need to be focussed on, such as the introduction to my fake APA methodological research article, which is due in 5 hours and which I have not even started yet. So what the heck am I doing online, you ask? Gathering more info from Born To Explore to support my hypothesis. I'm just killing time waiting for my stuff to print.

*SIGH* Just had to chase Nibblet off the top of my coat stand. I wonder how long before she sends that crashing down. I just hope my dog's not underneath it when it happens.

Anyway. I was up at least another hour after I made myself log off AIM, trying to organize and revise everything I've written so far of Getaway to post on the site. I'm still waiting to hear back from some of my betas, but considering new episodes start tomorrow that will completely negate my story, I'm in a bit of a hurry to get it out to the masses (as opposed to the 30 or so of you who visit my blog regularly; Hi, sis). So I might not be able to wait to hear back from everybody. At any rate, the first half should go up at DL some time tonight. I'll let you know here and there when it does.

I probably won't be posting any more of it here, since some folks have mentioned they've been avoiding this page so they don't get spoiled for it and would prefer to read it in its final form on the site. Or maybe I will anyway. I don't know. Depends on my mood, really.

My articles are printed, so I'm off to finish my homework. Wish me luck.

The others all took a step back. Roy's grin faltered, but then it widened. "I've always wanted to try on a Slayer."

"I'll bet you have," said Spike. He threw a punch that landed square on Roy's nose, knocking him back a couple steps. Roy recovered and spun around, aiming a kick at Spike's midsection. Wonderful. Roy new how to fight. Well, so did Spike. Buffy decided to leave them to each other for the moment and turned her attention on the other four. She made the decision a split-second too late. One of them grabbed her from behind, pinning her arms -- and her stake -- behind her. Two more rushed her, while the forth hung back and watched the action with a deer-in-headlights look plastered on his face.

Buffy leaned her head forward, then slammed it back into the face of the one who held her. He hollered in pain, but his grip only loosened enough to allow her some maneuverability. As the other two reached her, she kicked her foot up and planted it on one's shoulder. Using it as leverage she swung her other leg up and kicked the second vamp in the face. Her momentum carried her up and over Number Three's head. She held on to his arms as she went, and heard his screams of pain mixed with the satisfying pop of his shoulders as she wrenched them out of their sockets. Her feet hit the hood of the car and she was free. She reached down and grabbed Number Three by the hair, yanked him back onto the car, and dropped to one knee beside him, plunging the stake into his heart.

Before she could straighten back up, Number Two grabbed her by the arm and flipped her off of the car. She landed badly, her right ankle giving out as it hit the ground. Still, she rebounded and brought that foot up, kicking Number One in the side of the head. The impact caused pain to shoot through her leg and foot, and she yelped. She didn't lose any momentum, though. She finished the spin, bringing the stake home right through Number One's tacky fringed leather vest.

Number Four looked like he was finally working up the nerve to join in. Buffy took a step towards him and stumbled. A pair of arms caught her from behind, then lifted her in the air and body slammed her onto the hood of Spike's car, knocking the wind out of her.

"Buffy!"

She looked over at Spike just in time to see fear give in to rage as he vamped out and stopped screwing around and really laid into Roy. She just lay there for a second, trying to recover, watching Spike fight the other vampire from the vantage point of hanging her head backwards off of the car. It looked like some kind of upside down ballet. Or wrestling match. Roy got him in a headlock, and Spike responded by sinking his teeth into Roy's forearm. He elbowed Roy in the gut and broke free, then pulled out a stake.

Just as it was getting good, Buffy felt a hand tangle in her hair. She looked up into the grinning face of Number Two. He started to drag her by the hair off of the car, but she brought her legs up over her head and locked her knees around the vamp's neck. She twisted until she heard bones crack, then flipped him forward. He flew over the car and landed in a heap on the other side. Buffy sat up and slid off of the car, and limped over to stake him.

She stood up and looked over at Spike, only to see him brushing Roy's remains off of his coat and jeans. He started towards her, but stopped when he noticed the remaining vamp. Buffy noticed him too. He looked back and forth from her to Spike, then turned around and took off running. Buffy was about to tell Spike to let him go, but he was already hot on the vamp's heels. She sighed and did her best to chase after them.

She made it about fifty yards from the car before she decided to just sit down and wait for Spike. Her ankle hurt like a bitch. She could make out the back of his head, almost silver in the moonlight, as he tackled his prey. Then they both disappeared behind a boulder. Buffy sighed, and took in her surroundings. She leaned back on her elbows so she could look up at the stars. Last time she'd seen them shine so bright was when --

She sat up straight, suddenly struck by a sense of deja vu. When Giles had brought her out her on her vision quest. That was the last time she'd seen the stars look like this. She looked around again. No way this could be the same place, could it? Yet it felt so familiar. The memory of what had been revealed to her that night caused her to shudder. #Death is your gift,# her guide had said. Buffy leaned back again, and pouted. "Indian giver."

She squeezed her eyes shut against the memory, but she couldn't block out the First Slayer's words.

#Love ... give ... forgive. Risk the pain.#

"Easy for you to say," she muttered. "Except for recurring guest shots in my visions, you got to #keep# your gift." She opened her eyes to see Spike trudging back towards her through the sand. "You get him?"

"Yeh. He, uh ..." He looked back the way he'd come, then looked back at her and shrugged. "He's dust."

"Sounds exciting."

"Oh, it was. You should've seen it." He squinted down at her. "Why didn't you? You okay?"

"Yeah." She took his extended hand and let him pull her to her feet. "Just -- ow!"

"You're hurt."

"Twisted my ankle." She waved a dismissive hand. "It'll be fine."

He looked skeptical. "Can you walk on it?" She nodded, and took a step towards the car to prove it. Pain exploded through her entire lower leg, and she stumbled. Spike caught her before she fell. "I'd call that a 'no'. Here." He wrapped an arm around her waist and bent to put his other arm behind her knees.

Buffy hopped back a step. "What are you doing?"

"What's it look like? I'm gonna carry you to the car."

"I don't need you to carry me. I said I'm fine."

Spike sighed, stood up, and held his hands in the air as he backed away from her. "Suit yourself, Pet. You want to limp back, be my guest."

She nodded, then took another step forward. "Aah!" Her ankle buckled and she went down on one knee. "Spike ..."

"Oh, for --" He cut himself off as he stooped down and swept her up into his arms.

"Spike --"

"Shut up, Summers."

She frowned, and looked towards the car. "I was just gonna say thanks," she grumped as they reached it.

Spike just looked at her. Buffy suddenly became intensely aware of his nearness. Slowly, she turned back to face him. When her eyes locked on his, her heart took off like a jackhammer. She knew he could feel it. She licked her lips and swallowed. It was an unconscious gesture that she became aware of only after the fact. In Spike's arms, her mouth an inch away from his, his shoulders flexing beneath her arm, adrenaline from the fight still coursing through her veins ... it was a very bad place to be. Actually, it was a very #good# place to be. Hence the problem.

His eyes drifted down to her mouth. Without thinking, she parted her lips. His eyes met hers again, and without a word, he set her on her feet. With one arm still around her waist to support her, never taking his eyes away from hers, he opened her car door.

"You're welcome," he said softly, then helped her inside and shut the door.

***

Check out the random James Marsters generator down there in the bottom right corner (your right, genius). Refresh the frame and the little picture changes. I can't stop playing with it. Pretty, pretty, pretty James.

Hi. I make my own fun.

Back to (relative) simplicity. I was just so desperate to do something other than write or read or study for a while, and there's nothing decent on TV and it's too rainy to go outside. So, a makeover seemed in order.

First Edward, now this:





Take the What High School Stereotype Are You? quiz, by Angel.

Makes you want to date me now, don't it?

Guh. So tired, and yet so wired. (Hey! I'm a poet ...) I woke up around 5:30 going, "I know how to end Episode 6!" And then I rolled over and tried to go back to sleep. 'Cause, 5:30 on a Saturday morning, dude. There ought to be a law against getting out of bed then if you don't have to. Especially if you'd only gone to bed 4 hours ago after spending way longer than intended on AIM. Anyway, I couldn't go back to sleep. It was all so vivid, I had to get up and write it down. So an hour later (because I'm very stubborn about giving up the chance to sleep through my mornings) I stumbled out of bed and downstairs to make a pot of coffee and came back up here to do just that. So, yay. It's early, and I'm sleepy, but I've got an ending. This is important, because if I don't have an ending, I don't have a story, and I've been stressing about this for quite some time now. So now I can stop, and just write the damn story.

Aaaiigh! Spider! Bugger just ran across my keyboard and disappeared behind my desk before I could catch it. Now I feel like things are crawling on me. Sheeyeahhhh!

Anyway. I was, of course, talking about DL up there, in case you have no idea what I'm prattling on about. And if that's the case, then you must be new here. But that ep's not due for a couple more weeks. Since I'm up (sigh), I think I'll get to work on Getaway. I'm going to do my damnedest to finish it today so I can forget about it and turn all of my attention to the big-ass research papers I have to write this week. Though considering I'm just reaching the half-way point, that's looking pretty unlikely. Maybe if I stay offline. Heh, right.

Anyway. Where'd I leave off on that? Oh, right. "Let's do this." All righty, here's the next little bit:

***

The five shadowy figures formed a semi-circle in front of the car, just out of reach of the headlights. Buffy opened the car door and got out. Spike followed her lead, pulling on his duster as he stalked towards the front of the car. He tried to look menacing. #She# tried to look apologetic. "Hey, look. We were just playing around back there. We really didn't mean to offend --"

"Oh, we weren't offended," a deep voice said. The voice's owner took a step forward, and she could make out a pair of snakeskin boots poking out from beneath leather chaps. The light illuminated his giant belt buckle. "Roy" was engraved across it in big letters. "My posse and I enjoyed the show. Thought we'd catch an encore."

Buffy took a second to glare at Spike. He rolled his eyes and started patting his pockets. Great. He was going to smoke. Again. Was that his answer for everything? "Sorry." She looked back at Roy. "That was an exclusive, one-time engagement. But thanks for your interest."

"Come on, don't be that way," he said. "Show us a nice piece of white meat like that, you can't let us go away hungry." He stepped all the way into the light, revealing his vampiric features.

"Oh, you've gotta be kidding me," Buffy muttered. She held up her hands. "Look, guys. I'm on vacation. What do you say we all just get back in our cars and forget we ever saw each other?"

"Right." Roy grinned as his "posse" moved into the light. "That's gonna happen."

Buffy sighed, and reached for her stake. It wasn't there. She'd left it in the car. She looked back up at Roy. "Um ..."

"Slayer!"

She looked at Spike just in time to see a stake flying at her head. She reached up and plucked it out of the air. "Thanks!"

The others all took a step back. Roy's grin faltered, but then it widened. "I've always wanted to try on a Slayer."

"I'll bet you have," said Spike. He threw a punch that landed square on Roy's nose, knocking him back a couple steps. Roy recovered and spun around, aiming a kick at Spike's midsection. Wonderful. Roy new how to fight. Well, so did Spike. Buffy decided to leave them to each other for the moment and turned her attention on the other four. She made the decision a split-second too late. One of the others grabbed her from behind, pinning her arms -- and her stake -- behind her.

Exciting, innit? Now for to be finishing the fighty stuff. Later.

Just finished watching Manchild. It's a little embarrasing in the vein of sitting down with your parents to listen to them chat about their sex lives, 'cause, dude, that's Giles holding on to the giant plaster penis! But Anthony Head is just so cute, and it's worth the blushing to see him in leather pants. Mmm, Giles.

Here is a good essay about Buffy and Spike representing each other's anima and animus, which is serving as pretty good fuel for my stoic (and hopefully not delusional) optimism about those two crazy kids.

Oh, my God. At the moment I can think of very few things that are more irritating than an eleven-month-old cat in heat. If I don't find time to take her to get neutered soon I fear I may very well do her some irreversible harm. Locking her in the bedroom while I work and turning up the music so I can't hear her howl feels cruel, but it's keeping her safe and me sane. Every time I scream "NO!" or "QUIT THAT!" at her, she just looks at me and sticks her rear end up in the air and points it at me, like she's thinking, "Oh yeah. Come on, punish me. Punish me REAL good." It's very disturbing.

Two papers down, two more to go. I got through my presentation this morning, barely. I was late to class because I was still printing out one of my papers five minutes before the class began. I managed 4 hours of sleep this morning (and that only because I slept through my alarm for an hour before it finally registered and woke me up), and I carved out 20 to shower and throw on some clothes. Needless to say, with wet hair, no makeup, and an extreme minimum of preparation, my presentation was delivered with a minimum of confidence. It was about social phobia. I should have told them I was demonstrating the social phobia called "stage fright." Anyway, I got throug it, and now it's over with. These projects were supposed to be done with a partner, but I ended up doing mine alone, so hopefully the prof will go easy on me since I had to do twice as much work.

Your sympathy (if you had any) for me will probably diminish when I tell you that instead of staying up into the wee, small hours of the morning working diligently on said project, I was working on the kidnapping fic. But maybe you too will go easy on me if I share some of it with you. Below is the continuation of this scene, which has since been considerably fleshed out, picking up where Spike dares Buffy to moon somebody.

My child psych prof. cancelled our weekly Thursday quiz this week, which leaves me with time to nap before I have to go to that class. Ciao. Enjoy the fic.

"I just shared a secret. Now it's your turn. Spill."

She raised an eyebrow. "What is this, truth or dare?"

He smiled slyly. "It could be."

"In that case, I'll take the dare."

"Right then. Next car we pass, show 'em your bum."

She gaped at him. "You can't be serious."

"As a heart attack." He pointed up ahead. "Here comes one now. Better get ready."

"You want me to moon somebody?"

"It's that or answer my question."

"Fine. What's your question?"

"Ah, ah, ah. That's not how it works, Love. You pick first, and you already picked. Better hurry, we're about to pass this car."

Buffy just glared at him.

"'Course, we don't have to play if it's too #much# for you."

Buffy continued to glare at him, but she started undoing her pants. Spike grinned. "Atta girl."

Spike changed lanes and pulled up alongside an open-air Jeep. It was full of people, but hard to make them out in the dark, even under the full moon. Buffy, her eyes still shooting stakes at Spike, climbed up in the seat, stuck her rear-end out the window, and lowered her knickers. Hoots and hollers came from the Jeep. Buffy closed her eyes. "Oh, God!" She pulled up her britches and dropped down in the seat, hiding her face from the other vehicle. "Go!"

Spike laughed as he sped up and went around the Jeep. Buffy hazarded a glance back at them, then shook her head. "I can't believe I just did that."

"Neither can I." Spike couldn't stop laughing. "I never thought you'd go through with it. Color me impressed."

"Color me embarrassed," she muttered.

"Oh, relax. Believe me, Pet, your bum is nothing to be ashamed of."

"Thanks, I guess." She pouted. "Maybe next time you can wave your bony white ass at them instead."

Spike glanced in the rearview mirror, then nodded. "Right, then. Take the wheel." He let go of the steering wheel and started undoing his belt buckle.

"What? No! No taking the wheel!" She reached over to slap his hands. "Stop that!"

"Fine!" He gave it up and went back to steering the car. They sat for a moment in silence, then they both burst into laughter.

"So, did you see the looks on their faces?" Buffy asked.

Spike shook his head. "Too dark. Yours was pretty priceless, though."

"God, what if there were kids in the car?"

"Then you probably traumatized them for life. They'll spend years in therapy trying to forget about the blurry bare ass that was inflicted on them. Poor children."

"Shut up." Buffy put a hand over her eyes and shook her head, though a grin remained on her face. "I've never done anything like that before."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" He smirked at her. "Guess I'm a bad influence on you, Slayer."

"Yeah." She looked sideways at him, and smiled. "You really are."

His smirk melted into a genuine smile as he held her gaze for a moment. The mood was broken by a set of extroardinarily bright headlights coming up behind them a bit too fast for comfort. The Jeep was right on them, practically riding his bumper.

"Bollocks."

Buffy turned in her seat to look at them. "What do you think they want?"

"I dunno. An encore? Private show, maybe?"

She looked appalled. "I don't think so."

"Put your seatbelt on."

Buffy looked around, then shook her head. "Does this antique even have seatbelts?"

Spike rolled his eyes skyward and sighed. "Then, brace yourself and hang on." Just as he was about to slam on his brakes, the Jeep switched lanes. "Um, nevermind." It sped past them, then got back in front. "No, on second thought --" The Jeep slammed on its brakes, forcing Spike to do the same. He swerved off of the road, just barely missing them. They spun and skidded to a stop in the sand, ending up about twenty feet from the road, facing the highway. "Brilliant," Spike muttered. He looked over at Buffy. "Are you okay?"

She looked shaken, but unharmed. She nodded, then looked at the Jeep. "Okay, what the hell was #that#? I've been mooned before, I never wanted to go all #Fast and the Furious# on them."

"Yeh, well, that's 'cause you're mostly in your right mind," he said as several figures unloaded from the Jeep and started towards them. "Something tells me these pillocks can't say the same." He watched as they formed a line in front of the car, just outside the reach of the headlights. "Right, then. If it's a tussle they want ..." He looked at Buffy, and grinned. "They picked the right car, didn't they?"

Buffy just looked at him. "I'm not fighting. I'm on enforced holiday, remember?"

"I think we might not have a choice, Love."

"Oh, I've got a choice all right. It was #your# idea to pull that stunt back there. Why should I stop them if they want to kick your ass?"

Spike stared at her. "You know, Slayer, I can't tell you how comforting it is to know that when the chips are down, I've got you to watch my back."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Fine. Let's do this."

I just bought a whole bunch of herbal and natural remedies for ADD. St. John's Wort, Ginseng (not really for ADD, but considering I'm off of my thyroid medication I need all the energy boosting I can get), Ginkgo Biloba, vitamin B and cod liver oil. Yum. That's a hell of a lot of pills to take to try and accomplish what one little Ritalin pill can do, and it probably won't really cost any less in the long run, so we'll see how long this trend lasts. But, damn. I had to do something.

I have two papers and a presentation due tomorrow, both for my clinical psych test. Then by Monday I'm supposed to have all of my materials read and my introduction written for my research methods fake experiment/APA paper/presentation. I'll get another week to do the math and write the rest of the paper. Then next Thursday my ten-page child psychology paper is due, so I should probably get started on that. I was really, really hoping to make time to go see Jason X this weekend (shut up! I used to love those movies. It's all about nostalgia), but it's starting to look like that's not going to happen.

*SIGH* Just two weeks from today, and I'll be done with school. Thank God.

I also really need to finish that fic I've been working on before next Tuesday's BtVS episode leaves me too traumatized to care about it. Actually, last night I went and got totally spoiled for this next ep in the hopes of getting rid of the sick, angsty feeling that the preview (and last night's discussion about the preview) left in the pit of my stomach, and it worked. I think I'm going to be okay with it. Hopeful delusion, thy name is Jean.

Heh. I just opened up my fic to work on it, and my eyes landed on the following paragraph, and my first thought was, "I don't remember getting to the sex scene yet."

She stirred beneath his hand, then whimpered. Her breathing grew rapid. #Here it comes.# With a great gasp for air her head jerked up, and her hand shot out and gripped his knee like a vice.

It's not sex. My mind just wants to venture to filthy places tonight, apparently. Hey, what can I say? I just watched "Smallville." It's to be expected.

In other news: I really do need to update my links page. There are only about 3 sites listed there that I ever visit with any kind of regularity any more, and two of them have since moved. I need to pare it down. But I'm all afraid that if I take somebody off of the list they'll notice and get all offended. But really, the "daily reads" heading is a big fat lie these days. I just don't have time. Maybe I'll move them to a recommended reading list or something.

*SIGH* My referral logs frighten me.

Y'know, perhaps part of why I go so long between updates sometimes is that often when I try, and I write a long-ass post like the following, it gets eaten or it doesn't publish. Anyway. The following was written today on my lunch hour:

~~~

I am so, so tired. As usual.

I was going to try and pull an overnighter last night to finish my clinical psych paper which, according to the syllabus, was due to day. Around 10 last night it began to be apparent that that just wasn't going to happen, so I went to bed and instead got up early, early, early this morning to work on it. Like, 4:30. I'm not sure when exactly I reached the point where getting up early would be easier than staying up late, but I don't think I like it. I also don't expect it to last. I'm pretty sure this was just a fluke and pretty soon I'll be back to my old insomniac, night-owl self again. I hope. I'm thinking that the fact that I was up until 3:30 Sunday night/Monday morning chatting on AIM might have something to do with it. At any rate, my paper's not due until Thursday, so, like Wesley's kidnapping of Cherub, it was all for naught.

I pretty much hate everybody on Angel right now except for Wesley. Let me just make sure I've got this straight: Wesley sets out to protect Angel's son, as well as Angel, and also to shield his friends and loved ones from the burden, but no matter how good his intentions, because of the end result, he is the scum of the earth. Meanwhile Angel tortured and came very close to murdering a human being (a W&H lawyer, yes, but still human), showed his willingness to kill Lilah, messed with some seriously dark mojo while ignoring the possible ramifications, got several innocent people killed and injured (because of the car accident that was caused when he summoned Sajhan), flat out lied to Gunn & Fred in order to get past them into Wesley's hospital room, and then tried to murder Wesley -- and yet he's just a grieving father and it's all understandable and forgiveable. Because he's that vampire. The one with a soul. So he gets a free pass. Feh, I say. And don't even get me started on how unjust this is to Spike.

Spike and Wesley are the only remaining characers in the entire Joss-verse who are still sympathetic and likeable (well, okay, Anya and Tara, last time I checked, are pretty okay too), and yet they get treated like shit. Maybe this is why they remain sympathetic and likeable when everyone else is pretty dispicable. Eh, I've still got some sympathy for Buffy, but it's quickly waning and will be all used up if she doesn't snap out of it here pretty soon. But I digress. Probably the biggest and most disturbing surprise last night was Cordelia's lack of grief over losing the baby. Sure, she felt bad for Angel, and she was there for him, but she bonded with Connor, and you'd think she'd grieve for her own sake as well. And the fact that she never once even asked about Wesley was even more upsetting. I was going to chalk it up to bad writing, but my friend Tess suggested that maybe her new demonosity is causing her to be cold. Hmm.

Wow. I didn't set out to make this post all about Angel, really. Anyway. One paper down, three to go. Then finals. Then I'm done. For the summer, at any rate. Just two and a half more weeks to go until I can stop being seriously sleep deprived. Yay.

And now I'm off to take a nap. Because naps are good. Imagine what a significantly less cranky world it would be if everybody were able to take naps when they need them. Like I do. Right now. So, bye.

The sad thing? This is actually pretty accurate, now that I think about it.

You Are Edward From "Edward Scissorhands." You are very shy and often misunderstood. Innocent, sweet, and artistic, you like to pass your days by daydreaming and expressing yourself through the arts. You are a truly unique individual. Unfortunately, you are quite lonely, and few people truly understand you.

Take The Johnny Depp Quiz!

Well, I did it. My first attempt at a novel is up there for all to see.

I found one of her hiding places. Things that are still lost: Strunk & White and "What's My Line." Things that are found: My "Fool for Love" shooting script and -- YAY! -- my FS disk! I'm working on converting it over to HTML now.

Looking at it, I gotta say, it's not terrible, but I've grown so much since I wrote it. Practice definitely makes better.

From adjrun: "Any time you want to work together again? Just say the word."

This, by the by, was attached to her final scenes for Episode 3 of Restoration, which is finally up in its entirety at dancing-lessons.org. And I just want to say thanks to adj for making my first co-writing experience an extremely gratifying one. I can't imagine that we won't be working together again some time in the near future.

I've started sending out bits of Getaway to my beta readers. I'm hoping to finish it before new episodes start up again and I lose all interest in writing it. It's one of those stories where I know exactly what happens every step of the way, it's just a matter of finding time to write it all down. I also wrote the first scene of DL 3.6 tonight. Funny how I tend to get all inspired when I'm supposed to be writing papers for school. In this case, an analytical/diagnostic look at a case study from the behavioral perspective of psychology. Gee, my brain would rather write fiction? Go figure.

Which reinforces my belief that I had damned well better figure out how to make it in this world as a fiction writer, because that is the only thing I can imagine that I'd be happy doing day in and day out for the rest of my life. I'm taking steps. A couple of others on the DL crew also have original ideas they'd like to try and turn into novels, or at the very least publishable short stories, so I think we're going to start a group to help push each other along. I'm actually very excited about this, and I can't wait to get started on my new novel. It will have to wait until the semester is over, but that's just three more weeks. I'm already entertaining fantasies about selling my manuscript for enough to pay off my student loans and not having to worry about getting into grad school because I'll no longer be in need of a fallback career. Wouldn't that be nice?

As for my last novel, Fearful Symmetry, I've decided to write that one off as practice. I'd like to post it on this site, but my kitten has apparently hidden the disk that it's on. It's probably in the same place as my Strunk & White and my videotape containing both hours of "What's My Line." The kitty, she's not so cute when she hides my things. Nor is she so cute when she's in heat, which she is now, which seems to be a pretty constant state for her these days. Another thing I'm going to do as soon as school's out is get her neutered. But I digress. As soon as I find that disk, FS will be going up here, so you can either tell me how it's a shame I didn't try harder to get it published because it totally deserves to be, or you can mock it and me and pity me and my delusions of grandeur. Your call.

Something else I'm going to do as soon as school is out: clean the clutter off my desk. And probably find my disk, and my S&W, and my missing videotape in the process, after which I'll have to feel bad about blaming the cat. But in the meantime I'll just keep assuming that it's her fault.

Fuck you, Chris Carter!

And a wee bit more of Getaway:

A 44 oz. Coca-Cola didn't keep her from getting sleepy. The back seat was too cluttered for her to stretch out there, so instead she curled up in the front, using his balled up duster for a pillow. She could've used his lap. He wouldn't have protested. Still, she used his coat. It was a start.

He reached down and brushed her hair out of her face. In the moonlight it gleamed almost as white as his. He missed the way it used to cascade over her bare shoulders, but even so, her chopping it off hadn't made her any less beautiful. Of course, he didn't tell her so, out of fear that she might go and shave her head. He tried to imagine her with the Sinead O'Connor look, and smiled. Still gorgeous.

His finger lightly traced a pattern along her upper arm. A sound of contentment escaped her lips, and Spike rested his hand on her shoulder. He was crossing a line. He'd broken the unspoken "look but don't touch" rule, and he knew it. Now ask him if he cared. Not even Buffy could be so unreasonable as to expect him to be near her for this long without touching her. Couldn't be done. Her skin drew him like a magnet. He could only resist its pull for so long.

She stirred beneath his hand, then whimpered. Her breathing grew rapid. #Here it comes.# With a great gasp for air her head jerked up, and her hand shot out and gripped his knee like a vice.

"Shh, Buffy." He rubbed her arm, tried to draw her to him. "It's okay, Love. It was just a dream."

For an instant, she started to relax against him, but then she sat up and pulled away to her side of the car. Spike sighed, and put both hands on the wheel. He hated her nightmares as much as she did, if only because it killed him that she wouldn't let him comfort her. It was always the same. She'd awaken in terror, and for the tiniest moment, she'd let him hold her, let him soothe her fear. Then she'd remember who they were -- or #what# they were -- and pull away. This was usually the part where she'd get dressed and go home. Except this time, she had nowhere to go.

~~~

And now I'm off to work on that huge-ass clinical psych project that's due this Tuesday. Whee fun.

More of the Fic With No Name, which actually has a name now, which is Getaway (at least until I change my mind):

***

The first pit stop occurred just before they reached the Interstate. The car's tank was almost empty, and Buffy's bladder was full. "So," Spike said as he pulled up to the pump, "you wanna kick my ass now, or after I fill up the car?"

"Too many people around," Buffy said. "Guess it'll have to wait. Besides, I have to pee." She started to open the car door, but stopped. "You want to come in with me? Keep watch, make sure I don't call home or try to slip somebody a 'Help, I've been kidnapped' note?"

Spike considered this, then waved his hand. "Nah. You won't do that."

"What makes you so sure?"

He held up his pinkie. "One, there's no one at home to call. And two," he raised his ring finger to join it, "you don't want to be rescued." He smirked at her, then got out of the car.

Buffy stared after him a moment in amazement. So, he was right on both counts. Did he have to be so damned smug about it? She got out of the car and headed inside. How did he know she'd be alone this weekend, anyway? Probably because he made it his business to know these things. Did it really matter how he found out? Inside the store, she turned back to look at him. He had one hand on the nozzle, while the other one worked his lighter, igniting the cigarette that dangled from his lips, heedless of the "No smoking or open flame near the pumps" sign posted right behind him.

#That's my Spike.#

She frowned at the thought. He wasn't #her# Spike. He wasn't her #anything#. Not anymore. She shook her head and headed to the ladies' room. After finishing up and washing her hands, she stared at herself in the mirror. So then, what the hell was she doing here? They were obviously still #something# to each other. She knew what she was to him. He made that clear every chance he got, and it never changed. No matter how she treated him. But what was he to her? Sex wrapped in leather, an orgasm waiting to happen? Wasn't he more than that? It would be so easy sometimes to let him be. Whatever else he was to her, could she rightfully call him a friend after everything they'd been through together? Everything she'd put him through?

#You'll fight, and you'll shag, and you'll hate each other till it makes you quiver ...#

"But you'll never be friends," Buffy finished the thought aloud. She sighed, and dried her hands.

She came out of the bathroom just as he was coming in the store. As he entered, a middle-aged guy in a ponytail "tsked" at Spike's cigarette and pointed at the no smoking signs. Spike looked at him, took the cigarette out of his mouth, and blew smoke in the man's face. As Ponytail coughed and sputtered a stream of indignant curses, Spike put the fag back in his mouth and sauntered over to Buffy, his body language daring anyone else to try and make him put it out.

"Rude much?" Buffy asked as he reached her.

"Tell me about it. People these days don't know how to mind their own sodding business."

"I meant you."

He looked genuinely surprised. "What? It's not like I vamped out and threatened to eat the tosser."

Buffy considered this, and decided he had a point. You hang with the soulless undead, you have to pick your battles. This was an offence she could let slide.

He pointed at what was fast becoming an armload of toiletries as they made their way down the aisle. "What's all this, then?"

"Stuff I'm gonna need." She reached for a tube of deodorant. "It's not like you gave me a chance to pack a bag. I don't know what I'm going to do for clothes this weekend. At least if these get all stinky, you don't have to inhale."

Spike got distracted by a Frito-Lay display stand at the end of the aisle and went to load up on chips. "Don't worry about that," he said as he inspected a bag of Funyuns. "Everything you need's out in the car." He held up the bag. "You like these, Pet?"

Buffy stopped in her tracks and gaped at him. "You packed me a bag?"

"Oh, no. The Bit --" His eyes widened, and she could see him trying to backpeddle. "Um, that is, the #bint#" -- he put special emphasis in the 'n' -- "Harmony, see. She left some of that stuff in my crypt, and I knew you'd be needing it, so I brought it along." He nodded for emphasis.

Buffy rolled her eyes in disgust as she dumped her items on a shelf. "I can not believe that Dawn was in on this."

"No, no she wasn't. She had nothing to do with this. It was all my idea."

"She is so grounded when I get home." Buffy balled her fists and rested them on her hips. "What did you say to her to get her to go along with this?"

"I didn't --" Spike stopped, and sighed. "Don't suppose I can plead the 5th?"

"No, that's for the living." She crossed her arms and waited.

"Fine." Spike put down the chips and moved closer so he could lower his voice. "Apparently when you went on your little rampage the other day, you said something to Dawn about us."

Buffy squeezed her eyes shut. "Oh, God."

"Not in so many words." He sounded disappointed and irritated even as he tried to reassure her. "But enough to let her put two and two together. And believe it or not, she's okay with it. Has this silly notion that you and me could actually be good for each other."

"She's young. What does she know?"

Spike pointed, as if Dawn were standing off in the corner of the store. "She knows enough to think that it'll be good for you to get away for a few days. And I happen to agree with her."

Buffy's eyebrows shot up. "Are you telling me she masterminded this whole thing?"

Spike folded his arms. "I'm not telling you anything. And you didn't hear any of this from me."

"Whatever." Buffy pushed past him and grabbed a bag of Doritos off of the display. "Let's just go while I'm still insane enough to agree with both of you."

**WARNING: Contains language. Sissy, please don't show your class my blog. Jeremy, you shouldn't be reading this page in the first place. Anyone else with delicate sensibilities, I don't feel like censoring myself today, so be warned.**

I woke up at an ungodly hour this morning to the sounds of my dog screaming in pain. Scared the crap out of me. I was afraid I kicked him out of bed or rolled on top of him or something and further damaged one of his gimpy little legs. It turned out there was nothing wrong with him, he was just dreaming. I woke him up, and it took about ten minutes of petting to get him to stop shaking. I've owned and cared for a lot of different dogs in my lifetime, and I've never seen one have a nightmare like that. So today I'm pissed off all over again at his previous owners. The people who let his allergies get so out of control that he chewed off most of his fur and a good deal of his skin. Also the people who apparently allowed him to break his leg in two different places (fuckwads probably broke it themselves) and let it heal back wrong. The same people who apparently dumped him rather than taking him to a shelter or bothering to find him another home because he was too high maintenance (and really, he's not. Unless you consider a cortizone shot every 6 months to be high maintenance). The people who, I'm guessing, are showing up in dreams that make the little guy scream like something is killing him. Probably reliving getting his leg broken. Fuckers. I really hate those people. Can somebody please explain to me why people like that think they have any business having pets in the first place? Are people really so blinded by the cuteness of the fuzzy, warm puppy that they forget that it actually has needs and will have to be taken care of? And if they do figure out that they just can't handle that much committment, is it really that difficult to take it down to the SPCA, or the local vet, or hell, even the pound instead of dumping it on a country road and leaving it to fend for itself? Who the hell does that to a toy poodle? I mean, really, what kind of cold, remorseless sociopath do you have to be to do that to this?

I hate those people. Oh yes I do.

Which Member of the Endless Are You?

Last night I dreamed that I was a contestant on "The Amazing Race." Apparently I'd replaced Mary, because Peach was my partner. Imagine my joy. At one of the pit stops I made a pig out of myself, then on a road block we had to climb through this weird system of pipes, and I'd gained so much weight that I could barely fit through, and I was panicking because I might get stuck and the twins were coming up right behind me and they were going to have to shove on my ass to unstick me, but then I realized that no matter what I'd be in front of them and I was still in the lead, so it was all good.

I think I might be too wrapped up in that show.

I should have gone to the library today to research my psych project that's due next Tuesday, but I didn't. Sunday I went on a photo shoot with the boys and I managed to bugger up my back even worse (it's been hurting again ever since I started riding my new bicycle. Yes, I bought a new bike. Couple months ago. I rode it, and didn't stretch, and my back has been protesting ever since), and it hurts, and I really just didn't feel like leaving the house today. So I didn't.

The Chapter That Didn't Want To Be Written is finally almost finished. My part's done, except for some minor revisions as per my beta readers, which I'm about to finish up. My esteemed co-writer still has half a scene or so to go. Once she gets that written and gets her revisions done, all I'll have to do is code it, and then it will be up. We're so sorry it's taking so long.

It has been a long, long, looooong day. Not bad. Just long.

I had to get up at 7 this morning, people. 7 AM. On a Saturday. Yeah, I know, wah, but that's the earliest I've had to get up since I got canned -- excuse me, downsized -- last year, and it was quite a shock to the system. At least they had free coffee where I went. Always look on the bright side ...

Oh, yay. Now the whistling part of that song's stuck in my head.

Anyway. Where I went was Destination RSU, where upon arriving ten minutes late I wandered around for another twenty searching high and low for the Psychology Club's esteemed president, who I was supposed to help man the club's information booth. After said twenty minutes, I didn't find her -- which is freaky, because she's not the sort of person who just doesn't show up when she says she'll be there, and she wasn't answering any of her phones, and she hasn't returned her e-mail, and I really hope she's not dead or otherwise seriously incapacitated -- but I did find our booth, completely unmanned, with no information to share, no t-shirts, no free pencils or candy, no glossy brochures. Though we did have a big fancy banner with our club's name on it. Go us. So I sat down, put on my nametag, and proceeded to BS my way through the morning, because I really had no idea what I was supposed to be telling the impressionable young prospective students. Fortunately, only one student stopped by my table, and I think I fielded her questions pretty well considering I was pulling the answers out of my arse. Then the young 'uns and their parents were all hearded out of the building for a tour of the campus, so I got to sit for an hour or so twiddling my thumbs.

Well, not twiddling my thumbs so much as working on that final fight scene for DL3.3, a.k.a. The Chapter That Doesn't Want To End. At least I got us a little closer. Hopefully my esteemed co-writer for this round made similar progress on her road trip this weekend. Anyway, when I wasn't writing I was talking to Chad, a.k.a. Charlie Seven, the dee-jay/program director for RSU Radio who was doing a live remote, a.k.a. the guy from my church who used to live in my house. I gave him Last Exit's CD last week, and apparently it's already gotten a lot of airplay on the station. He's going to play the whole CD this Monday starting around 8PM Central, and my nephew and I and possibly other members of the band will be hanging out in the studio. Fun fun fun. Even if it is happening during the first new episode of Angel in a very long while and I was sorely tempted to bow out once I found out it would mean having to find out Wesley's fate on a tape-delay. But I didn't, so we'll be there. In case you care, the link up there is to the live audio stream, if you'd like to give us a listen. Though I don't expect to compete with Angel for your attention.

So eventually another member of the club showed up, who knew even less about what to tell people than I did, and then another who really didn't know any more but who is even better at BS than I am, and they showed up just in time for the other two students who stopped by our table. Apparently our big, shiny banner just wasn't the attention-getter they had hoped. And then it was time to go, which I did. I went home, for lunch, and to take care of some band business, before I had to go back to campus for a fun-filled afternoon of library research. While there I also used their computer to put the club newsletter together, because they have Word, which made it ever so much easier. Four hours later I felt on the verge of brain-deadness, and gave up and went home, where I sat in my mom's whirlpool tub for about two hours. It was heavenly, and I now smell wonderful. Just trust me on this. I really only meant to take a quick bath, but I'd printed off this fic to read while I soaked, and it was really quite good, and I lost track of time and read the whole thing before realizing I was getting all pruney. I just blogged the fic in Fic Picks over at DL, so you'll have to go look there for it, because I'm too lazy to blog it twice.

That's been my day so far. I finally pried myself out of the yummy-smelling swirly tub and fed myself, and now I think I'm getting a second wind. Or a third. Possibly fourth. At any rate, I've got some energy all of a sudden, so I'm gonna go get to work and see if I can't tame this out of control chapter and convince it to please end so that we can all get on with our lives and with the fic. Ciao.

Just testing something:

Hotmail

This is just the cutest picture ever.

Thanks to Pete for proving me wrong and finding that Oingo Boingo tune on Audiogalaxy for me.

Last Exit's show this weekend was cancelled. Apparently the drummer forgot he has to be in a school play that night. I'm actually cool with this because it has lightened my load considerably, which is a good thing, considering I was at the breaking point.

I'm 29. How 'bout that? Last Friday my sister's class threw me a birthday party. It was so sweet. They made me a card, which I'd scan in if I hadn't left it downstairs, but I don't feel like going to get it, so you'll just have to trust me when I say it was cute. The actual birthday was pretty uneventful, which is just how I wanted it. I actually got to sleep and laze around all day, then Tess came over that night and we had a Season 4 Spike-a-thon. Now she's all caught up on the chip saga.

Speaking of Spike, James Marsters was on Politically Incorrect last night. Hee! My boyfriend's opinionated, ain't he? He's so cute when he gets all fired up. Yup, I'm all about the James love. So what else is new?

The conclusion of DL3.3 is going just as fast as it possibly can, but it still seems to be taking forever. Only 3 scenes to go, but one of them is a big climactic fight and I'm not sure how adjrun and I are going to split that up, or even if it can be split up. But once the fight's done, the fic's done. Thank God. I'm so ready to move on to other things.

Like this, for instance. Here are some more (extremely) rough cuts from the Fic With No Name. I haven't even put in dialogue attribution yet, but I'm betting it'll be obvious enough who's who on most of the lines.:

She flipped through his CDs. Sex Pistols, Sex Pistols, Ramones, The Clash, more Ramones ...

"God!" she said, setting them back down in disgust. "What the hell ever made you think we'd be compatible?"

Spike laughed. "Believe me, pet, if there's one thing makes me doubt you're the girl for me, it's your taste in music."

...

"We don't have to listen to anything, y'know. We could always talk."

"Hey! How 'bout those Sex Pistols?"

"Why don't you want to talk?"

"Because I don't want to talk about ... what you want to talk about."

"I just mean a ruddy conversation. About anything you want. Doesn't have to be about us."

"Just a conversation?"

"Yeah. Like we were beginning to have not 30 seconds ago."

"Okay, fine."

"Fine."

"What do you want to talk about?"

"You pick."

"I don't know. You go first."

"Bloody hell, Slayer! Why do you always do this?"

"Do what?"

"Make everything about a billion times more complicated than it has to be!"

"I thought we weren't gonna talk about us!"

"I'm not talking 'bout us, pet. I'm talking about you."

"I don't want to talk about me," she said. "I'd rather talk about you."

"Right. Fine. What about me?"

"How many people do you suppose you've killed?"

"What?"

"I mean, I figure one person a day from the time you got vamped until you got your chip is a pretty conservative estimate, but even then that's like ... a whole lotta people."

"Forty-three thousand, give or take. And you're right. It's a lot more than that. Your point?"

"No point. Just ... thousands of people dead. Because of you. Sometimes I forget that."

"Yeah. 'Course, since meeting you I've helped avert two apocalypses. Not to mention all the demons I've killed since I got chipped, and last summer playing superhero with the Justice League. So that's billions of lives saved thanks to yours truly. Kinda balances out, don't it?"

Buffy shook her head. "It doesn't work like that."

"No. Because that would be too simple. So, how does it work? Please. Enlighten me."

She sighed. "Are you sorry for the people you killed?"

"Will my being sorry bring them back?"

"No."

"Right. Sorry's a waste of time."

"No it's not!" She sighed. "You just don't get it, and I can't explain it to you. But the only reason you're not still killing people is the chip. If it stopped working tomorrow ..."

"What?"

"You know what."

"No, I don't. But I guess I don't need to, 'cause you're bloody well certain enough for both of us."

"Look, I don't believe you'd turn on us. You've got that much decency. But are you telling me you wouldn't sink your fangs into the first non-friend-of-Buffy human you see?"

"No. I'm telling you that I don't know what I'd do." He sighed. "I tried it, once."

"What? When?"

"When I found out I could hit you, without any pain. I thought the chip quit working. So I hunted."

"You're not exactly disproving my point, here."

"I found this girl. Young. Tender. Alone and scared. I could smell the fear coming off of her from clear across the street. God, it was delicious. So, I cornered her, and tried to bite her. That's how I found out the chip was fine."

"Why are you telling me this?

"Because I didn't bite her."

"Because of the chip."

"Right, yes. But also because as much as I wanted to, I also didn't want to."

"Huh?"

"I had to talk myself into it. Had to remind myself that I'm evil and this was what I was made for. And all the while I kept wondering what her family would do when she didn't come home. How they'd feel when the police found her body. If they'd hurt as much as I did when you --" He glanced at her and cleared his throat.

"But you still tried to bite her," she said quietly.

"Yeah. But aside from the rush, there was no joy in it. Not like there used to be. And I still don't know if ... if I'd've drained her dry or stopped before I did any real harm." He glanced at her, and gave her a rueful smile. "So honestly? Chip stopped working? I haven't a clue what I'd do."

"I hope we never have to find out," Buffy said. "For both our sakes."

"Yeah. Me too. So. Your turn."

"What?"

"I just shared something personal. Now it's your turn. Spill."

"What is this, truth or dare?"

He smiled slyly. "It could be."

"In that case, I'll take the dare."

"Right then. Next car we pass, show 'em your bum."

Anybody reading this who can hook me up with an MP3 of "I'm Not the Same Man I Was Before" by Oingo Boingo? I've checked Audiogalaxy and Kazaa, and no luck. If I can find it it's going to end up on the DL3 soundtrack.

It's one of those days, folks. The kind where I want to tell everyone to fuck off. It started out okay. Pretty good, in fact. But then it was unnecessarily ruined by inconsiderate people. Well, one person, really. So, I've come home, and decided to blow off all of my responsibilities for the rest of the day, and I'm going to write. Because there are no politics involved in writing fic, and no people going out of their way to make me look incompetent for reasons that are completely unknown to me.

This is why I never used to join clubs. And why I'll probably never again try for an executive position within a club. I hate being reminded how much people can suck when they're out to further their own agendas.

Terrence moved. Check out his new digs in all its girly feline splendor.

(SO glad I already know he's gay.)

Um, that should be, "a hundred Last Exit CDs together." I know there's an edit function, I just don't feel like using it.

I lied. I'm not going to hang fliers. I have a sudden desire to not leave the house under any circumstances. Except maybe to do a diet Coke run. Anyway, I'm just going to devote today to writing the fic. Er, fics. Wait, no, just the one. DL3.3, to be exact. Because we really need to get that puppy over and up and out of my life. So, yeah. I should burn some CDs today, too. I'm way behind on getting the latest bunch of soundtracks out to people. And I need to put about a hundred Last Exit CDs to people before their next show. So. Fic writing and CD burning. That'll be my day.

I'm not sure why, but the "Add your links here" under the Links section over at Pete's new digs keeps cracking me up.

Le sigh. So much to get done today, even if I skip class. Which I think I will, because I don't have the homework done. It's probably an ill-advised move on my part seeing as how we have a test in there on Wednesday, but so far there hasn't been a single thing in the lecture that I can't pick up from the book. So I will skip class and spend that time hanging fliers. Whee.

Hopefully later I'll make some time to sit down and answer e-mail. It's been another week where I let all non-priority e-mail go and now it's all piled up. I really am trying to get better about that.

I got all snotty with Terrence a while ago when he asked me a literary question, and now I feel bad.

Anyway. Fliers. Gotta go make some.

April Fools

Note: If you haven't yet, read the scene below before you read this one.

Buffy left him standing at the door while she ran upstairs. She did more than just put on shoes. She changed into something less nap-on-the-couch-worthy and more slay (date) worthy. She'd already touched up her face and was smoothing out her hair before she remembered that she wasn't supposed to care what Spike thought of how she looked. She grabbed a scrunchy and pulled her hair back in a loose ponytail to hide any evidence that she'd spent time on it, then she grabbed her bag and headed downstairs.

Spike hadn't come inside like she'd expected, opting instead to have a smoke on the porch. He dropped his cigarette and ground it under his boot as she reached the front door, then turned to her. "Shall we?"

He seemed to offer his arm. Buffy resisted the impulse to take it. After a beat, he nodded and started for his car. She followed him, and held her tongue when he opened the passenger door for her. She'd come to learn that such small gallantries were just his nature and it was better not to imbue them with a greater meaning. Or to make a big deal about it when they did mean more.

They drove in silence, for which Buffy was grateful. He was always so eager to talk, and no matter how much she tried to deflect, their conversations always came back to the same thing. Still, even she could only stand the quiet for so long. "Are we there yet?"

"What is this, a trip to Disneyland? No, we're not there yet."

"We've been driving for twenty minutes. How far out of town is this place?"

"Um ... pretty far." Spike gave her a sidelong glance. "Another ten minutes, at least."

Something in his tone told her not to believe him. God, he was such a lousy liar. "Spike, where are you taking me?"

"I told you, pet. Farmhouse, outskirts of town. Warren's hideout. We'll be there soon, just keep your shirt on." He gave her an appreciative glance. "That last part's optional, o' course."

"Spike."

"Yeh?"

"We're heading towards the desert. There are no farmhouses in the desert."

"Oh. Ah ... bugger. Must've gotten turned around."

Buffy sighed. "Okay. What the hell is this?"

"This? This is, well, it's ..." he looked over at her, then rolled his eyes. "Okay, you got me. Consider yourself kidnapped."

"Again?"

"What, again? I've never kidnapped you before."

"No? What do you call last year, with Drusilla?"

"Desperation. And you came to my place of your own free will. Never did explain what you were doing there, snooping around."

"Whatever," Buffy said. "Just stop the car."

"No."

"Spike, I'm not kidding. Stop the car."

"I think you fail to see the principal behind this whole kidnapping concept, love."

"Stop the car *right now*, and don't call me love."

"Look," Spike said. "Here's the deal. You are going on holiday, whether you like it or not. You're going to get the hell away from your life for a while. Away from bills, your job, social services, away from Red's co-dependency and Harris's fear of commitment, away from the whole hero bit. No responsibilities. Just you, me, and the open road. How 'bout it, Slayer?"

"I have to work in the morning," Buffy said. "I can't do this. Dawn --"

"Is staying with a friend all weekend and will be just fine without you."

"Spike, no. I can't just leave like this. Take me home."

"See, that's the beauty of it. You don't get a choice. You're the victim in this, hence you're absolved of all responsibilities and consequences of your absence."

"Oh, my God," Buffy said. "You really put a lot of thought into this, didn't you? How long have you been planning this?"

"Not that long."

"Do you have *any* idea how messed up this is?"

"Yeh," Spike said, "I do. Just don't care." He looked at her. "Evil, remember?"

Buffy took a deep breath, then calmly said, "Spike, I'm going to give you one more chance before I cause you severe pain. Turn the car around, and take me home."

Spike chuckled and shook his head. "What part of 'you've been kidnapped' don't you understand, pet? Look, I'll make it real simple for you." He reached into the back seat and rummaged through the trash that littered the bench. As he did he kept talking. "You can sit back, relax, try to enjoy the ride, and -- God forbid -- maybe have a little fun and get some fucking perspective about your life. Or..." He bit his lip in concentration as he lifted off the seat, bending further over the back and reaching into the floorboards.

"Or?" Buffy prompted.

"Give us a sec'." He must've found what he was looking for, because his face lit up with satisfaction. "Or," he continued, producing an all too familiar looking toy, "you can go nighty-night and spend the rest of the trip in the trunk." He pushed the button on the cattle prod and made the electric currents crackle for emphasis.

Buffy's eyes widened. "You wouldn't."

He zapped the air between them again. "Try me."

"You psychotic son of a bitch. You're insane, you know that?"

"Only because you drive me there. What's it gonna be, pet?"

"Fuck you."

"Maybe later. Now answer my question."

Buffy just looked at him for a long, hard moment. Then she snatched the cattle prod out of his hand and tossed it out the open window. Spike stared at his empty hand in disbelief as Buffy turned back to him. "First pit stop, I am *so* gonna kick your ass for that."

Spike nodded, and put his hand back on the steering wheel. "Fair enough." He fought the smile that tugged at his mouth.

Buffy crossed her arms and slumped in her seat. She looked out the window so he wouldn't see her fighting one of her own.

Hook, line, sinker:

"Bye, Buffy!" Dawn called as she came bounding down the stairs, backpack slung over one shoulder.

"Wait!" Buffy jumped up from the sofa and intercepted her sister at the front door. "You know the drill, right? Don't go anywhere after dark unless Janice's parents drive you there. And don't trust Janice's judgment in boys."

Dawn rolled her eyes. "I know."

"You also know I'll be calling her parents to make sure you're really there."

"Yeah, I know. I'll *be* there. And you can lay off the ueber-mom schtick. I mean, just because you tried to kill me doesn't mean you have to smother me with parental concern."

Buffy pressed her lips together and looked at the floor. Dawn sighed. "I didn't mean --"

"No," Buffy said, trying to keep her voice relaxed. "It's okay. I ... I have it coming."

"No you don't," Dawn said. "You weren't yourself. I know that. I do."

Buffy made herself look Dawn in the eye. She looked earnest, but she also looked so wounded, still. "Doesn't really make it hurt any less, does it?"

Dawn looked away. "It ... It'll be okay. We just ..." She sighed. "This weekend's probably a good thing for us, huh?"

"Yeah."

Dawn looked back at Buffy, and leaned forward to kiss her cheek. "Have fun this weekend, okay?"

"Sure," Buffy said. "Big fun in store. Willow's gone on a retreat with her support group, Xander's off looking for Anya, and Tara ... well, I don't really feel right calling her up, seeing as how I almost put her in traction."

"Tara also knows you couldn't help it, Buffy."

"Yeah." She forced herself to look cheerful. "But don't worry. This'll give me a chance to catch up on sleep. Sleep is of the good."

"Right," Dawn said. "Well, however you spend it, just ... try to relax, and enjoy yourself. And don't worry about me."

"*That's* going to happen." Buffy opened the door and made a "get out" gesture with her head. "Have fun with Janice," she said. "And I promise not to be psycho with the phone calls."

"See ya," Dawn told her as she headed out the door.

Buffy shut it behind her, then turned around and slumped against it. She'd meant it about the sleep. She had the Doublemeat Breakfast shift in the morning, so she really should go to bed; but it would still be nice if she had an *option* to do something else. It depressed her to realize just how little of a life she really had these days. She felt lonely. For just the briefest moment she let herself entertain the thought of going to see Spike, before banishing it from her head. No matter how innocent her intentions, he was bound to take it the wrong way. The last thing she needed was to see that aching, hopeful look in his eyes.

A knot formed in her stomach as she remembered the last thing he'd said to her. "Either you tell your friends about us, or I will." Nevermind that there was no longer an "us" to tell them about. Or that they hadn't been much of an us to begin with. She supposed that was one good thing about her friends all being out of commission -- she didn't have to worry that they'd talk to Spike.

A knock on the door broke her reverie, and she groaned. She didn't need to turn around to know who it was. He had the most ironic sense of timing. Buffy straightened up and opened the door. "You can't come in."

Spike looked startled by the statement. Keeping a wary eye on her, he stepped a toe across the threshold. When it passed over, he stepped inside, looming over her with a mix of self-satisfaction and relief on his face. "Looks like I can."

Buffy planted a hand on his chest and shoved him back out the door. "I mean it. I'm going to bed. Directly to bed, without passing go. *Or* collecting any vampires," she added as his eyes drifted up the stairs towards her bedroom.

He looked her up and down. "You're back to your old charming self again, I see."

She crossed her arms defensively and gave a little shrug. "More or less."

"I was hoping for more. You recovered enough for a quick patrol?"

"I told you, I'm--"

"Going to bed. Right. You should. You look bone tired."

"Thanks."

"Right, then. I s'pose Warren's hideout'll still be there after you've had your rest. Sleep tight, Love." He leaned in and grabbed the door handle and started to pull it shut.

Buffy grabbed the door and pushed it back open. "What do you mean, Warren's hideout? You found him?"

"I spotted that van of his. Followed it to a farmhouse on the outskirts of town. I didn't stay to snoop around. Figured I'd leave that part to you. Them being human, not much I could do if they caught me."

"Right," Buffy said.

Spike pointed with his thumb over his shoulder. "I've got my car. Figured I could run you out there, have a quick look-see. But like I said, it can wait."

"No," Buffy said. "I've already waited too long for this. Just give me a minute to go put some shoes on."

"Sure, pet. I've got all night."