[A/N: This one was sort of a dare to myself to see if I could actually do it. So bare with me on this one. It’s going to be fun. This is a song fic, but not in the way most of you expect. This is more like Moulin Rouge, where songs are taken and put into. . . yup, you guessed it, a musical. However, I am going to be changing more than a few lyrics, so you’re gonna have to pay attention. Also, as another note, I have not read any other stories set around OMWF, so any resemblance is not intentional. So without further ado. . . . Titles, quotes, song lyrics and music all belong to their respective owners. The titles of the songs and their composers will all be listed at the end in Liner Notes (just like an album or CD), so that no one’s overly spoiled for each chapter before it’s read. I mean absolutely no disrespect in shamelessly using all of them. I only hope I don’t get sued. Disclaimers, please gods, are in full force and effect. I own nothing. Just the twisted mind that brings all of this to you.]

Great Balls of Fire


Previously: Sweet has departed Sunnydale, leaving the shocked Scoobies behind with the knowledge they tore a despairing Buffy out of heaven. This starts the morning after. . .



One. . . singular sensation. . .



The instant her eyes opened, Anya knew something was wrong. For one thing, it was mid-morning, and Xander’s work clothes and boots were still on the floor of their bedroom. And he wasn’t in bed. Another dead give away was the fact she was humming. She never hummed. Humming was bad. . . very bad. Checking in the bathroom for signs of her missing fiancé, Anya stared in the mirror.


The humming turned into outright singing before she even realized it.



"Up in the morning, look in the mirror, got nothing but a toothbrush hanging in the stand. My love is only getting stronger, love’s gotten such a hold on me. . . . "

OH! No! Not this, please. . . not again.



"He’s gone, oh, I . . . I better get Buffy to regain him."



Anya shook her head, clamping her jaws shut in an effort to make herself stop singing. She was almost afraid to start brushing her teeth because once her mouth opened, she knew more bad lyrics were going to start flowing. Taking the chance, she opened and shoved her toothbrush in, watching as the toothpaste started foaming. Her brain was scrambling, running through a hundred different reasons why she would be singing and why Xander wasn’t home.

None of them were good.



They all came back to one thing. Or rather, one demon.

Sweet.



She spit the toothpaste out, quickly rinsing. I have to get to the Magic Box right now and alert everyone to what’s happened.

Before she had a chance to stop herself, her mouth opened and she wailed out, "He’s gone, oh, I, oh, I, I better learn how to pray. He’s gone." Once more Anya clamped her mouth shut, horrified when the humming started up all over again.





&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&




Twenty minutes and two more songs later, Anya flew into the Magic Box as if the hounds of hell were on her heels. "Giles!"



He looked down from the restricted books section, a weighty tome in one hand and his glasses in the other. "Up here, Anya."



She stood at the bottom of the metal stairs, her hands wringing and a distressed look on her face. "Giles, you have to call Buffy."



"I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Anya." He closed the book and placed it back on the shelf. "I haven’t spoken to her since the dreadful revelation of last night."



"Oh. Well, this is important." She was practically bouncing, and he absently noticed that when she wasn’t actively speaking, her jaw was clenched tight.



"I hardly think it’s all that important. I’d really rather not disturb her at this point." He made it to the bottom step in time to see Anya’s face twisted in a grimace. "Really, Anya, what could possibly be this important?"



And to his utter shock and dismay, Anya opened her mouth and started singing. "He’s gone. Oh, Rupert, I can’t stand it. He’s gone, Sweet’s really gone and done it."



Her face took on a ridiculous look and he stood there, stunned when she reached for his hand. "Please, please, help me stop."



"Oh dear." Rupert stared at her, totally at a loss. "Why do you think it was Sweet?"



"Because I’m still singing. Didn’t you hear me just now?" She flounced away from him, determined to force his hand and make him call Buffy. Anya held out the receiver, staring pointedly at him. "Please. I don’t want to sing anymore."



He took the phone from her, reluctantly dialing the Summers’ residence. He had no proof, other than Anya’s rather pleasant singing voice, but, coming as this did right on the heels of Sweet’s rather informative visit and his threat to take Dawn with him, he might as well err on the side of caution.





%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%




Anya refused to speak the entire time they waited for Buffy and the other girls to arrive. He’d found it quite amusing when she insisted on writing everything down, taking real delight in her efforts to get around saying ‘thank you’ to the customers. It was, he thought, rather adorable watching her.



Willow and Tara entered the shop, followed closely by a visibly subdued Dawn. Buffy trailed in a few moments later, long enough for Giles to wonder if she was even coming. She didn’t look much happier this morning, in fact, she looked tired and drained. Her hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail and she smiled at him, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes at all.



"Hey guys, what’s up?"



Though the greeting should have sounded upbeat and perky, it was delivered in a monotone, and Buffy’s eyes didn’t focus on anything. Giles sighed inwardly, realizing that even though the truth had emerged, Buffy was no better for the revelation.



"Anya says Xander is missing and she believes Sweet is behind his sudden disappearance."



Willow looked up from her seat at the table, glancing first at Tara. "What? How do you know he’s missing?"



"Because his boots were still in the bedroom and his work clothes were on the floor." Anya’s visible distress got worse, and she pursed her lips in an effort to keep from bursting into song. She tried, clenching her jaw and then, probably because she was trying so hard not to sing, she opened up her mouth and warbled out, "He’s gone, oh, I, I really just can’t stand this. He’s gone, and I, oh, I’d figured only Buffy could undo this. . . . what went wrong?"



Tears sprung to her eyes and Anya fled into the training room, wailing cries trailing behind her.

"Oh, boy. Singing. New sign the world’s gonna end. This so not good." Dawn plopped herself down into the chair beside Tara, dropping her head onto her folded arms. "Remind me why I stayed home from school again?"



"Because none of us woke up on time, Dawnie. Xander was supposed to pick you up in time for school." Willow realized the importance of what she’d just said, clapping a hand over her mouth. "I guess she’s right. Xander is missing."



In all this time, Buffy hadn’t said a word, just listened. When it was apparent they were all waiting for her to say something, she shrugged, and said, "We should probably find out where he is first."



"Right. I’ll get on that." Giles handed off a pair of books to Tara and Willow, motioning Buffy forward a bit, "Buffy, might I have a word with you?"





&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&




They were researching quietly, Willow and Tara flipping methodically through books, searching for any information on Sweet’s home dimension, while Anya alternated between frantically wringing her hands while pacing or mumbling to herself about contacting D’Hoffryn. Buffy had retreated to the training room, and the occasional sound of the punching bag could be heard over Anya’s mutterings.



Giles fought the urge to go speak with her, focusing instead on finding Xander. He had no idea what to say to her in any event, knowing now where she’d been. What do you say to someone who’d been torn from heaven? How do you approach that conversation? Giles was at a loss where to even begin.



Dawn was doing homework, stealing glances at the books Tara was going through, when Anya paced close to the table. "Any luck?"



"Well, I think I have something, but I’m not sure . . . . There’s some mention of Sweet here, so I think this is it." Willow glanced up at the other girl, a grim tired look crossing her face. "I guess we could do a locator spell on Xander, just to make sure."



"Oh, okay. Too bad Xander and I aren’t already married. If we were both demons, he could feel me, and I’d be able to just teleport there." Anya looked down Willow. "How will you do a locator without a map? Is that possible?"



"Didn’t think about that." Willow slumped in her chair, dropping her pencil between the pages of the book.



Anya whirled around, hands clenched together in front of her. "No wind. . . no rain. . . no winter’s storm, can stop me, babe. . . "



Dawn and Tara sat up, their voices echoing Anya’s soft singing, "Baby. . . oh, baby."



"Cause, baby, there ain’t no mountain high enough, ain’t no valley low enough, ain’t no river wide enough, to keep me from getting to you." Anya headed for the stairs, sashaying to the beat, "If you need me, call me, no matter where you are, no matter how far. . . Just call my name, I’ll be there in a hurry, cause you won’t have to worry."



The other two girls moved behind her, standing on the upper steps, their voices raised to compliment Anya’s, and together they sang the chorus, "Ain’t no mountain high enough, ain’t no valley low enough, ain’t no river wide enough, to keep me from getting to you."



Both girls dropped into a low, crooning ‘ooohhh’, while Anya kept singing, "Remember the day,
you asked of me, I told you, you could always count on me, From that day on we made a vow, I'll be there when you want me, some way, some how."



Breaking into the chorus again, the three girls clasped hands and sang, "'Cause, baby, there ain't no mountain high enough, ain't no valley low enough, ain't no river wide enough, to keep me from getting to you."



Anya hung her head, fighting her emotions. Buffy came in from the training room, though no one saw her, while Willow and Giles stared open-mouthed at the others. A frisson of awareness shot through Buffy and she looked over her shoulder to find Spike standing there, his eyes fixed on the singing girls. He stepped closer, and Buffy averted her eyes. When she looked into the main area of the shop again, Anya had raised her head and the tear tracks were clearly visible under the overhead lighting.



"My love is alive, way down in my heart, although we are miles apart, if you ever need a helping hand, I'll be there on the double, as fast as I can." Anya drew in a deep breath, then launched into the chorus one more time, with the girls joining in again in harmony. "Don't you know that there ain't no mountain high enough, ain't no valley low enough, ain't no river wide enough, to keep me from getting to you."



They kept singing, until Giles interrupted, his tone of voice caught between pride in their abilities and horror at the prospect of more singing. "Right, then. We’ll focus on getting Xander back."



"I can’t believe I’m singing again Although the good news; is they were all number one on the Billboard charts." Anya stepped down from stairs, then slapped her hands on the table. "What I really want to do is find Sweet and make him return my Xander. He can’t have him to be his queen. I know gender role reversals can lead to very intense orgasms, but Xander’s not allowed to have orgasms with anyone but me."



It was a measure of just how wigged everyone was when no one thought to even chastise Anya for speaking so plainly. Even Dawn remained silent, lost in her own thoughts. Buffy turned her back on the shop, forcing Spike to take a step away from her. "Why are you here?"



"Was on my way to Willie’s when I heard two demons serenading each other in the sewers. Figured everythin’ was still all Broadway-bound an’ changed my direction." He watched her carefully, more aware then he’d ever been of how fragile she was. "You okay?"



She shrugged. "Does it matter?"



"Matters to me, Slayer." He followed her over to the punching bag, holding it for her as she half-heartedly swatted it.



"Then you are a majority of one." Buffy gave up, her hands almost touching his on the black leather. "I’m so tired. Everything is exhausting."



"Even with the big unveil, they aren’t going easy?"



"How can they? I don’t think they really understand." She finally looked at him. "Or care."



"They care, pet. Niblet an’ Glinda at least." Spike thought for a moment, then inclined his head toward the shop. "Should talk to Rupes. He’ll listen."



"I don’t wanna talk to any of them." Buffy pushed into the bag, then moved away. "I don’t wanna be here."



"Know it doesn’t mean much, know you don’t care ‘bout my opinion an’ all, but I do care. An’ ‘m sorry they hurt you."



For the first time they’d known each other, Buffy didn’t question Spike’s sincerity. He’d told her more than once that he was sorry they’d ripped her from heaven and that he’d do anything for her, short of getting her back there. But that didn’t help, not really. She was miserable, broken, shattered and really beyond caring what everyone else was thinking about the situation. The only one she could stand being around for more than ten minutes was Spike; everyone else grated on her nerves. Sensing her increased irritation, Spike motioned toward the back door.

"C’mon, pet, let’s go kill some nasties."



"Okay."



Without a backward glance toward the main are of the shop, the two blondes headed outside.























Liner Notes:



She’s Gone – Hall & Oates, from the Album Abandoned Luncheonette, released 1973; written by Darryl Hall and John Oates.



Ain’t No Mountain High Enough – written by Nicholas Ashford and Valerie Simpson, 1966. Recorded by Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell in 1967; Diana Ross and the Supremes in 1970 and numerous other artists.

[A/N: In case you haven’t guessed, this is not going to be overly heavy on the angst. I need a break from it, and I’m sure the rest of you are tired of getting nothing but angsty, heavy subject material from me. I’ve been having some problems with getting the other stories out, mainly because of the angst and well, I had this on the back-burner for – well, honestly, since before Writer-Con 2006 – and I’m only getting around to it now. What can I say, I let it boil for a long time. As you can also see, the endnotes will contain just what writers, composers and lyricists I’ve stolen these songs from. . . and well, I just hope none of them are Buffy fans or that the all-knowing ASCAP doesn’t come looking for me, coz I seriously cannot afford any lawsuits. I own nothing, the disclaimers tell me so. Just the twisted imaginings of my tortured mind. Heh. Enjoy.]

Two



Xander came to, rubbing his eyes and groaning softly. As always, it took him more than a few minutes to gain awareness of himself and his surroundings. Groggy and less than half-awake, he flopped back down on the bed, fully expecting to find Anya curled up beside him. She wasn’t there. At first it didn’t alarm him, until he rolled over and realized he was not feeling the usually cotton-polyester blend and smell the soft-cottony scent of the fabric softener Anya insisted on using. Nope, these aren’t our usual sheets. . . . maybe there was a sale?

He cracked opened one bleary eye, then bolted upright with a squawk. “What the hell?”

“Gooood morning, sunshine!” The voice sang out the words, and Xander whirled around on the bed, twisting up the satin sheets and comforter. He nearly fell over, unable to find purchase on the bedding, and ended up on his side, propped up on his elbow.

“I meant to do that.”

“Sure you did, handsome.” The voice finally had a body, though Xander wasn’t quite sure that it comforted him at all.

“Where the hell am I? And where’s my girlfriend? What the hell is going on?” The words exploded from him in a rush, and the apparition before him merely waved a hand, urging him to quiet.


“First things, first, sweetie.” And it reached for the comforter, tugging it away. “Oooohhh. Look at you! Yum. Too bad I can’t keep you for myself.”

“Ah, there will be no keeping. None. I don’t even know where I am.” Xander clutched the sheets to his chest like a blushing virgin and the other just laughed.

“You silly, silly man.” Sashaying closer to the bed, the green-eyed, light blue skinned demon leaned in with a conspiratorial whisper. “You’re where you’re supposed to be, right here in our own little corner of heaven.”

“What!” Xander scrambled back, not stopping until he got to the headboard. “Oh, no, I’m not in heaven. I’m not dead. Tell me I’m not dead. This is not happening. . . . Wait! This isn’t because I helped Willow pull Buffy out of heaven is it?”

The demon laughed again, swishing around to the side of the bed Xander was closest to. “No, silly. You aren’t in the real heaven, not really. This is just. . . well, this is just what I like to call heaven. A little singing, a little dancing. . . and a little va-va-va-voom. What more could a body ask for?”

“Singing? Dancing? No. . . no. . . no. Singing and dancing are not good.” Xander was shaking his head, denying what his eyes were telling him.

The demon sat down on the edge of the bed, eyeing him coyly. “Oh, honey, you’ll get used to it, everyone does. After all, you were the one who asked for him to come get you.”

“What?” Xander’s voice emerged in a high-squeak, and he looked around frantically. “I didn’t ask for anyone to come. . . oh, shit. Sweet changed his mind.”

Clapping his hands merrily, the being laughed again. “Ooh, you are sooo smart! You’re going to make the best queen ever!”

“What! No! NO! I’m no one’s queen!”

“Just you wait! You’ll fit right in.” The demon pulled him from the bed, not waiting to see if Xander gained his feet or fell flat on his face. “First things, first. Gotta get you all prettied up and ready for the ball.”

“What?! No. No. I’m not going anywhere near a ball. Not even a basketball. No balls for Xander.”

Snickering madly, the demon cupped the human’s groin. “Hhhmmm feels to me like you’ve got the goods, honey.”

“AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!” Xander backed up, landing on the bed again. “No touching! Don’t . . . “ His voice trailed off, confusion and fear swirling in his dark eyes.

“Fine. I won’t touch you . . . There.” The demon waved a hand again, then pursed its lips in a kiss. Twice. “My promise. But you have to get ready. Sweet won’t be pleased if you’re a little late.”

“I really don’t care. I’m not going.” Xander crossed his arms over his chest, then abruptly changed position when the demon sighed theatrically.

“Come on, you big lug. It’ll be fun. I promise.” He started humming, while he grabbed Xander’s hand and pushed him out of the room and into an oversized bathroom. “Let's get down to business--to show off these buns. Oh, it may take us a while, but you’ll be happy when we’re done.”

The demon pinched his ass, then pushed Xander onto the hairdresser’s chair sitting in the middle of the room. He kept singing, though, which was seriously beginning to scare Xander. “You’re the bestest so far I’ve met, and you can bet before we're through, honey, I'll make a man out of you!”

Whirling the chair around, the demon whipped out an apron, scissors and hair-styling products, all the while singing his heart out. “Tranquil as a forest, but on fire within. Once you find your center, you’ll be finer than any sin.”

Xander could see the demon in the mirror now, standing behind him and shaking his head at the state of his hair. “You're a fine mess, a work in progress, and you haven't got a clue. Somehow I'll make a man out of you!”

As the demon was about to start working on his hair, Xander threw out his arms, and tried to get out of the chair. “I'm never gonna let you finish! Stay away with those shears!”

“Just cause I fooled with a spell and gem. . . . “ Moving and dodging about in the chair, Xander fought back the only way he could, by not allowing the demon to get close to him. That worked, until he put both hands on the arms, and from out of nowhere buckles and restraints wrapped around his forearms, anchoring Xander to the seat. “Hey! Watch out for my ears! No! That color is not right for me! I know this is a dream, I’m completely in rem. . .”

Snippets of his hair traveled down the apron, pooling in his lap and Xander looked up, scared out of his mind that the demon was going to leave him bald. When the cut seemed to meet his approval, Xander relaxed somewhat, only to tense when the demon started singing again. “To be a man, you must be sleek as a swimming otter. To be a man, with all the grace of dancing loon. To be a man, you really can’t be much hotter. Just let me spray on some perfume.”

Once more Xander tried to dodge the demon, only to lose again. He was drenched in cologne before he realized and cringed as the demon put his face next to his, singing very softly, “Just take a real deep breath and you’ll survive. Follow my lead and I’ll make sure you stay alive. You’ll manage, just look at your eyes. So buck up, get it straight, you’re here for good. How could I not make a man out of you?”

With a flourish and a swish of his hip, the demon whipped off the apron covering Xander, allowing him the first look at his new hair-do. And do it was. Somewhere between John Travolta in Grease and Johnny Depp in that crazy weird movie by that freaky director – Xander never could remember the name of the movie – Xander had a full blown panic attack at the new look.

“What the hell did you do to me? I look like. . . . Geez, I dunno what I look like, but it’s freaking me out!” He reached to mess up the finely controlled waves, and jumped back when the demon hissed and wrapped a very long tongue around his wrist and pulled.

“Oh, no you don’t. It took every ounce of skill I have to make that coif work. Don’t you dare mess it up.” The demon pulled on his wrist, almost pulling him out of the chair, then slapped Xander’s arm. “Leave it alone.”

“I can’t go anywhere looking like this! I look like a freak!”

“Honey, you are so not ready to let your freak flag fly. There is way too much work to do.” A deep sigh shook the thin demon’s chest, “But I have faith. Oh, yes I do.”

Pulling Xander up out of the chair, the demon dragged him, protesting all the while, across the room. The whole time, he was humming a tune that Xander recognized but couldn’t name, which scared him even more. So lost in trying to remember the name of the song, Xander didn’t realize what was happening around him until he was faced with an enormous tub filled with fragrant bubbles, and, presumably, lots of scented water.

“OOOOH! Absolutely freaking no way in hell. Nahuh. No. Not now, not any way, shape or form am I climbing in there.” Xander started backing away, looking around wildly for the door.

The demon rolled his eyes, showing – of all things – red glitter eye shadow and held onto his forearm tightly. “Sweetie. Honey. Great big, honking hunk of delicious, you are so going in that tub. There is no arguing. You,” and he sniffed dramatically, “are in desperate need of some freshening up.”

Before he could come up with an escape plan, Xander found himself stripped of his shirt, and strange fingers working on the button of his sleep pants. “NO! Don’t touch me!”

Exhaling very loudly, the demon planted both hands on its hips. “What’s wrong? Haven’t you ever had someone give you a bath?”

“Yeah. When I was four.” Xander held onto his pants with a death-grip, trying very hard to stare down the demon. “And it’s so not happening now.”

“What’s the problem, sweetie?” Cocking its head to the side, in a move that was very reminiscent of the vampire he hated and admired, the demon contemplated him for a moment. “Oh! I know.” Right before his eyes, the demon morphed into a female, with breasts and broader hips, and more rounded facial features. “Is this more comfy for you?”

Xander squeaked, his voice breaking on a harsh note. “Strangely enough, no.”

Once more the demon reached for the waistband of his sleep pants. “Look, we could do this alone, one-on-one, just vous et moi. Or, we could waste time and valuable hot water by me getting some of the minions to dunk you.” Two of the puppet-headed demons stepped into view over the other demon’s shoulder and Xander took a step back. “But if we do that, I’ll just have to do your hair all over again.”

Trying vainly to come up with some way out of his current predicament, Xander was forced to realize he had little choice in the matter. One way or another, he was going to have to get into that tub. . . Though he really, really, truly didn’t want to. If he agreed, he could maybe get the demon to let him get undressed on his own, without any help. . . or interference. “Okay, just lemme do this myself, okay?”

“Sure thing, sugar lips. Doesn’t make me no never mind in how you get clean.”

“Just get them to leave. If I have to do this, I want as small an audience as possible.” Xander stood resolutely by the tub, glaring at the still female demon.

“Fine by me. They’ll just be gawking later. . . . “

A wave of his long-fingered hand, and the puppet demons left the doorway, leaving the two of them alone. “Want me to wash your back?”

“NO!” Xander waggled a finger in a circle. “Turn your back. And don’t look.”

Another deep sigh ripped from the demon. “Such tender sensibilities.” Then, he whirled around, facing away from Xander. Muttering under his breath, the demon forced himself not to laugh when Xander didn’t notice the eyes in the back of his head open. “Those won’t last long around here.”

Waiting until he heard the tell-tale splash of water indicating Xander had gotten into the tub, the demon finally turned around, trying to keep a straight face. “You sure you don’t want me to wash your back?”

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&


Willow flipped through the books, looking for a spell or incantation that would lead them to where ever Sweet had taken Xander. She wasn’t holding out much hope, though, because she kept getting sidetracked by the whistling and humming. If Giles whistled One Night in Bangkok one more time, she was going to scream. Anya was no better, humming and breaking out into random lines of songs. The only saving grace was Tara, who kept stroking her back whenever the music got to be too much.

It wasn’t until Dawn started singing that Willow finally lost her patience.

“Enough!” She slapped her hands down on the table, dislodging books and shifting notes all around. Her hands stung from the force and she flapped them in the air while making a face. “I can’t concentrate with all this different humming and whistling.”

Dawn prickled at her tone. “Gee, Willow, it’s not like any of us can really help it. Under a spell, remember?”

“It wouldn’t be so bad if it was all the same song!” She looked around, waving a finger at everyone present. “Giles is humming the same thing over and over, and the monotony is making me crazy. Anya keeps changing tunes, and I’ve been spending so much time trying to remember names and song lyrics that I can’t focus on what I’m supposed to be doing!”

“Well, excuse me.” Dawn exaggerated the words, then sat back in her chair and stared at the red head.

“Ladies, please. I apologize, Willow, if we’ve distracted you from research. I wasn’t even aware I was humming.” Giles at least had the grace to look apologetic, something the other’s expressions lacked completely.

“I can’t stop! I’ve tried all day to stop singing and nothing’s working. Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to keep my mouth shut?” Anya balled her fists and stamped her feet. “Every time I open my mouth, I’m afraid I’m going to burst into a show tune.”

Willow rolled her eyes, and for once bit her tongue, choking on the retort that she wanted to fling at Anya. That didn’t stop her from thinking it, though. “Look, if you want Xander back you have to just give me five minutes. Just five.”

The others shared a look and nodded their heads. Willow breathed a sigh of relief, saying, “Good. Thanks. Coz’ you know, we’ve got magic to do.”

No one noticed the slightly crazed look enter Tara’s eyes, and none of them was prepared when her voice broke into the sudden silence. “We've got magic to do – just for you. We've got miracles yet to play. We've got parts to perform – to get back to norm. Demons and things to take by storm! As we go along our way.”

Horrified green eyes met Tara’s confused blue, and Willow couldn’t stop from gaping at her girlfriend. “Did you just. . . No. You didn’t. You couldn’t have. I wouldn’t. . . I asked specifically. No. More. Singing.”

With a somewhat guilty look, Giles stood behind Tara and dropped a hand on her shoulder in support. His nice baritone meshed wonderfully with Tara’s soft soprano and despite her growing anger, Willow had to admit they sounded very nice. “Join us – leave your books and ledgers.”

To her complete chagrin, the other two joined in to sing the next part. “Join us – leave your search for power. Join us – come and waste an hour or two.”

“Please, really, no more singing.” Willow groaned softly into her hands, desperately fighting her need to add her own terrible voice to the song.

All four of them sang the chorus again, with Dawn and Anya linking hands and performing a sort of crazy, slow dance. “We've got magic to do – just for you. We've got miracles yet to play. We've got parts to perform – to get back to norm. Demons and things to take by storm! As we go along our way.”
Without conscious thought, Willow found herself humming along.

The girls’ voices dropped to a soft humming, while Giles kept singing, “Journey . . . Journey to a spot exciting, mystic and exotic. Journey, though we haven’t got a clue. . . “

“Doodle-ee-doo.” Willow’s eyes nearly popped out of her head, and everyone stopped singing to stare at her when the nonsense words wafted from her lips.

It took them all a beat or two, but they managed to recover and were soon singing, “We've got magic to do – just for you. We've got miracles yet to play. We've got parts to perform – to get back to norm. Demons and things to take by storm! As we go along our way.”

Suddenly, Anya sang out, “Intrigue – plots to bring back Xander!”

Then Tara smiled at Willow and pointed, “Magic – handled by a master.”

“Romance – sex enacted enthusiastically!” Tara clapped a hand over Anya’s mouth, trying to get her to stop while Dawn was in the room.

Once more Willow surprised everyone, when she warbled, “Dee-dle-ee-dee.”

Giles was the next to sing out, waving his hand in the air, to indicate magic. “Portals – doorways yet to study.”

But it was Dawn who brought them all back to reality. “Battles – barbarous and bloody.”

They all started crooning again, “We've got magic to do – just for you. We've got miracles yet to play. We've got parts to perform – to get back to norm.”

“What the bleedin’ hell is goin’ on?” Spike’s strident tones broke into the song, as he and Buffy walked in from the training room. “Can’t leave you lot alone for more than two hours an’ you’re all making like a Busby Berkeley revue.” He looked around and let out a relived sigh. “At least there’s no dancing girls.”

Giles cleared his throat, his eyes drifting right past Spike to glance at Buffy, in hopes of seeing some reaction there. What he did see, gave him a modicum of hope. There was a slight – very slight – hint of a smile teasing her lips and Giles thought it was a good sign. Ever since the night before, he’d been stricken with guilt over his decision. While part of him felt it was best to return to England, another part – an increasingly large part – was beginning to second guess that decision. Maybe what Buffy needed wasn’t distance, but more help. He watched, though, as she stayed close to Spike, refusing to even look at – or speak to – Willow.

Caught in the act of singing, and very nearly dancing, the others guiltily got back to the research. Dawn dropped Anya’s hands and warily approached her sister. “Hey. How was patrol?”

“It was okay. Same old, same old.” Buffy shrugged, then paused. Something seemed to occur to her and she looked at her sister, some emotion flickering in her eyes. “Did you eat?”

“Yeah. We ordered pizzas.” Dawn brandished one of the boxes, lifting the lid and finding a couple of slices still inside. “There’s some left, you want it?”

Before she could say no, Spike grabbed the box. He leaned into Buffy, speaking soft enough so the others couldn’t hear, “You should eat some, pet. Belly’s been gurgling for a bit.”

More emotion flared in her eyes, and Giles mistook it at first for anger, then realized it wasn’t when Buffy just nodded. “Okay.”

Well, that’s just bloody . . . How is it he can reach her when the rest of us can’t? Giles watched the vampire settle Buffy into a chair and offer the cold pizza. As Buffy wrinkled her nose, he was further astounded when Spike headed over to the microwave and shoved two slices in, hitting all the correct buttons to reheat them. His attention was diverted when Willow cleared her throat.

“I’ve figured it out.”


&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&


Less than an hour later, Willow, Giles, and Tara had all worked out the details of the jump into Sweet’s dimension. Once they had that done, it became a matter of who was going – everyone – which was decided when none of them would stay back with Dawn. It was clear, if only to Spike, that Buffy wasn’t happy about bringing Dawn, but none of the others would stay behind with the teenager.

Knowing that she wasn’t about to argue with either Giles or Willow, Spike pulled her aside. “Look, know you don’t want to put her in harm’s way, but I’ll watch out for her.”

“This is not a good idea. Sweet wanted to take her just last night, you think he’s gonna give up when we deliver her to his door?” Buffy glared at him, arms crossed over her chest.

“Well, pet,” he paused and scratched at his forehead, “seems to me he’s already conceded the point. Took the whelp, didn’t he?” Spike gestured toward her sister. “If he wanted the girl, he would’ve taken her, yeah?”

“Oh.” Buffy stared up at him for a moment, then as the notion crept into her brain, her eyes widened and she darted a glance over at Anya. “OH! You mean. . . oh. You really think he would? I mean . . . Sweet? And a guy?”

Spike snorted his amusement. “Slayer, if you learn nothin’ on this trip, you’ll learn that a demon like Sweet, bein’ a hoofer an’ all, swings both ways in the saddle.”

“That is so gross, Spike.” She wrinkled up her nose in that adorable way, and he reached out to flick it unthinkingly.

“You’re right cute, pet, when you’re playin’ all confused.” He chuckled, then pointed to the weapons. “Might wan’ to get supplies while we’re waitin’.”

“Yeah. What about other supplies? Food?”

Giles overheard the question and he nodded his head thoughtfully. “I believe we should organize foodstuffs and perhaps – Anya?”

“Yes, Giles?” The former vengeance demon looked a bit surprised, but she cheerfully stepped to his side. “What is it?”

“Would you be able to get food and other items we might need in Sweet’s dimension?”

Obviously surprised at his request, Anya stared at the older man for a long minute. “Giles? Are you feeling okay?”

He stared right back and her, a bit put-out by her question. “I’m perfectly all right, why do you ask?”

“No one’s ever asked me . . . . sure!” She scurried over to the counter, then stopped abruptly. “Who’s paying for this?”

With an exasperated sigh, Giles said, “Take the funds from the till, I’ll write it off somehow.”

She was gone in a flash of heels and a smile.


&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&


Anya was back, armed with bags of supplies and backpacks that she efficiently purchased in the 24-hour Walmart, long before Willow perfected the portal opening. While opening the portal wasn’t all that hard, it only took a specially sung set of notes, holding the portal open for everyone was the tricky part.

It took three tries before she got it right, and when she finally did, it was only with Tara anchoring her. Once that was done, they hastily started repacking the supplies and weapons. Dawn was trying to help Spike, but she was actually proving more of a hindrance, when he finally exploded at her. “Niblet, what the bloody hell are you tryin’ to do?”

“I’m just trying to help. Don’t yell at me!” She stood right in his face, unafraid of his blustering.
“God, you suck!”

“Vampire, here, course I do.”

Dawn glared at him. “You know what I mean! Gah! I wanna help!”

“Zat why your heart’s poundin’ an’ you can’t sit still?” Spike pushed her into a chair. “Sit. Don’ move. You’re doin’ more damage by tryin’ to help than if you weren’t.”

“That’s not fair!” The glare continued unabated, and now she threw an extra heated look in his direction.

“Don’ start that shite with me. I’m the bloke arguin’ for you to go, an’ promisin’ to watch over you. So settle down an’ be grateful.” He ignored the look, returning to his self-appointed task of stowing most of the weapons on the biggest duffel bag. “Know you’re scared, bit, but everythin’ ‘ll go right. We’ll get the whelp back.”

“Like you even care.” Her expression grew even more mulish, and Spike didn’t bother to hold back his sigh.

“I don’ care. But your sis does, an’. . . “

She turned a look on him that spoke volumes about her feelings on the matter. Or at least the ones she was willing to admit to. “You are such a loser.”

His next words were clipped, indicating more forcefully than any yelling how tenuous a hold he had on his temper. “Don’t rightly care what you, or anyone else thinks on the matter. Don’t have to do any of this.”

He paused, finally looking at her. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, ‘ll keep you safe.”

Dawn’s voice was little-girl soft, “Promise?”

“Yeah, in fact. . . “ Spike’s voice trailed off, and he began singing softly, his voice low and gravely. “Say your prayers, little one, we’ve gotta get, gotta run. We’re gonna have some crazy fun.”

Buffy caught the snippets of song, and she paused in her tracks, listening to him sing. “Slide right through, Walk right in. Running free and past the din. An’ the Slayer leads the way. Walk with one eye open, gripping your weapon tight.”

Her head perked up, when Giles sang along, “Exit light. Enter night. Take my hand, off to never-never land.”

The older man’s voice dropped off, letting Spike continue on, though off in the corner of the shop, Willow and Tara could be heard chanting the words needed to open the portal. The vampire grabbed Dawn’s hand, pulling her to her feet as he pointed her toward the swirling light. “Stay alert, watch the light. Fighting’s heavy tonight, none of these demons are Snow White.”

Giles picked up the tune easily, as he ushered the girls through the portal. “Demons score, screams grow higher. Watch out for that dragon’s fire! And all those demons bite. . . “

Together the two Englishmen sang, “Walk with one eye open, gripping your weapon tight!”

Spike gestured for Buffy to precede him. “Exit light. Enter night. Take my hand, off to never-never land!”

Buffy shared a look with Spike, and whispered words that felt right, her eyes conveying more than she wanted to share with any of the others. “Now I lay me down to sleep. Pray the lord my soul to keep. If I die before I wake, pray the lord my soul to take.”

Nearly screaming the next words, Spike pulled her around to face him. “Hush Slayer, don’t say those words! And never mind that noise you heard, it’s just the beast under your blade, mind me now and duck your head.”

He pushed her through the portal, then pushed Dawn through after. He and Giles looked around, then as one, they stepped through the doorway, their voices trailing off behind them. “Exit light. Enter night. Watch that demon to your right! Exit light! Enter night! Take my hand, we’re off to never-never land. . . . “





Liner Notes:

I’ll Make a Man Out of You – Mulan, composer: Matthew Wilder; lyricists: David Zippel; performed by Donny Osmond

Magic To Do – Pippin, music & lyrics by Stephen Schwartz; Original Broadway production October 23, 1972; originally performed by the cast, which included Ben Vereen, Jill Clayburgh, Irene Ryan and John Rubinstein.

Enter Sandman – music by Kirk Hammett, Lars Ulrich, and James Hetfield; lyrics by James Hetfield. From the eponymous album Metallica, 1991.

Points to anyone who recognizes the song Giles is humming; and extra points to anyone who guesses the connection between Pippin and the Whedonverse.

[A/N: First thing. I’m so very sorry for seemingly abandoning this story. I have not done so, nor have I abandoned any of the others, I’ve just been really, truly, madly stressed. Want details? See my live journal account, under tangwstyl (but don’t feel obliged, if you don’t, it’s not a big deal, just know RL sucks hind tit). Good job to everyone who recognized the references in the first chapter – the Hall & Oates song was their first hit, and well, everyone should remember The Supremes singing Ain’t No Mountain. Chapter two was a bit dicier, since not everyone got the references. Nice going nightshift, you were the first to match the connection between BtVS and Chess! And not one person got the connection between BtVS and Pippin. . . . though a few of you mentioned The Gilmore Girls, which was nice, but honestly? There’s a real live connection between Buffy and Pippin. . . While there isn’t going to be much angst (at least I think so) there will be conflict, and there will be darker and more somber emotions. However, this is going to be nowhere as hard as some of my others (think Campfires) and hopefully, there will be some humor. Unfortunately, it’s going to come at some people’s expense. . . . so if you can’t deal with say, Xander and Angel being the butt of a joke, then this isn’t the story for you. That said, the disclaimers prove I own nothing. Not even the roof over my head. Gods help me if someone decides to sue. . . I mean no disrespect to any of the people whom I shamelessly borrowed from. Liner notes at the bottom.]



Three


It was obviously late at night when the arrived, or whatever passed for night in that dimension, because it was dark, and there was a misty fog covering most of the ground. Muffled footsteps pattered in the dense air, sounding both near and far. Dawn stepped closer to Buffy, whispering, “I don’t think we’re in Kansas, Toto.”

When she started humming ‘Over the Rainbow’, Spike raised his eyebrow and glared at her, which stopped Dawn before she could start singing. Nervous laughter filtered from most of them, though both Spike and Buffy kept their silence. The vampire slipped out and to the side, away from the huddled girls, turning his head in an effort to track the movements. When Dawn spoke, he shook his head and arched an eyebrow, hoping no one was going to break into song again. His nerves were stretched taut, though the grip he had on the weapons bag was the only outward sign. “Keep it down. Tryin’ to figure out what’s out there.”

“Can you hear anything?” Buffy’s voice was barely more than a whisper, coming from next to him and Spike shook his head in response.

“Not a bloody thing. Somethin’s out there, but I’m not hearing heartbeats. Or breathing.”

“Great.” Buffy looked around, cataloging the scenery as her eyes adjusted to the lack of light. “So now what do we do?”

“Perhaps we should find some form of shelter, since it appears to be rather late.” Giles replied in sotto-voce, as he stepped to Spike’s left. “Once we’ve secured that, we can work on a plan to find Xander in this.”

Inclining his head toward Spike, he asked, “are you able to see in all this muck?”

“A bit.” Was the terse answer. “C’mon, this way.”

Spike followed his nose, which had detected the faint smell of baking bread mixed in with the rainy air, and motioned the others forward. “Might wanna hold hands or somethin’. It’s a bit dark.”

Immediately the four girls linked hands, Dawn leading, sticking close to her sister and Spike, while Willow trailed at the end, next to Giles. “No noise, now. Don’t know what’s out there.”

A low ripple of sound was his answer and Spike marveled how they all seemed to actually listen to him – even Buffy. More importantly Giles was listening and willing to follow his lead. Spike stepped forward into the darkness, feeling the mist swirl sluggishly around him. His boots echoed dully on the paved street, with the others treading more lightly behind him. Three steps in, and he’d lost all sense of direction, the mist closing in almost sentiently around them. He closed his eyes, letting his smell and hearing guide him. He thought briefly about going into game face, but quickly dismissed the notion. Until he had no choice, he’d stay unchanged, since he had no idea what the effect would be in this dimension.

The hiss and crackle of a street lamp caught his attention. Spike angled his head in that direction, slowly opening his eyes. The light, dimmed by the all encompassing darkness, bloomed distantly to his far left, and as his eyes adjusted further, he could make out the hint of paler shades of darkness dotting the murk. Taking another minute, Spike inhaled deeply, searching for the illusive scent. It was stronger to his left, so that’s the way he headed. The others trudged behind him and it wasn’t long before they fetched up against something solid. And brick.

The smell of bread and other foodstuffs was heavy, almost overwhelming the mist, and behind him he could hear the softly muttered comments of the girls. Easing his hand out to trace the wall, Spike stepped around a corner and blinked at the brightness of the muted lights. Red neon scrolled and blinked the word ‘Vacancy’, in front of him, while the huge picture windows of the bakery appeared at his left.

Hand-drawn signs and red-checked curtains completed the storefront and he could see the screened door was opened, which accounted for the strength of the aromas. He reached back and pulled Buffy forward, “Food an’ lodging. Which do you wan’ to hunt down first?”

“Food.” Her answer was quick, which came as a surprise; though he figured it was more because of the delicious home-baked smell than a real desire on her part to actually eat. The others crowded behind her, clamoring softly to enter. With a shrug and a wry glance at Spike, she pushed her way into the bakery.

He shared a look with Giles, both of them worried that this might be Mrs. Lovetts’ place of business.


&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&


The ‘Vacancy’ sign was nothing but false advertising.

Not only were there no rooms, but the whole building was brimming with demons, and Buffy couldn’t even step foot in the door, her spider senses pinging from all sides. Spike and Giles had entered the lobby alone, while the girls stood just inside the doorway, while Buffy paced outside. While they were in the bakery, the mist had begun lifting, until it was only patches of swirling mist, hovering just at ankle level.

A soft breeze blew in from the right, bringing with it saltier, fresher air. It had a different taste than the ocean breezes from Sunnydale, but no one was complaining. At least the breeze enabled them to see further than the back of the person in front of them.

Within minutes of entering the hotel, Spike and Giles were herding the girls out again. “C’mon, ladies, we gotta hoof it a bit further. No room at the inn.”

“Why not?” There was a general complaint from the other four, though Buffy kept her mouth closed. Spike could sense the growing agitation within the Slayer, and he too, was feeling the pull of so many demons in one place.

It was Giles who answered. “Too many demons. And there are, in fact, no rooms available. We were hard pressed to get an answer about alternative accommodations.”

For lack of a better alternative, they headed for the bakery. Once inside, the warm and inviting atmosphere countered their collective apprehension. The proprietor eyed them a bit warily, forcing Giles to placate him by purchasing more bread. Acting on an impulse, Giles queried about rooms or a private dwelling they could rent.

“Got an apartment over the store. Could let you have it for three bucks a day.” The baker was brusque, yet his eyes were kind.

“We’ll take it.” Giles handed over a twenty dollar bill, accepting the key with a handshake.

“Door’s outside, around the right.”

Giles herded everyone out, explaining what had just happened. “I’ve rented us a flat, over the shop.”


&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&



Xander stared at his reflection in the mirror. He tried hard to just focus on his face – the only part of him that wasn’t transformed into someone completely unrecognizable – but his eyes kept straying. The hair, which he’d had a bit of time to get used to, now struck him as not so bad.

But the clothes?

Those were . . .

Shoes. Shoes weren’t bad. Soft, supple Italian leather – or so he’d been told – they didn’t resemble what he thought of as ‘guy’ shoes. The toes were rounded, there were only four loops in the laces and . . . they looked really girly. He could live with the shoes. Maybe.

It was everything between his shoes and his hair that was causing the severe stomach cramps and shaking hands. And he was sure what was worse; the form fitting overalls or the skin-tight tee- shirt that showed every single muscle he owned and highlighted the ones he lacked. He squinted, trying to lessen the effect on his psyche.

The demon, who was still sporting breasts, stood quietly behind him, contemplating him.

He was wearing a purple lace, glittery tee shirt, that just . . . Xander shook his head, cringing when the movement caught the light, reflecting it back. The pants, which he thought at first was a scarf, were a bright, vivid shade of green, looked more like the kind of pants ballet dancers wore. And Xander knew he was not a ballet dancer. He wasn’t even graceful enough to be a slam dancer in a mosh pit.

“I can’t wear this.” He repeated it for the thirteenth time, glaring at the demon’s reflection. “No way. No how. I can’t do this.”

“Oh, honey, you look scrumptious. Delish. Delectable, even.” The demon moved closer, brushing off some imaginary lint from Xander’s shoulders.

“Not Delish, or delightful or any other yummy words. I cannot wear this. It’s unmanly!”

The demon reached around to cup his groin. “Nothing unmanly about it at all.”

Xander yelped, the pitch hitting dog-hearing decibels, and jumped away from the demon. “No touching! Hands off the Xander!”

“You really aren’t much fun.” A hand trailed across his chest. “Have to learn to loosen up and enjoy new sensations,” a snicker and a choked off laugh sounded from the demon, “coz you are gonna learn about a whole lot of new sensations. . . Lots of changes. “

“No. No changes.” Xander tried to take off the pants, only to find the demon’s hands blocking him.

“Mmmmmhhhh. Yeah. Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes.” Once more the hand trailed over his torso.

Helplessly, Xander found himself humming, and then breaking out into song. “Still don’t know what I’m here getting into, and my thoughts are running wild. A million thousand crazy beats and . . . “ He swayed a little, hearing the music swelling in his head. “Every time I thought I’d get right out, it seemed the freedom was not to be. So I turned myself to face me, but I’ve never ever been this crazed, wondering how you really wanna change me. It’s way too fast to take that step.”

Together the two of them sang, “Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes.” Then Xander sang alone, “I can’t face the strain. Changes!”

“Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes.” Warbled out of the two throats, with Xander taking the lead. “Don’t want to be a different man!”

Again they sang, “Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes.”

The demon looked at Xander, who blurted out, “Not gonna make me a different man! Don’t try and change me! And I can’t wear lime!”

In response to the last line, the demon threw back its head and laughed hilariously. “Oh honey, you certainly can. That particular shade looks luscious on you.”

“No. I can’t do this. You have to find something else for me to wear. I can’t do this.” Xander didn’t dare look at the demon, afraid that he would see the tears flooding his eyes. He couldn’t. This was just. . . he fisted his hands tightly, holding a tight rein on his fear. “Please?”

A deep sigh rattled through the demon. “Very well. I’ll give you something a bit more . . . Just a bit more, alright?”

“Yeah. I can live with . . . no, wait. I wanna see what you give me before I say yes.”

Bristling at Xander’s tone, the demon’s features hardened. “Look, I have my orders about what you’re supposed to wear and I am not going to get in trouble for not following them. The best I can do is change the pants to black and maybe give you a pink shirt.”

Defeated, Xander gave in. “Black is good. I can live with the pink.”

“Good.” The demon waved a hand, and Xander blanched.

Pink. . . He’d never worn this kind of pink.

There were ruffles.

Pink ruffles.


&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&


The first locator spell fizzled. Completely. There was a mark of charred ashes on the floor of the bathroom, where Giles had insisted they perform the spell and the acrid smell of burnt nettles filled the small area. Anya bit her lip and fought tears, while Tara and Willow shared a look. Willow, moved by Any’s obvious distress, promised they would try again, saying, “Maybe what we need is a map or something of this place.”

Giles agreed, and the two headed back down the stairs to the shop.

Buffy started to follow, but instead found her feet leading her to the roof, where she found Spike. “Why are you up here?”

“Needed some breathin’ space.” He ducked his head, peering at her from beneath his lashes.

“You don’t need to breathe.” The nasty retort sprang without thought, and Buffy pretended she didn’t see the hurt flash in his eyes.

“Just a figure of speech, Slayer. No need to play the bitch over it.” He moved away from her, momentary anger overriding his usual need to be near her.

Buffy swallowed, briefly closing her eyes. She hadn’t come up here to fight with him; she’d come up looking for an escape from all of them. He knew how hard it was for her to be around them. If pressed, she couldn’t explain why it was easier to be with him, why it eased the fractured part of her to be around him; all she knew and understood was that it did. Before she could formulate an apology, Spike started humming softly.

His deep baritone rang through the early morning darkness. “Tried to love you, I thought I could. I tried to own you, I thought I would. I want to peel the skin from your face, before the real you lays to waste.”

While the imagery wasn’t pleasant, Buffy understood what he was trying to tell her. It was his words that brought tears to her eyes.

“You told me . . . I’m the only one. Sweet little angel, you should have run. Lying, crying, dying to leave . . . Innocence creates my hell!”

His voice dropped again, and Buffy moved closer to him. Finally, Spike turned to look at her, anguish, love, hate and some other undefinable emotion swirled in his eyes. “Cheating myself . . . still you know more. It would be so easy with a whore. Try to understand me, little girl, my twisted passion to be your world.”

Spike pointed a finger at her, trying to make her understand. He wailed out the next words, almost screaming them to her, to the heavens to anyone who would listen. “Lost inside my sick head . . . I live for you, but I’m not alive. Take my hand before I kill. . . I still love you, but, I still burn!”

He growled out the next words, his arms spread wide. “Yeah, love, hate, love . . . Oooh, love, hate, love . . . Yeah, yeah, love, hate, love!”

Spike stared at her, his chest heaving from the effort of breathing, his eyes flaring with all the emotions he’d just exposed to her. Buffy stared at him, unable to think, his words echoing in her ears. He. . . They. . . In that moment she understood how much he’d gone against his own inclinations. . . how he’d grown to love her. How much alike they truly were. He hated her. He loved her.

She loved him. She hated him.

Maybe she could feel something, after all.





Liner Notes:

Over the Rainbow – music by Harold Arlen, lyrics by E. Y. Harburg, from the soundtrack to The Wizard of Oz; first recorded by Judy Garland, 1939; covered by everyone from Ray Charles to Buckethead.

Changes: music and lyrics by David Bowie, originally released on the album Hunky Dory in December 1971 and as a single in January 1972; covered numerous times by various artists.

Love, Hate, Love: music by Jerry Cantrell, lyrics by Layne Staley (Alice in Chains), released on the album Facelift, August 21, 1990.


I know I'm a slacker, but really, right now? Any kind words would be adored, appreciated and make me oh, so grateful.

[A/N: Thank gods there isn’t much angst in this. I was getting so bogged down in the angst that for a while it was drowning me. So I resurrected this story and started working on it. I’m really glad I did, because I wasn’t writing a damn thing. Then again, it could have just been work and being sick that had me all tied up in knots. Disclaimers are in full force and effect; I don’t own any of the BtVS characters, nor do I own any of the songs. Liner notes at the bottom.]


Four



“Buffy?” Footsteps sounded on the rooftop, following Dawn’s voice. “Spike?” She rounded the shed, coming to a stop when she found them. “Hey. Giles and Willow got some info.”

They were standing only a couple of inches apart, and had obviously been talking about – or doing something – serious, because their faces had funny expressions. If Dawn didn’t know better. . . Wait. Maybe it was guilt.

“Right. Thanks, bit.” Spike waited for a moment, hoping she’d go away and leave him alone with Buffy, but Dawn didn’t leave.

“Sun’s gonna be up soon, Spike. Maybe you should go inside.” It was obvious now that Dawn wanted to talk to her sister, and he grudgingly took the hint.

“Yeah.” He drawled out the word. “I’ll go. Don’t stay out too long.”

He was gone in a swirl of black leather. Dawn looked at Buffy, whose eyes followed Spike’s retreat. “You okay?”

“I’m fine, Dawnie.” Buffy moved closer to the parapet, leaning her elbows on the cool brick. “Just kinda tired.”

“I’m sorry. About everything. I didn’t know.” Dawn followed her, coming to stand right beside her sister. “You know he’s a good guy, for a vampire. He took care of me all summer, made sure I ate and protected me.”

“Really?” Buffy sort of half-turned, her eyes still focused away from Dawn, but more engaged in the conversation.

“Yeah. Really.” She fiddled with her sleeves, then glanced over shyly at her sister. “You know it would be okay if you got together.”

“He’s a vampire, Dawn.”

The words exploded out of the younger Summers. “Please. Angel was a vampire. And don’t gimme that crap about Spike not having a soul. It’s not like he really needs one. He’s done a helluva lot more for us – for me – without a stupid soul. He’s not like the others, Buffy. Not like Angel or Riley.”

“No, he’s not.”

“So it would be okay if you were with him.”

“I’m not with him.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” Dawn paused, eyeing her sister’s stiff posture. “You should see it from my point of view.”

Buffy did look at her then. “What do you mean your point of view?”

Her soft soprano filled the air, and Buffy forced herself to listen, to not tune out the words. “Hands touch, eyes meet. Sudden silence, sudden heat. Hearts leap in a giddy whirl. He could be that boy, you are so that girl.”

But Buffy was shaking her head, denying what her sister was singing about. Pointing at herself, she sang, “Don't dream too far, don't lose sight of who you are. Don't remember that rush of joy. He could be that boy, I'm not that girl.” Tears filled her eyes as she kept singing, “Ev'ry so often we long to steal, to the land of what-might-have-been. But that doesn't soften the ache we feel, when reality sets back in.”

Dawn reached out to brush away her sister’s tears. “Blithe smile, lithe limb, she who's winsome, she wins him. Gold hair with gentle curl, that's the girl he chose, and heaven knows, you are that girl.”

Breaking away from Dawn, Buffy wrapped her arms around her middle, holding on tightly. “Don't wish, don't start. Wishing only wounds the heart, I wasn't born for the rose and pearl. . . .”

Her sister countered her, “There's a girl I know, he loves her so. . . . You are so that girl.”

Their hands clasped and Dawn smiled at Buffy once more wiping away the tears.



&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&


“Could we lose the ruffles?” Xander was no longer above begging. In fact, he figured there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do to get rid of the ruffles. The pink wasn’t so bad, not compared to the purple lace he’d had on earlier. But the ruffles. . . . the ruffles were just unmanly.

“No can do, sweetums. Ruffles or lace. Your choice.” The demon grabbed his arm, pulling him away from the mirror. “Personally, I like the purple.”

“Ahhhh! No. No purple. I’ll. . . I’ll live with the pink.” Shaking his head, Xander finally stopped short when he realized where the demon was taking him. “Where are we going?”

“To the club. Don’t you pay attention to anything?”

“I’m trying to block all this out and pretend it’s really some bizarre dream. You know, the kind you get from eating shrimp and then ice cream.”

A laugh gurgled up from the demon’s belly, and Xander hoped maybe he was winning the demon over. Those hopes were dashed when the demon forced him out into the main living area. “You have no choice in this. Your presence is required at the club.”

“Damn. Are you sure I can’t talk you out of it? Maybe we could stay in and play backgammon or something. Got any board games? Monopoly?” Board games brought the thought of Anya to the forefront of his brain, and Xander wondered what was going on back home. How much time had passed? Would he be able to get home? What about the gang? Would Buffy be up for a rescue?

Buffy. Xander didn’t have time to process the big reveal from the night before, what with waking up and being kidnapped in his sleep. They’d stolen her from heaven. Maybe this was his punishment for helping. Stuck in a Broadway nightmare.

Oh, God. I’m stuck here. I don’t know if anyone’s gonna be able to get me out. Oh . . .

Xander was panicking so much that he didn’t realize they’d left the apartment and were walking down a set of dark stairs. Nor did he realize he could hear the sounds of a band tuning up and getting ready to play.

What the hell is happening to me?

Suddenly Xander was very afraid.


&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&


The fear didn’t lessen when he entered the club. There were demons of every shape, size and gender watching the floor show, which consisted of, at the moment, a female demon singing Someone to Watch Over Me. A small orchestra was behind her, just like those old black and white movies, and Xander stared open-mouthed at some of the clientele.

Demons outnumbered real humans by almost two to one, making him very uncomfortable. Most of the humans were female, and they seemed to be paired up with demons of indeterminate gender. Xander had no clue what kind of a place he’d been brought too, and part of him wasn’t very eager to know. He managed to keep his panic at bay until the demon lead him to a table, right in front of the audience, and sat him down.

“You stay right here, sugar. Boss man’ll be out in a jiffy.”

The torch singer finished to loud applause and the house lights came up, illuminating the scene. Xander tried hard not to look at all the demons, knowing how alone and vulnerable he was. The crowd buzzed with excitement, and hardly anyone left their seats. From the table directly behind him, he could overhear the whispers about the change in the playbill for the night.

“It’s so unusual for him to perform. He doesn’t usually do it anymore, not since he brought that singer back. . . I’m soo excited!” a female gushed, her voice thick with anticipation.

“I know, my dear. I’m very glad we had tickets for tonight.” Her companion, obviously a male, spoke softly, “Now, doll, keep it planted while I go see a man about a deal.”

The male left, and he could hear the woman humming, but Xander didn’t turn around, didn’t move, until a waiter appeared at his side. He presented a bottle of wine, saying, “Compliments of the house, sir.”

Xander dumbly stared at him for a moment. “I don’t drink wine,” was the best he reply he could make, “I’d rather have a beer.”

“Very well, sir. I’ll be right back.”

Before the waiter could return, the house lights dimmed and a booming voice filled the club. “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the incomparable. . . . the one, the only. . . . Sweet!”

Applause filled the club, drowning out the strains of the orchestra. The entire club went black, with no lights at all, not even a spot light highlighting Sweet. Music swelled, and the audience went completely silent. There was a rustle of noise, just in front of Xander, a mere whisper of sound, and then someone touched his hand. Xander squeaked, blinking harshly when a spot light hit him.

“How d'you do, I see you've met my faithful henchman. He's just a little brought down because when you arrived, he thought you were the candy man.” Sweet’s voice filled the club, and the light broadened, highlighting his face. He was singing directly to Xander, which made him very uncomfortable.

The light focused on Sweet, and Xander gasped. “Don't get strung out by the way that I look, don't judge a book by its cover.” Sweet wasn’t dressed the way he’d been in Sunnydale. He was . . . Xander gulped, closing his eyes in denial. He peaked out of one eye.

Still the same.

Sweet had on fishnet stockings, high heels, garter belt. . . and . . . Xander couldn’t look anymore. It didn’t matter, because Sweet was singing again. “I'm not much of a man by the light of day, but by night, I'm one hell of a lover.”

“I'm just Sweet, a transvestite, just the demon to train ya.”

Xander nearly flew out of the chair, ready to bolt when Sweet rolled his hips in his direction. He couldn’t move, though, because the waiter was behind him, and the demon henchman was sitting on his left, both of them holding him down in his seat.

“So let me show you around, maybe play you a sound. You look like you're really pretty groovy. Or if you want something visual, that's not too abysmal, we could take in an old Steve Reeves movie.” Sweet was gesturing to Xander, looking at him as coyly as he could, given his facial limitations.

He was seriously wigging. Like freaking out, because Sweet was hitting on him – in front of an audience no less – and Xander was way out of his depth. He had no idea how to get himself out of this particular mess. “I really have to get back home, could I use a phone? I’m really in a bit of a hurry. I’ll just say where we are, then go hide under the bar. I don't want to be any worry.”

But Sweet was ignoring him, intent on seducing him with song. “So you got caught by a really hep cat, well, how about that? Well baby, don't you panic, by the light of the night when it all seems alright, I'll be your demonic mechanic.” He ran a hand up Xander’s thigh, snapping the straps of his pants. “I'm just Sweet, a transvestite, just the demon to train ya.”

Grabbing hold of the strap, Sweet pulled him up so that Xander was standing awkwardly in the spotlight. “So why don't you stay for the night? Or maybe a bite? I could show you my favorite obsession. I've been making a vamp with blond hair and a tan, but he's no longer good for relieving my tension.”

Xander nearly bolted when Sweet licked his cheek, and it was only the hold the demon had on him that kept him in place. “I'm just Sweet, a transvestite, just the demon to train ya.”

That’s when he really freaked. Xander pushed Sweet away, breaking free of his hold. “NO!”

Pandemonium broke out, women screaming and the other demons trying to get him as he ran away from Sweet. He fought off the demons, punching and kicking, and at one point even biting, but he knew it was hopeless. There were too many demons chasing after him, and he didn’t even know where to go. All he knew was he had to get out. . . had to get home.

He wasn’t even aware he was singing until one of the demons started at him.

“I gotta get outta this place, if it’s the last thing I ever do! I gotta get outta this place, no way is this the life for me with you!”

The demon looked at him funny, then promptly bashed him over the head. Xander went down without another sound.


&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&



“We’ve got something!” Willow waved the map in her hand, brandishing it for the others to see. “Look, he’s here!”

“Where?” Giles took the map from her, looking it over carefully. “That’s great, Willow. The only problem is we have no idea where we are.”

Her face fell, making her appear much younger than her nearly twenty-one years. “Oh! We can ask the baker!”

“True enough. Why don’t you do that.” Giles was feeling every one of his years, lack of sleep and inter-dimensional travel had just caught up with him. “I believe I’m going to rest for a bit. We’ll make plans after I’ve had some sleep.”

Spike looked relieved. “Wouldn’t mind a bit of kip, myself. How much room ’ve we got, Rupes?”

“Four bedrooms, and the sitting room.” He thought for a moment. “There’s a middle bedroom that is rather dark. It should meet your needs nicely.”

“Cheers.” Spike followed Giles down the hallway, ducking into the darkest room. It was small and sparsely furnished, but the old man was right, it suited his needs exactly. The double bed was made up with a smooth comforter and nice crisp linen sheets. It smelled a bit like home, with lavender and mint scenting the sheets, and Spike stripped off his shirt and boots quickly.

He heard the doors close behind him, and he knew Dawn and Buffy had returned from the roof. It wouldn’t have taken much effort on his part to eavesdrop, and he was tempted, but in the end, he’d given the sisters their privacy and gone back to the apartment to join the others. He didn’t like to be around Willow, not since he’d known what she’d done to Buffy, and it took every ounce of his willpower not to bite the witch, chip be damned.

There was a knock on his closed door, then Buffy stuck her head in. “Do you mind if . . . Can I come in?”

“Sure, Slayer. What’s up?” He hadn’t bothered to turn on a light, and neither did Buffy. Spike sat up, watching her as she made her way to his side.

“I don’t wanna be. . . I wanna be alone.” She wrung her hands together, not looking at him.

Spike gestured to the worn chair in the corner. “Want me to take the chair?”

“No. You. . Would you mind if we shared?”

Spike was flabbergasted. “Mind? No. I don’t. Do you?”

Buffy lifted her head, smiling slightly at his response. “If I minded I wouldn’t have asked.”

He moved over, holding up the blanket. “Scoot in, kitten.”

She didn’t hesitate. Slipping out of her sneakers, she slipped easily into the bed beside him, resting on her side.

“Gotta ask, though, sweetheart, why you’re here with me.” Spike dropped the blanket over her shoulders, smoothing it nicely.

“There’s only two other bedrooms. And I really don’t wanna share with anyone.”

“Not even your sis?”

“No.” Buffy relented a bit, adding, “she’s talking to Anya.”

She was quiet again, for long moments, almost long enough for him to think she’d fallen asleep. “Spike? Would you do. . . something for me?”

“Anything in the world, Slayer.” He stared up at the ceiling, afraid she was going to send him away.

“Would you sing me something? Something soft and sweet.”

For some reason, the request, worded so softly, touched something deep inside of him. She wasn’t asking for love, not the romantic kind. Her words, uttered so plaintively, made him think of lullabies and safety, so he searched his brain for something that wouldn’t send her running.

He shifted a bit, sitting up with his back against the head board. From out of the depths of his memories, the words to the song came forward, haltingly at first.

“A gentle breeze from Hushabye Mountain, softly blows o'er Lullaby Bay. It fills the sails of boats that are waiting – Waiting to sail your worries away. It isn't far to Hushabye Mountain, and your boat waits down by the key. The winds of night so softly are sighing – Soon they will fly your troubles to sea.”

Buffy rolled over, her eyes fixed on his face. She sighed once, twice, then laid her head on his chest, listening to the sound of his deep voice. “So close your eyes on Hushabye Mountain. Wave good-bye to cares of the day. And watch your boat from Hushabye Mountain, sail far away from Lullaby Bay.”

He sang it again, starting from the beginning, until her breathing evened out, and Buffy slept.






Liner Notes:

I’m Not That Girl: from the musical Wicked; music and lyrics by Stephen Schwartz, debuted by Idina Menzel.

I’m Just a Sweet Transvestite: from the musical/movie The Rocky Horror Show/The Rocky Horror Picture Show; music and lyrics by Richard O’Brien, debuted by Tim Curry.

We Gotta Get Outta This Place: written by Barry Mann and Cynthia Weil, recorded by The Animals, on the album Animal Tracks, released September 1965; covered by numerous artists.

Hushabye Mountain: from the musical Chitty Chitty Bang Bang; music and lyrics by Richard M. Sherman, Robert B. Sherman and Irwin Kostal; sung by Dick Van Dyke; covered by various artists; also included in the play.



I know, I know it's been a while, but life has just continued throwing me curve balls, and I can't seem to get ahead of the count. I promise there will be more to come within the next couple of weeks. A kind word would be lovely. Thanks!

[A/N: I have no idea if anyone even remembers this story, but in case there’s the odd reader out there that does, I’m posting this update. Hopefully this will jumpstart the muse, because honestly, I’m all un-a-mused. I think it’s gone for good this time, because I’m tapped out and barely able to get anything written. I’m so sorry I haven’t posted much of anything lately, and I don’t blame any of you for being peeved at me because of it. This is supposed to be fun, not something that’ll cause me excess grief while I’m writing it and not something that’s supposed to weigh heavily on anyone’s minds. Real life has far too much of that, right? Angst is not something I enjoy, at least not while I’m living it. But it lately seems to be following me around like a really ugly puppy. I wish I could just banish it from my life. Liner notes are at the bottom, thereby proving that I once again, own nothing; because the lack of royalties tells me so. Maybe next life time.]

Five

“Aren’t you tired?” Dawn watched as Anya nervously flittered about the living room and kitchen of the apartment. The former demon was making her dizzy with all the up and down and pacing and Dawn was having enough trouble keeping her eyes opened.

“No, not really. I can’t stop thinking about Xander and what he might be going through. This is all so very stressful.” Anya straightened out the kitchen tablecloth, which didn’t need it; then she moved over to the cabinets, checking the contents. “I don’t like feeling this much worry.”

“I’m sure he’s fine. I don’t think Sweet would do anything to hurt him.” Dawn leaned her chin on her hand, pursing her lips. “Do you?”

“No, he wouldn’t hurt him.” She turned around, leaning against the counter, a distracted look in her eyes. “At least not the way you mean. But Sweet is a demon. . . and demons think differently than humans about what hurts and what doesn’t.”

The teenager was quiet for a minute, contemplating what Anya meant. Despite Buffy’s desire to keep her innocent and uninformed about, well, just about everything, Dawn knew better. She was a teenager, after all, and information about everything was available on the internet. Plus, living on the hellmouth and knowing a notorious vampire up close and personally? Dawn had an inside track on a lot of things. Spending time with Anya over the summer had enlightened her to all sorts of stuff.

“So what you’re saying is, you think Sweet might, ah, do things to him.” While Dawn knew she could be open with Anya, sometimes she had trouble voicing her thoughts.

“He might.” A deep sigh rattled through her. “I just don’t want anyone giving Xander orgasms but me. He’s mine.”

“You really love him,” Dawn marveled, noting the soft smile gracing the other girl’s face. “Really, really.”

“I do.”

It took a minute, but they both realized at the same time that Anya was humming again. Before she could stop herself, a melody tumbled forward. “Fish got to swim, birds got to fly, I got to love one man till I die. Can't help lovin' that man of mine.”

Anya swayed a little, listening to the music swell inside her head. “Tell me he's lazy, tell me he's slow, tell me I'm crazy, maybe I know. Can't help lovin' that man of mine.”

The song was plaintive, Anya’s emotions clear and for some reason Dawn felt tears coming to her eyes. She thought about Anya and Xander, but she also was thinking about her sister and Spike. Buffy could deny up down and sideways, but Dawn knew something was going on between them. She wondered, if someday, Buffy would admit it. Spike deserved to know. Dawn listened as Anya kept singing.

“Oh, listen sister, I love my mister-man, and I can't tell you' why. There ain't no reason, why I should love that man, it mus' be somethin’ that the angels done plan.”

Despair seemed to fill Anya, and she dropped her head, barely holding back the tears. “Now he’s gone away, it’s such a rainy day. But when he comes back that day will be fine, oh, how the sun will shine!”

She walked a little bit away, hugging herself. “He can come home however bad it might be, home without him ain't no home to me. Can't help lovin' that man of mine.”

Once more she sang the familiar words, “Fish got to swim, birds got to fly, I got to love one man till I die. Can't help lovin' that man of mine,” her voice dropping until it was nothing more than a teary whisper. “Can’t help lovin’ that man of mine.”

Moved to sympathy for the usually brusque and up-beat woman, Dawn got up from her seat and enfolded her in a hug. “We’ll get him back. I’m sure of it.”

“I hope you’re right, Dawn. I really do.”


&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&


Xander woke up, his head throbbing and pain radiating from several areas. He was back in the room above the club, the strange blue-skinned demon sitting on the edge of the bed, watching him.

“You do know that was an incredibly stupid thing to do.”

“Don’t start, I’m seriously aching here.” He groaned and rolled over, burying his head under the pillows and pulling the blankets up around him. “Go away and leave me the hell alone.”

The demon clucked its tongue, continuing without a breath, “You know very well I can’t do that. I’m your bodyguard.”

A deep groan emerged from the pile of bedding. “I don’t need a bodyguard. I need to go home.”

“Can’t do that either. You’re the current flavor.” The voice receded, then sounded right above Xander’s ear. “Until he loses interest and finds something more attractive, you’re it, baby.”

“No, I really don’t wanna hear this. Leave me alone. If you can’t let me go,” Xander tried bargaining, “at least let me sleep some more, so I can pretend I’m not really here.”

“Fine. It’s not going to change anything, just so you know.”

Xander peaked out, risking a glance at the demon. “Do you have a name?”

“Of course I do. What kind of question is that?” The demon stood up, crossing its arms over its still visible breasts. “My name is Cyd.”

“Cyd? Would you mind leaving me alone, so I can pretend I’m not here?” Xander rolled over, childishly hiding from the demon. He really hadn’t wanted to know the demon’s name, but it was rude, even for him to say ‘hey you’ all the time.

“You really need to grow up.”

On that parting note, Cyd flounced from the room, its skin glowing darkly.


&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&



Tara stared blankly at the wall, unable to sleep or even close her eyes. Willow wasn’t so affected; she was snoring softly, her body pressed up against Tara’s, her arm thrown around her waist. Hundreds of thoughts, mostly regrets coupled with guilt, had been circling in her head since Buffy’s revelation two nights ago. Tara couldn’t believe what they’d done.

They’d managed the almost-impossible, pulling Buffy out of heaven and restoring her to life. Only Tara wasn’t so sure what kind of life they’d brought her back to. So much of Buffy’s behavior and mood was explained by the revelation, and Tara could feel it darkening all the time. Buffy was severely depressed and every time Tara looked at her, she was assailed by more guilt.

We did something really bad, something wrong.

As horrible it was to admit to herself, Tara wondered if things might not be any better if Buffy had been in some hell dimension. What also compounded her guilt was the outward indifference of Willow. Initially, her girlfriend had shed tears for Buffy, concerned for her, but that quickly faded. Willow wasn’t really sorry.

If Willow wasn’t sorry about pulling Buffy from heaven – what did that say about the kind of person her girlfriend was? What did that say about her?

Deciding she’d tried long enough and wanting to escape the close confines, Tara slid from beneath the covers. Without sparing a glance at Willow, she tiptoed out of the room and down the hallway, toward the kitchen. She could hear Dawn and Anya chatting, so she veered for the door, wanting to avoid them and headed instead for the roof.


&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&



Xander didn’t sleep long; he couldn’t. His brain wouldn’t let him. His fear wouldn’t.

He sat on the bed, surrounded by the softest sheets he’d ever felt, contemplating his situation. There has to be some way out of this place, some way to get back home. I hope they’re looking for me. I can’t stay here. I can’t.

He was saved from further musings by the re-appearance of Cyd, who was followed by two other demons. “Hurry up and get dressed, Sweet’s on his way.”

“What? No. No.” Xander waved his hands, shooing away the demons, who were trying to pull him from the bed. When that didn’t work, they pulled the sheets and blankets off him. “Stop! This isn’t good for my nerves!”

Cyd looked at him skeptically. “Oh, please, panicking is not going to work.”

Without really caring, Xander jumped up on the bed, bouncing on the mattress, jumping to get away from the grasping demonic hands. He hopped up, a song escaping from him. “This shakes my nerves and rattles my brain! This kinda love would drive a man insane! Won’t break my will! This ain’t no thrill! Goodness gracious great balls of fire!”

One of the demons managed to grab his ankle and Xander twisted and shimmied, breaking its hold on him. He leaned forward, almost falling off the bed, shaking his finger at Cyd. “I learned to love Anya and her money. She came along and she called me honey. I changed my mind, she’s just so fine. Goodness gracious great balls of fire!”

Cyd started laughing as the panic showed clearly on Xander’s face. The distraction was enough for both demons to tackle Xander and pin him to the bed. He immediately began squirming and fighting back, clipping one demon on the jaw and kicking the other in the chest. “Don’t kiss me, dude! Whooo nooo! That’s not good! Free me baby, learn to live without me like I know you could! Hear me whine – all the time! I’m so nervous I’m gonna lose my mind. . . mind. . . mind!”

The three demons were chasing Xander around the room, trying to block him from escaping either into the bathroom or out into the hallway, while Xander evaded them by bowling them over or slipping from their grasps, singing the whole time. “I’ll bite my nails and I quiver my knees. I'm really nervous and this ain’t fun.”

Xander grabbed Cyd, singing directly to him. “Come on Cyn, don’t drive me crazy! Goodness gracious great balls of fire!”

Instead of helping, Cyd tried to manhandle Xander into the grasp of the other two demons, with Xander breaking free. He ran away screaming at the top of his lungs for the first hiding place he could find. Xander reached the door next to the bathroom, then slammed the heavy wooden door behind him, groaning when he realized where he’d hidden.

The closet.


Liner Notes:


Can’t Help Lovin’ Dat Man, music by Jerome Kern, lyrics by Oscar Hammerstein II, from the musical Show Boat (1927). First sung by blues singer Helen Morgan (who appeared in stage productions in 1927, 1932, and in the first film production of 1936; also sung by (among others) Lena Horne, Barbra Streisand, Ella Fitzgerald, Lonette McKee, and Charlotte Church. This song is considered controversial, as is much of the story behind Show Boat, and had not the studios of the 1950s been afraid of casting and racism, Lena Horne would’ve played Julie instead of Ava Gardner in the 1951 remake.


Great Balls of Fire, music and lyrics by Otis Blackwell and Jack Hammer. Made famous by Jerry Lee Lewis in 1957; has been covered by everyone from Tiny Tim to Fleetwood Mac to Dolly Parton and the Electric Light Orchestra, and generally any band that’s ever played rock-a-billy or anything from the 1950s.


I know I don't deserve them, but if you read this, would you just drop a line (or even just a word) to let me know that you've done so? I'd greatly appreciate it. Thanks and much love, Nia

[A/N: Not sure how happy I can make this right now, my real life is full of angst and strife, not something that’s generally conducive to writing comedy/parody. Then again, maybe it will be just the thing I need to change my mood a bit. We’ll see. Liner notes are at the bottom, and I still don’t own a damn thing. That damned Pippin connection is there again – and hey only one person got it right! Kudos! The connection, as Mel1_77 stated in her email to me, is that John Rubenstein originated the role of Pippin on Broadway and played Linwood Morrow on Angel. Points if you read the liner notes at the bottom and know the answer – and double points if you know why Cyd’s name is, well, Cyd. Disclaimers are still in effect; those pesky buggers just won’t go away.]


Six

He could hear everyone stirring, the usual morning noises striking him as strange, alien. Spike listened as the girls yawned and murmured sleepily, a wry smile on his features. Buffy hadn’t stirred. He’d thought he wouldn’t sleep, but an hour or so into her slumber, he’d drifted off. She was still curled against him, her head resting comfortably on his chest.

A soft knock caught his attention, and without waiting for a response, Dawn slid inside the door. “Hey, you guys awake yet?”

“Just barely.” Spike shifted his weight, dislodging Buffy just enough to slide the pillow beneath her head. “Sis is still sleeping.”

The girl in question grumbled, protesting the noise disturbing her.

“Did she sleep all night?” Dawn plopped down on the bed, narrowly missing Buffy’s feet. “She hasn’t gotten a lot of sleep since she came back.”

“Figured that was happening. ‘S hard for her.” Spike eased into a sitting position, reaching for his shirt.

“You weren’t surprised when Buffy sang about being in heaven.” Dawn’s eyes were focused on Buffy, but he could hear the accusation easily.

Before Spike could answer, Buffy’s sleep-roughened voice interrupted. “Because he already knew. Now can you go someplace else so I can go back to sleep?” Buffy rolled over, pulling the comforter up over her head. “Sleep is good.”

The other two shared a look, Spike recognizing the rebellion brewing on the teen’s features. Grasping her wrist, he gently pulled her from the bed. “C’mon, Bit, let’s get some nosh.”

They left Buffy alone, her head still buried beneath the covers.


&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&


Cyd was at the end of his patience. Xander had refused to come out of the closet, hiding behind all the clothing like a small child. He’d spent the remainder of the night there, singing obnoxious melodies in order to keep himself from falling asleep. His voice was raw, his mouth and throat dry, but he kept on singing.

The sound of his voice was driving Cyd mad.

Any moment he was going to break, pound his head against the closet door until he was unconscious. The droning was enough to turn his stomach. Right now, Xander was working through his third rendition of Ninety-nine bottles of beer, a song the demon had never heard until now. He wished he’d never heard it.

It was grating.

It was annoying.

It offended every single sensibility Cyd possessed.

It had . . . stopped.

Xander’s voice finally gave out – that or he’d fallen asleep. Either way it was bliss, because the noise had stopped.

Cyd cautiously opened the door, hoping Xander’s foot wasn’t aimed at his head. When no foot caught his chin, Cyd motioned to the other demons to pull Xander from the closet.

Muttering softly under his breath, Cyd watched while the demons placed Xander on the bed. “He’s not going to be happy about this.”

Whether Cyd was talking about Xander or Sweet, neither of the minions asked.


&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&


It was obvious to everyone that Tara hadn’t slept in the bedroom with Willow. Dawn and Anya had found her sleeping on the couch shortly before they went to bed, and she was still there when Giles woke.

She was just stirring when Dawn hauled Spike out of the bedroom. He paused, catching sight of the pained look in her eyes and motioned Dawn ahead. “You all right, Glinda?”

Rubbing away the sleep, Tara made a face. “I guess.”

“What’s wrong?” Had it been any of the others, Spike wouldn’t have bothered, but something about the girl made him want to help.

Startled by his question, Tara hung her head, refusing to meet his intense gaze. “–nothing.”

“Not nothing when you’re sleepin’ out here an’ not snuggled in with your honey.” He shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, as if he didn’t know what to do with himself, or why he was worried about her.

He’d thought he was being nice, asking how she was, and he wasn’t prepared at all for her reaction. Tara shook her head, darting a glance up at him and Spike caught the glimmer of tears. “Hey, ducks, why the tears?”

“What we did was w-wrong. P-pulling B-Buffy out of h-heaven and Willow’s –not s-sorry.” More tears slid down her cheeks, though when Spike took a step forward to comfort her, Tara held up a hand. “A-and I think s-she’s —messing with my —mind. Doing spells to make – to keep me calm.”

“What?” Spike yelped, the volume startling them both. “You sure ‘bout this, Glinda?”

“P-pretty sure. My memory’s all messed up from the last couple of days.” Tara rocked back and forth, her arms wrapped around her middle. “Why would she abuse me? What did she hope to gain? Why does she use me?”

The melody was soft, echoing Tara’s pain, and Spike listened as she poured her heart out, trying hard to keep from joining her. “If I should lose her, how shall I regain the heart she has won from me?”

Tara couldn’t look at Spike, didn’t want to see the pity swimming in his eyes, but she couldn’t stop singing, couldn’t stem the tide of words surging from her mouth. “Agony! Beyond power of speech, when the one thing you want, is the only thing out of your reach.”

“High in her tower she sits by the hour maintaining her hair.” Spike looked at Tara, a strange look on his face, trying to figure out why he’d sung anything, much less those words. He didn’t think Buffy spent hours on her hair, but maybe this was just some kind of strange metaphor even he couldn’t figure out. “Blithe and becoming and frequently humming a lighthearted air. Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-Agony!”

Tara looked back, disbelief mixed with the tears she’d been shedding. Spike kept on singing, though, his voice low and as pain-filled as hers had been. “Far more painful than yours, when you know she would go with you, if there weren’t doors.

Together they sang the next few lines. “Agony! Oh, the torture they teach!”

Both of them had strange looks on their faces, neither one able to stop the singing.

“What's as intriguing,” Spike sang. His smirking smile finally reached his eyes, and he waited a half-beat while Tara countered him.

“Or half so fatiguing – ” For her part, Tara couldn’t resist answering Spike’s smile and the words finally began to register with her.

Once again, they sang the next line together, “As what's out of reach.”

Finally getting into the absurdity of the whole moment, Tara hid her laughter behind her hand, singing once more, “Am I not sensitive, clever, well-mannered, considerate, passionate, charming, as kind as I'm handsome, and hair to my waist?

Spike laughed at her antics, exclaiming, “You are everything maidens could wish for!”

The moment was broken then, when Tara asked him plaintively, “Then why no– ?”

“Do I know?” He reached out for her hand, clasping it briefly before letting go, then assuring her, “The girl must be mad!”

Without taking a break, he broke into song again. “You know nothing of madness, till you're climbing her stairs, and you see her up there, as you're nearing her, all the while hearing her: Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah–“

They both sang the next words together, “Agony! Misery! Woe! Though it's different for each.”

Realizing just how hopeless it was, Tara’s voice filled with tears and she was barely able to choke out the next words, “Always ten steps behind – “

“Always ten feet below – “ Picking up on Tara’s change in emotion, and for once admitting to himself just how hopeless his own situation was, Spike tried not to let his own emotions overflow.

For the last time, their voices blended together, the words, soft and heartbroken. “And she's just out of reach. Agony! That can cut like a knife!”

Tara couldn’t sing any longer, so she just listened as Spike sung the last line in a near whisper. “I’d give anything to make her my wife.”

Unable to keep from comforting him, Tara grabbed him hard around the waist and hugged him. Spike hugged her back awkwardly, though when he smelled her tears, he tightened his hold on her. “It’s gonna be all right, pet.”

Though he really wasn’t sure himself. . .


&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Dawn slipped back inside the room her sister had shared with her favorite vampire. This time, it was clear Buffy was awake, as her eyes narrowed at Dawn’s entrance.

“What?” There was enough belligerence in Buffy’s question for Dawn’s attitude to match hers.

“Geez. Bitch much? What the heck is wrong with you?” The younger Summers started to flounce from the room, then stopped in her tracks. “You know. . . I’m sorry, Buffy.”

“For what?” Pushing herself up on her elbows, Buffy stared at her sister.

She deflated completely. “I didn’t know what they were doing.”

A sigh ripped from her. Buffy threw off the comforter, wishing there were some way she could avoid this discussion. “I didn’t think you had.”

“So how come you’re such a bitch all the time? How come you act like you don’t wanna be around me?” Dawn whirled on her, hair flaring all around. “How come you told Spike where you were?”

If Buffy hadn’t been looking so hard, she would have missed the wounded, tearful look her sister was trying so hard to hide.

“Because he didn’t look at me. . . he doesn’t look at me differently. He – “ Buffy caught at Dawn’s hand. “Dawnie, don’t, please?”

“How come you told him?”

“I trust him.” It was the only answer she could give her sister, the only answer that made some sort of sense.

She hadn’t wanted anyone to know, was almost afraid to speak of it in fear of screaming endlessly at everyone – Dawn included. Until this moment, when her sister denied all knowledge, Buffy thought she knew. It all made sense though, that her friends left Dawn out.

Dawn and Spike.

Dawn’s soft question interrupted her musings. “What are you going to do now?”

“Huh?”

“Are you sorry you came back?” When Buffy didn’t answer, Dawn asked her again. “Are you?”

“I don’t know. I . . . Dawnie.” Buffy bit her lip and stared off at nothing, refusing to meet her sister’s gaze.

“How long are you going to be this way?” The question was heartbreaking, and Buffy finally glanced at her sister.

“Why?”

“Because you have to start living for yourself, not for anyone else. You have to start living. . .”

Her voice dropped away for a moment, then picked up, soft and sweet. “Oh, it's time to start livin', time to take a little from this world we're given. . . Time to take time, cause spring will turn to fall, in just no time at all....”

When Buffy made a face, Dawn’s voice got stronger, less girlish. “What good is a field on a fine summer night, when you sit all alone with the weeds? Or a succulent pear if with each juicy bite, you spit out your heart with the seeds?”

Dawn wagged a finger at her older sister. “ Before it's too late stop trying to wait, for fortune and fate you're secure of, for there's one thing to be sure of, mate – There's nothing to be sure of!”

Once more her words rang through the room, much stronger than the first time. “Oh, it's time to start livin', time to take a little from this world we're given. . . Time to take time, cause spring will turn to fall, in just no time at all....”

The younger Summers girl danced around a bit, shaking her hands in the air and acting crazy, hoping to get a smile or some reaction from her sister. When it appeared to be working, Dawn kept on singing. “Now when the drearies do attack, and a siege of the sads begins – just throw those noble shoulders back, don’t worry about the might have beens!”

She was laughing now, knowing the next words would wring some reaction from her sister, because she could hide from herself, but there was no way Dawn missed what was going on between her and Spike – she’d seen that kiss the other night, outside the Bronze. She knew what was happening. “You’ve got a man who is handsome and strong. Someone who's stalwart and steady.”

A sly look came over Dawn’s features and she got very close to her sister, staring intently. The bawdiest voice she could muster came out, seemingly from her toes. “So have a night that's romantic and long – and give me a month to get ready! That’ll be enough time to get out of the way!”

Barely able to contain her laughter at Buffy’s expression, Dawn kept singing. “So stop looking for reason and rhyme, because really it’s alright, it’s okay, if you just live for yourself this time!”

Grabbing her sister’s hand, Dawn swung her into a crazy dance step. “Oh, it's time to start livin', time to take a little from this world we're given. . . Time to take time, cause spring will turn to fall, in just no time at all....”

They danced around while Dawn kept singing, until finally the laughter rang clear and true. The two Summers girls collapsed in a heap on the bed, breathless and, for once, carefree. When the laughter died off, Dawn sat up, leaning on her elbow, watching Buffy. “Seriously, you need to start living again. Not for me, or any of the others. But for you, Buffy. Just for you.”



Liner Notes:

Ninety-nine bottles of beer; Anonymous drinking song, performed by infinite numbers of people, mostly on insanely long road trips.

Agony: from the musical Into The Woods, music and lyrics by Stephen Sondheim, originally performed by Chuck Wagner and Robert Westernberg (Broadway production).

No Time At All; from the musical Pippin, music and lyrics by Stephen Schwartz, originally performed by Irene Ryan (Broadway production) (betcha don’t know who Irene Ryan is. . . . )


I know! You all thought I'd abandoned this poor little orphan story. Well, no. I didn't. So I've got this chapter all done, and another one waiting for a beta -- and a bit of the next after that all written up. Plus I've got two Chapters of Jungle, and another one shot. . . and I might even be persuaded to add another chapter of something else. . . though I really don't deserve them, any kind words would be greatly appreciated.

[A/N: I know, I know. It’s been a ridiculously long period of time since I updated anything, much less this little story. I don’t deserve any reviews, kindness or anything, because it’s been so bloody long. All I can ask for is a little kindness so that maybe, just maybe the muse will wake up and give me something. . . anything. . . I can only offer up my humblest apologies and say I’m sorry because real life has been kicking my ass and I haven’t had much time at all to think anything creative, much less be creative. However, I realized that part of my stress is not having an outlet for all that crap bubbling in my brain and I need to get back to writing, so here’s the start. I can’t promise that updates will be regular, but I will promise that everything will be updated. More will come. Liner notes for this story are at the bottom. . .]

Seven



Despite Giles’ stated wish to get some rest, his sleep didn’t prove helpful. He’d tossed and turned, his thoughts on the revelation Buffy had dumped on them scarcely two days earlier. Heaven. His Slayer had been in heaven, complete and finished. And Willow, that arrogant child, had willy-nilly pulled her from that reward. He’d never doubted that she’d gone somewhere good, knowing, instinctively that the Powers That Be wouldn’t leave her in some dire dimension, not after what she’d done to save the world. No Buffy, most assuredly, had been given a heavenly reward.

He sat up, absently rubbing his eyes and staring blindly at the walls. It all made sense now, Buffy’s reluctance to actively engage in her own life, her inability to cope with loud noises and bright lights, the need for peace and retreat from the world around her. She had to be in pain, and not merely the physical kind. Giles didn’t begin to think he had an understanding of what being ripped from heaven was like, but to his eyes, Buffy was suffering. She needed help and understanding, not pushing and definitely not the added burden of trying to keep a household going. He was going to have to do something to assist her.

A soft sigh broke from his pursed lips as he heard the stirring in the room next to his. Spike’s low baritone murmured indistinctly, interrupted here and there by higher tones that Giles could barely make out. No doubt it was Dawn . . . But then he heard Buffy grumbling through an open door and his heart constricted again.

“Oh, dear girl, whatever is to be done?” He’d failed her so many times over the years, culminating in the colossal mistake he’d made last spring. She’d jumped to save her sister, because he’d stopped looking for alternatives. Believing the only way to truly defeat Glory was by sacrificing Dawn, Giles had completely underestimated the depths of Buffy’s caring. Especially coming hard on the heels of Joyce’s untimely passing, he’d been incredibly crass and unthinking. Buffy had lost her mother and there he was, counseling her to kill the only family she had left. It hadn’t mattered to Buffy that Dawn had been a construct, a cuckoo brought into the nest by mystical means; and because it hadn’t mattered to Buffy, it shouldn’t have mattered to him either.

“What a fool I’ve been.”

Rising stiffly to his feet, Giles sighed again. “There’s a grief that can’t be spoken. There’s a pain goes on and on. Empty chairs at empty tables. . . Suddenly my Slayer was dead and gone.”

Fumbling for his glasses, the song continued to tumble unwittingly from his lips. “Then they talked of resurrection – and bringing her back into the game.” Anger flashed in his eyes, while grief momentarily closed his throat. Shaking his head to stifle the emotion, Giles took, again, took up the song. “Into a life of tears and sorrow, never realizing she’d not be the same.”

He gripped the back of the dressing table chair, staring at his own rumpled reflection. “Out from the depths of her coffin, she could see a world reborn . . .”

Unable to continue, Giles hung his head and let the tears fall. Buffy had been dead, her life’s work finished. Until Willow and the others had done the unthinkable, and brought her back. He wasn’t sure any longer, whether he wept because of Buffy’s sacrifice, or because she’d been damaged by her removal from heaven. Either reason was cause enough for tears.

His eyes lifted to the mirror as the music swelled around him. “Phantom faces at the window. . . phantom shadows on the floor. . . Empty chairs at empty tables, where my Slayer sits no more.”

The tears and grief muffled his voice, until he was barely singing. “Oh my Slayer, my Slayer, don’t ask me. . . what your sacrifice was for. . . Empty chairs at empty tables, where my Slayer sits no more.”

The last words faded into the still air, and Giles stayed there, his heart breaking for everything Buffy had been through.


&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&


Dawn slipped from the room Spike had shared with Buffy, grumbling to herself about people who tried to control other people, not realizing she had a rather reluctant audience. Giles watched her from his doorway, a speculative look on his face. He had an idea why Dawn was complaining, and while part of him agreed with her, a rather larger part of him knew she was wrong.

He followed her down the hallway, to find her alone in the kitchen. Dawn’s head was deep inside the old refrigerator, searching through the threadbare contents. “No. No. Ew.”

She slammed the door shut, jumping a bit when Giles appeared next to her. “Geez, Giles, could you maybe warn a girl?”

“Sorry, dear. I thought you heard me.” He shut the cabinet door he’d been searching through, after finding nothing of interest. “There appears to be little in the way of edible supplies.”

“Why, yes, Giles. It appears that way.” Dawn matched his formality, though there was more sarcasm in her response. “I guess we’ll have to hit up the baker again, huh?”

“Indeed.” He paused, waiting for her to respond. When she didn’t, he glanced over at her, noting the pensive look on her face. “Dawn? Is there something wrong?”

“Wrong? Um. No. Well, not really.” She sat down at the table, her fingers playing with the hideous fringe on the tablecloth. “Kinda. Sorta.”

He wasn’t certain, though he deduced the problem surrounded Buffy and whatever had caused Dawn to grumble her way down the hallway. “Care to enlighten me?”

“What would you do if you had a second chance?” She didn’t look at him. “Would you still let everyone tell you what to do? Would you do something different?”

While at first her questions appeared pointless, Giles knew there was something specific the girl had in mind. “Such as?”

“Well –“ She drew out the word, elongating it to an over-done point. “If you got a second chance to live, would you let your friends tell you what to do?”

Ahh, so that was the crux of it. “No. I don’t believe I would.” He sat down at the table opposite from her, so he could watch her expressions. “I’ve rarely let others make decisions for me.”

Dawn smiled cryptically. “So then why do you do it for Buffy? You’re always making decisions for her.”

“Buffy is the Slayer, and I am her Watcher. I’m supposed to make decisions, based on my knowledge of demonology and training.” He sat back in his chair, confident that she would see his point.

“So? You don’t fight demons the way she does and she goes out slaying without you all the time.” Dawn looked at him then, her features set in brewing anger. “Why do you tell her it’s wrong to care about Spike and Angel?”

“Because it is, Dawn. They are both demons.”

“Yeah, and?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “They both helped. I know Angel went bad, and now no one trusts him. But Spike? He totally earned it. He stayed and took care of me all summer, he patrolled with all of you and you still tell us he’s evil. He’s not.”

Giles pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s not that simple, Dawn. The only reason Spike hasn’t struck at us is because of the chip.”

“Bullshit.” The word exploded out of her as she slapped the table top. “You know that’s a load of crap, Giles. He could’ve gotten minions or burned the house down . . . or just not saved us when we needed him.” She leaned forward, her eyes boring into his. “Do you really believe this crap or is it something you just spout whenever you don’t have a decent answer?”

He’d never been called to task like this before, and never by someone as young as Dawn. His own anger grew apace, and he glared at her. His fists tightened as he tried to rein in his temper. “You silly child, you have no idea what demons are like.”

“Really? I’m thinking I know exactly what demons are like. I grew up on the Hellmouth, Giles. And even before that, I was around. I know what evil is, and it sure isn’t Spike.”

Before he could control himself, the lyrics spilled forth, angry and hurtful. “You’ve got to be taught to hate and fear – you’ve got to be taught from year to year. It’s got to be drummed in your dear little ear . . . you’ve got to be carefully taught.”

“Right. Because prejudice is really the way to go.” Dawn stared at him, her eyes full of disappointment. “Is that what they taught in Watcher school?”

Giles couldn’t look away from the censure in her eyes, no matter how much he wanted to look away. He was beginning to think she might have a point – that his blind hatred of Spike might not be warranted. At least not completely.

He opened his mouth to speak, to try – but the words that spilled forth were not a plea for understanding. “You’ve got to be taught to be afraid of people whose eyes are oddly crazed, and people whose skin is a different shade. You’ve got to be carefully taught.”

“Are you listening to yourself? Does that just work with demons? Or do you have to hate people who aren’t like you? People like Anya? Or is it just people who don’t look like you?” Dawn got up and paced the floor, anger in every step. “Go ahead, Giles, try to convince me that you’re right, coz, right now? Not buying it.”

She slumped back into her chair, waiting for him to continue. He shot up from his chair, looming over her, his hands flat on the table. “You’ve got to be taught, before it’s too late, before you are six or seven or eight – to hate all the people your relatives hate. You’ve got to be carefully taught.”

Dawn glared back at him, refusing to back down. “I think you need to re-think all this crap you’ve been fed over the years. Spike’s not like other vampires. Or demons. And if you think that people who aren’t like you are something you should hate, I think you’re a loser.”

She got up from the table, then pushed him back into his seat. “And another thing – if you trust Buffy enough to save the world all the time, don’t you think you should let her choose who she wants to hang around with?”

With that parting shot, Dawn was gone.

And Giles was left alone to think.


&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&


Unlike all the others, Willow had spent an easy night’s sleeping. Though she’d woken up alone, Willow didn’t give it a second thought, surmising that Tara had gotten up earlier than she, and started her day. She was oblivious to the fact Tara hadn’t spent the whole night in the same bed, nor did she noticed the pillows, sheets, and blanket covering the couch. Instead, she’d gone straight for the kitchen, and realizing there was nothing edible, headed down to the bakery.

Once there, she’d gotten sidetracked by the singing baker and spent more than a few moments watching him and his staff sing and dance while making pastries and breads. Willow half expected some of the loaves to begin singing along and was surprised when nothing happened. Finally breaking free of the spell, she hurriedly made her purchases and, then remembering they had no idea where exactly they were, she asked the baker for their location on the map.

Satisfied with everything, she headed back up the stairs.


&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&


Spike had retreated to the bathroom after his duet with Tara, needing space away from everyone, and rightly figuring that the bathroom was the one place no one else would barge into. He’d watched Tara flee out the door and head up the steps to the roof and, knowing he couldn’t follow her there, let her go. He had an inkling she needed the space. No more’an I do.

All this singing – and sometimes dancing – was going to drive him round the bend. He wasn’t ashamed of his voice, nor did he care what tunes he sang to – but the idea that something else was controlling him irritated beyond the telling. He hated not being in control, even moreso since the chip had been inserted into his brain.

‘S not right, what they did to me. He slammed his hand against the porcelain, growling at the empty mirror. An’ this bloody West End nightmare isn’t much better. “Bloody hell.”

Catching himself humming a tune, he growled again. He was loud enough to drown out the knocking, so he was caught short when Buffy opened the door. “Grouch much?”

Irritated by the interruption, yet perversely happy to see her, Spike couldn’t quite get a handle on which emotion was more pronounced. So he merely grunted at her. “Buffy.”

“What’s got you so growly?” She stepped into the bathroom, warily eyeing him.

“All this bloody singing.” He stepped aside, allowing her further entry into the room, then moved to pass her. Now closer to the door, he tried to escape.

“You don’t like singing?” The wistfulness in her tone captured his attention and Spike turned to face her. “What’s so bad about singing?”

He gaped at her, amusement creeping into his expression. “What’s so bad? Have you been listening, kitten?” Spike gestured between them. “Everyone’s spewing their deepest an’ darkest secrets, an’ you wanna know what’s so bad?” He shook his head. “I’d rather not have all the Scoobs knowin’ what’s going on in my head, thank you very much.”

There was laughter in her eyes, responding to the chagrin in his, no doubt, and it made Spike strangely happy to see it. “So you’re saying you’ve got even deeper and darker secrets than the ones you’ve already spilled? What are they? Dreams of mayhem and destruction?”

“No. S’not what I dream about.” He could bite his own tongue for giving that up, and he closed his eyes, because he knew it was about to get worse. Much, much worse. “I have dreamed that your eyes are lovely. I have dreamed what a joy you’ll be. . . I have dreamed every word you’ve whispered, when you’re close, close to me.”

Spike stepped closer, brushing her hair back from her face. “How you look, in the glow of evening, I have dreamed and enjoyed the view. . . In these dreams I’ve loved you so, that by now I think I know what it’s like to be loved by you. I will love being loved by you.”

Big tears surfaced in her eyes and Spike bit his lip, trying hard to keep the rest of the song from emerging. But the look she was gracing him with wasn’t helping any, and he found himself singing the rest of the lyrics. “Alone and awake, I’ve looked at the stars, the same that smile on you. And time and again, I’ve wondered of all the things you were thinking too.”

Buffy moved closer to him, close enough for him to hold her and he didn’t hesitate. She was giving him an opening, he was going to take it. “I have dreamed that your eyes are lovely, I have dreamed what a joy you’ll be. I have dreamed every word you’ve whispered, when you’re close, close to me. How you look, in the glow of evening . . . I have dreamed, and enjoyed the view. In these dreams I’ve loved you so, that by now I think I know, what it’s like to be loved by you. . . I will love being loved by you.”

The music died off, his voice trailing away into nothing and Buffy laid her head on his chest. His arms snuck around her and Spike laid his cheek against her brow. “An’ now you know what I dream about.”









Liner Notes:

Empty Chairs at Empty Tables; from the musical Les Misérables, originally composed by Claude-Michel Schönberg, (French) libretto by Alain Boublil, (English) libretto by Herbert Kretzmer. Debuted at the Barbican Centre in London, England on 8 October 1985, performed by Colm Wilkinson (both in London and on Broadway), also sung by several others.


You’ve Got to be Carefully Taught; from the musical South Pacific, music by Richard Rodgers, lyrics by Oscar Hammerstein II. Debuted on Broadway 7 April 1949, performed by William Tabbert, also sung by others through numerous performances.

I Have Dreamed; from the musical The King and I, music by Richard Rodgers, lyrics by Oscar Hammerstein II. Debuted on Broadway 29 March 1951, performed by Larry Douglas and Doretta Morrow; also sung by others through numerous performances and cover versions.

[A/N: Despite having a somewhat stressful week, I’m going to attempt to get another chapter done on this and Jungle by the end of this weekend. And who knows, I might even be able to get more done, now that I’ve got something of a break coming up. I make no promises, though, so we’ll see. Just to give you a timeline, this was mostly finished in 2011. . .Disclaimers are in full force and effect, and I own nothing. Liner notes are at the end.]


Eight

Ignoring both Giles and the tension in the air, Willow breezed into the kitchen, her arms laden with foodstuffs from the baker. Turnovers, cakes, breads, and some stuff she couldn’t readily identify – but looked deliciously edible – had been obtained. She couldn’t wait to dig in. Not realizing she was still humming, Willow opened the bags and boxes, arranging things nicely on display. The brightness of her mood, and the tune, was slowly replacing the anger Giles was projecting and he unconsciously began to hum along with her.

Only when Anya arrived on the scene, her stomach growling loudly, did either of them realize they were humming the tune from Beauty and the Beast. . . “Stop humming! I’d rather you both sing than that weird mmmmming coming from your closed mouths. It’s not natural.”

Anya looked from one to the other, her arms crossed over her chest and her foot tapping rapidly on the linoleum. “I really want to get Xander back. Have you discovered anything useful or have you just been humming away?”

Having at least the grace to blush, Willow nodded her head. “I talked to the baker.”

“Before or after he taught you to hum?” Anya didn’t bother hiding the anger simmering alongside the hunger. Rolling her eyes in response to Willow’s somewhat wounded exclamation of “Hey!”

The former demon waved away her excuse. “Just explain.”

“See if I get any more information for you.” Willow grumbled. At Giles’ look of disgust over their unnecessary bickering, the redhead continued. “He told me exactly where we are, and where Sweet’s club is.”

“And?” When it appeared Willow was stalling, Anya prompted her again. “So where are we?”

“We’re down by the water. The club is all the way uptown.” Before she could continue, Anya interrupted again.

“This – this is good news, right?”

Picking at the loaf of bread on the table, Willow shook her head. “I’m not sure. It looks like from the map we could be there later today. But, I’m not sure that we should trust the map.”

While the two girls were talking, Giles had gotten up from the table. He was looking through cupboards and the refrigerator, searching for something to supplement all the breadstuffs Willow had purchased. “Oh, look! Jam.” He shifted items around in the refrigerator, searching out more items. “Marmalade. I haven’t had any of this in quite a while.”

Both women shot him dirty looks, which Giles shrugged off. “It’s exceptionally good jam.” He licked his finger and smiled. The smile wavered, then he sighed. “Very well, continue.”

“I just think we should be really cautious. We don’t know what kind of place this is. What if someone starts dancing and then they burn up?”

Giles considered this. “Valid point. We should be cautious until we know exactly what to expect.”

Willow rolled her eyes and Anya huffed out her aggravation. “Giles, you’re restating the obvious. How about you come up with something new – and not about marmalade. Or some other jam-like substance.”

It was Giles’ turn to look aggravated. “Really, Anya, just because I’m commenting on the quality of the foodstuffs is no reason to be so irritable.”

“I want Xander back. I want him back and all you’re doing is . . . is stalling.” She gazed at two people sitting around the kitchen table and sighed. “Why aren’t you more concerned? My Xander is out there, all lost and alone and I’m sure he’s frightened and wants to be rescued. So why aren’t we rescuing him? Why?”

Neither of them had an answer – but then Anya clearly wasn’t listening to either of them anyway. She was already humming something, waiting for the right moment. And just as Willow opened her mouth to respond, Anya began singing.

“Gods on high – hear my prayer, in my need. . . You have always been there.” She clutched her hands together, just over her heart, and tears began to glisten in her eyes. “He is young – he is afraid. Let him rest, D’Hoffryn blessed.”

Giles and Willow exchanged a glance, worried about Anya’s overwrought emotions. “Bring him home, bring him home. . . Bring him home.”

She was about to starting singing, her mouth open and arms stretched wide, when Dawn barreled into the room. “What’s going on?”

Tara, who was following closely on her heels, looked from the two sitting at the table to Anya and shook her head. “M-m-more singing? What’s. . . what’s she singing about?”

Willow smiled brightly at her girlfriend. “About bringing Xander home.”

“Brilliant. More caterwaulin’. ‘S enough to make vamp search out earplugs.” Spike leaned against the door leading to the hallway, his arms crossed over his chest and a smirk playing about his lips. When he caught the pout forming on Anya’s face, he hastened to add, “At least we know this one can sing.” At her smile, he shook his head, waved a hand in her general direction, saying, “Carry on, pet. Damage’s already done.”

“No. I’ve lost the mood.” Anya slumped into a chair next to Giles and grabbed the orange marmalade from his hand. “You did say this was good, right?”

“Is the serenading done for now?” Buffy’s voice emerged from behind Spike, and he turned sideways to let her pass. “Coz if we’re done, we could maybe get some answers and get home? Do we have any answers?”

While she appeared to be a bit more animated than earlier, it wasn’t hard for any of them to still see and hear the strained apathy in the Slayer’s voice and posture.

Though it was Willow who currently had the most information, it was Giles who answered Buffy’s question. “Well, yes – we do. Willow does, at any rate.” Motioning with the spoonful of jam, Giles ceded the conversation to the redhead.

“I talked to the baker and he told me we’re down by the docks and that Sweet’s club is further inland, what they call ‘uptown’. From what I can tell, it’s a couple of miles away.” She looked down at the map, scrunching her nose in confusion. “Uh. Maybe it’s not ‘uptown’.

“I don’t really care what they call it. How do we get there?” Buffy leaned against the wall, her eyes sweeping over the kitchen’s occupants.

“I presume we can walk the distance.” Giles stated the obvious. “That isn’t very far, and we’ve no other means of transportation. It shouldn’t take more than an hour.”

Anya perked up with that announcement. “Great! We can leave now!”

“Forgetting something, pet? Sun’s out.” Spike angled his head to peek out through the curtains. “Yours truly can’t be traipsin’ about until later.”

Before any of the others could voice what was advice about him staying behind, Buffy nixed that. “We’ll wait. We have no idea what kind of demons we’re going to face along the way, much less what’s in store once we get to Sweet’s.”

“More delays? My poor heart can’t handle this!” Anya slapped a hand down on the table, making the breads and pastries jump. “Can’t we just scout things out? Maybe do a dry run or something?”

“A dry run for what? Walking?” Buffy shook her head. “No. We wait.”

She didn’t wait for anymore objections, instead leaving the room before anyone else could complain or comment. “Maybe you could work on figuring out how to get home once we get Xander back.”



&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&


She was sitting in the dark, the blinds drawn down and there was no light to illuminate the room, but Spike saw her clearly just the same. “Can’t blame them for bein’ dense.”

Buffy only glanced at him, her eyes betraying nothing of her thoughts. “Imagine it’s hard for them to understand. Had a problem myself, wrappin’ my head around it, an’ ‘ve had a bit more time to deal with it.”

“Deal with what?”

“Your revelation.” He moved further into the room, closing the door softly behind him. “Where they pulled you from.”

“Oh.” What could she say to that? Their reactions had been the primary reason she’d kept her mouth shut; kept the terrible truth to herself. She’d expected the tears and sadness, but now, this moment, it seemed like everyone but the two of them had forgotten. Buffy looked away from Spike, finding a spot on the wall that looked interesting.

“Guess they don’t know what to say. How to react.” He shrugged, then leaned against the dresser, fiddling with the doily covering the top.

Before she could stop them, words came tumbling out. “So they just forget? Sweep it under the rug? Pretend that they don’t know what they know? How can they do that? How can they just expect me to go on?”

In the face of her revelation, the Scoobies should have reacted differently, at least in his mind. But he’d been around long enough to know that no one ever did as they were expected, especially among this bunch. Rupert was walking around with a thunder cloud the size of Texas, anger and grief rolling in waves from him; while Willow, who should’ve been at the least contrite, wasn’t reacting at all. “‘S hard to gauge how someone’s goin’ to react to somethin’ like this. Can’t always tell which way a cat’s jumpin’.”

“Huh?” Buffy looked at him, confusion wreathing her features. “So we just pretend it didn’t happen until they get used to the idea?”

“No, sweets. We,” he ran a hand through his hair, trying to buy time to gather his thoughts, “you don’t pretend anythin’. You let ‘em know you’re tired. Or sad. Or outta sorts in any way. Don’t let ‘em push you into anythin’ you don’t wan’ to do. Like just now.”

He knelt down, looking up at her. “What you did jus’ now, tellin’ Anya she’s gotta wait to get the whelp back. An’ that the rest of ‘em need to focus on gettin’ home once we’ve got him back. That’s how you do it. If you’re not ready for anythin’, tell the whole lot to back off. They’ll get the message.”

“I’m not so sure about that.” Buffy leaned forward, her arms resting on her legs. “I’m so tired.”

“Then sleep, sweetheart.” Spike pushed her gently, then watched with a wry grin as she let herself drop onto the bed. “Go ahead. Close your eyes.”

She protested a bit. “I should really get up and do something.”

“What? Pace about like a bored tiger? Roam the flat, looking for something to hit? Let your temper build until you can’t help but snappin’ at everyone?” Spike grabbed the throw blanket from the foot of the bed. “Don’ waste your time, love.”

She grabbed the blanket as he draped it over her, listening to him sing softly. “Try not to get worried, try not to turn on to problems that upset you, oh. Don't you know everything's alright, yes, everything's fine. And I want you to sleep well right now. Let the world turn without you for now.
If they try, they'll get by, so forget all about it right now.”

Her smile finally reached her eyes and Buffy settled back into the pillows and listened to him.

“Sleep and I shall sing to you, calm you and watch o’er you. M’hands on your hot forehead, then you'll feel, everything's alright, yes, everything's fine. I’m cool and the sleep is sweet, for the fire in your head and feet. Close your eyes, close your eyes, and relax, think of nothing for now.”

He let the tune drift off, though he kept humming, waiting until her breathing changed and the lines bracketing her mouth eased. Girl needs her peace, an’ these children are doin’ nothing but stealin’ it from her. A sigh broke from him and he brushed his hand over her forehead, still humming. If I can give her a moment’s peace, then this is all worth it.


&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&


“There’s no need for you to be so snippy with everyone.” Anya looked at Willow, her eyes narrowed. “You’re a bit nasty.”

“Nasty? I’m not nasty.” Willow threw down the roll she was shredding, her own eyes trained on the ex-demon. “You’re the one who’s nasty and cranky.”

“I want Xander back! I’m allowed to worry about him! He’s my boyfriend!” Anya paced further into the kitchen, while she wrung her hands.

Willow muttered something under her breath, and Anya whirled to confront her. “What did you say?”

“I said, he’s my oldest, bestest friend, I have just as much right as you to worry about him.” The redhead glared at the other girl. “Maybe even more right than you do.”

“No. You don’t. He’s my boyfriend. You have your own girlfriend. You don’t need to worry about mine.” Anya balled her fists at her sides.

“Yeah, remind me to tell him what a stellar choice he made.” A cruel smile twitched about Willow’s pursed lips and Anya gasped.

“See, that’s what I mean. You’re not nice to me.”

“What is this feeling, so sudden and new? I felt the moment I laid eyes on you.” Willow half-talked, half-sung the words. “My pulse is rushing, my head is reeling, my face is flushing.”

They all shared a look, watching as Willow got to her feet. “What is this feeling? Fervid as a flame, does it have a name?”

An evil grin crossed her features. “Yes! Loathing! Unadulterated loathing!”

She pointed at Anya, “For your face, your voice, your clothing!”

Willow was practically running the words together, almost shouting them, instead of singing. “Let’s just say – I loathe it all! Ev’ry little trait, however small, makes my very flesh begin to crawl, with simple utter loathing!”

Pointing her finger at Anya, Willow kept on with her sing-song shouting. “There’s a strange exhilaration, in such total detestation. It’s so pure, so strong! Though I do admit it came on fast, still I do believe that it can last, and I will be loathing, loathing you – My whole life long!”

Dawn caught the tears that Anya was trying desperately to hide, and felt like she had to stick up for the poor girl. Her voice laden with sarcasm, she sang, “Dear Willow, you are just too good. How do you stand it? I don’t think I could! She’s a terror, she’s a Tartar! I don’t mean to show a bias, but Willow, you’re a martyr!”

Misunderstanding her completely, Willow shook her head in agreement. “Well, these things are sent to try us!”

“Poor Willow, forced to reside with someone so disgusticified! I just want to tell you, I’m on your side!” Dawn practically sneered the words, her eyes on the redhead.

Once again, Willow launched into what seemed to be the theme, “What is this feeling, so sudden and new? I felt the moment I laid eyes on you. My pulse is rushing, my head is reeling. Oh, what is this feeling? Does it have a name? Yes. . . ah. . . LOATHING!”

Dawn interrupted her, singing, “Loathing, unadulterated loathing, for her face, her voice, her clothing. Let’s just say, you loathe it all! Ev’ry little trait however small, makes your very flesh begin to crawl. . .”

While Willow kept singing about her loathing, Dawn reached Anya’s side and hugged her closely. She could feel the tears the ex-demon was suppressing and it angered her, that Willow could just keep on, without any care at all for the other girl’s feelings.

“There’s a strange exhilaration, in such total detestation. It’s so pure, so strong! Though I do admit it came on fast, still I do believe that it can last, and I will be loathing, for forever loathing, truly deeply loathing you, my whole life long!”

Willow paused, waiting while Anya stared at her. With a wicked, nasty smile Willow leaned forward into Anya’s space and yelled, “BOOO!”

Anya finally burst into tears and fled the kitchen, heading for the far bedroom.

Tara, finally sprung from her incredulity at Willow’s behavior and thoughts, snapped at her girlfriend. “That was really mean, Willow.”

“Yeah, really.” Dawn stepped up beside Tara, her face set. “You keep hurting everyone around you, Willow. Pretty soon you’ll be hanging out with Voldemort.” The teen snorted a bit. “Maybe we should just call you Bellatrix.”

“Willow, you should apologize to Anya.” Giles had his glasses off, watching the red-headed witch carefully. “She deserves one after what you just said to her.”

“Fine. Whatever.” Willow shrugged them all off, heading to the living room.

It was Tara’s voice that forestalled her retreat. “Willow. She didn’t deserve that at all. Go apologize.”















Liner Notes:

Bring Him Home: from the musical Les Miserables, music by Claude Michel Schonberg, and the lyrics were written by Alain Boublil and Jean-Marc Natel, with an English-language libretto by Herbert Kretzmer. First sung by Maurice Barrier (in the original French production) and then by Colm Wilkinson on the West End and Broadway; sung by many performers in various productions worldwide.

Everything’s Alright: from the musical Jesus Christ Superstar, music and lyrics by Andrew Lloyd Weber and Tim Rice. Debuted on Broadway in 1971 by Yvonne Elliman, sung in various productions since then by many performers worldwide.

What Is This Feeling?: from the musical Wicked, music and lyrics by Stephen Schwartz. Debuted in May of 2003 on Broadway by Idina Menzel and Kristin Chenoweth (the song is actually a duet), sung in various productions by many performers worldwide.

[A/N: Been a long time since I worked on this, but I have an outline, which I almost never use, but I think in this instance it might prove somewhat beneficial. Work is not getting any easier, and while home isn’t controversial, I spend so much time recuperating from work that I can barely clean the bathroom, much less think about getting any writing done. Though I think I have an answer for that. . . Anyway, this moves on and closer to a finish. Can anyone guess what one of the songs has in common with Buffy?? All disclaimers and caveats are in place, I own nothing. Not even the paper this is sometimes printed upon. Liner notes are at the bottom. Enjoy!]


Nine


Tara stared at the doorway her girlfriend had just gone through, unable to reconcile the girl she’d fallen in love with, with this changed version. Some time in the intervening year, sweet Willow had been replaced with this mean, power-hungry person. She chewed on her lower lip wondering if it would betray their relationship if she confided her fears and worries in someone else.

“Giles.” Dawn’s voice broke through her ponderings. “Maybe she’ll listen to you, coz she sure as hell isn’t listening to any of us.”

Replacing his glasses, Giles fixed his gaze on the teenager. “What do you mean?”

“Willow is way out of line.” Dawn eased closer to the table. “She convinced the others that yanking Buffy out of heaven was a good idea and now she’s all Cruella De Vil. This is so not good.”

Before he had a chance to reply, Tara said, “Dawn’s right. Willow’s changed, and it’s not for the better.”

The Watcher shifted his gaze between the two girls, realizing their concerns were completely valid – and it wasn’t like he hadn’t been thinking along the same lines earlier. “It does appear Willow has,” he paused, searching for a diplomatic way to express himself and failing. “However, what is it you expect me to do?”

“I dunno, Giles, but you’d better think fast, before she decides we’re all not worth keeping around.” Dawn left the kitchen, following Anya’s flight.

“Perhaps now is not the time to address this.” Giles mused while Tara fiddled with the food. “I need some time to decide how best to approach her.”

Tara bit her lip and smiled worriedly. “I’m not sure we should wait too long.”

“Indeed.” Giles stared off pensively, wondering how he could reach her without sounding too hypocritical or overly judgmental. Willow wouldn’t react well to either emotion.



&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&




By the time Buffy woke up from her nap, little had been done to ease the tension between Anya and Willow, though Giles had made some progress on getting them back home. He didn’t want to bring it up to the others until he was absolutely certain it was the most reliable means of dimension hopping. Especially since it was so bizarrely ridiculous. Although, since this dimension seemed to be equal parts horror and hilarity, he supposed it might make a modicum of sense. If one were insane.

Gathering the weapons they’d brought, Spike listened with half an ear to the chattering around him. The earlier fight had been smoothed over though Anya hadn’t been impressed by Willow’s grudging apology. For now, at least, the two women were working together, which was all he cared about.

They could fight to the death for all the difference it would make to him. As long as whatever they were fighting about didn’t involve either Dawn or Buffy, he’d stay out of it.

“So how are we supposed to get there?” Dawn clattered around the living room, watching the others heft weapons.

“We walk.” Giles moved toward the doorway. “According to the baker and the map, the distance is a little under five miles.”

“Five miles?” Dawn whined. “That’s far! Can’t we find a ride?”

“I’ve seen little evidence of any vehicles large enough to transport all of us. And we’ve no currency to waste on hiring a cab or two.” Ever the voice of reason, Giles easily squashed Dawn’s protestations.

“Walking is good.” Buffy waved away Dawn’s further complaints. “Just deal.”

Finding something else to question, Dawn asked, “Do we know which way we’re supposed to go?”

Tara nodded, saying, “Mr. Giles figured out the best route to Sweet’s and I did a little spell to highlight it on the map.” She held it up to show Dawn. “See?”

Dawn stared at the map, then shifted her gaze to Tara. “So we’re going to follow the yellow line?”

“Yup.” Tara started folding up the map.

“We’re following the yellow brick road?” Dawn stifled her giggles. “We’re following the yellow brick road.”

Spike thunked his axe down on the floor, waving a finger at her. “Don’t start. Jus’ do not start. Bloody song is right annoying.”

Her smirk rivaled one of his and instead of singing, she just started whistling. He glared at her, fighting the grin her cheekiness invoked.

“Brat.”

Dawn blithely ignored him, only stopping when Anya quietly asked her to.

Spike continued grumbling as they made their way out of the apartment and down the block.

Halfway down the street, Tara opened her mouth to say something and instead, she sang, “Pick your left foot up, when your right foot’s down. Come on legs keep moving, don’t you lose no ground.”

Almost reluctantly, Anya joined her, “You just keep on keeping on the road that you choose, don’t you give up walkin’ cause you ain’t got shoes.”

Together, the two girls sang, “Come on and ease on down, ease on down the road. Come on and ease on down, ease on down the road.”

“Oi!” Spike whirled on the two of them. “No yellow brick roads. No easing down the road. No road trip songs.”

When they both opened their mouths again, Spike glared and stepped forward menacingly. “No singing. This isn’t fun an’ games, you bints. ‘S a bit more like work.”

From just steps behind him, Buffy’s voice sounded. “Heigh ho. . . heigh ho! It’s off to slay we go. . .”

His growled “Augh!” could be heard for blocks. That is until the laughter drowned him out.

No one commented on the tinge of madness in the laughter.


&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&



His mouth was dry and his head felt fuzzy – like he’d been stealing drinks from his parents and Xander had no recollection of where he was. So he was opting for the stealing and heavy drinking. Except that he didn’t smell any alcohol.

The only smells were clean, crisp sheets and he sniffed, trying to place the other. It was spicy, like cinnamon or ginger and yet there was something else, something he couldn’t place. It was almost like. . . like . . . Xander sat straight up, his bleary eyes looking around.

He could swear it was Fruit Loops he was smelling, but he didn’t see anything that could pass for his favorite cereal. As his eyes focused, reality came crashing back and his tired brain made the connection. He was still Sweet’s captive.

Groaning theatrically, Xander flopped back onto the mattress. “Why couldn’t it have all been a bad dream?”

“Dreams are all about desires and fears.”

Startled by the voice, Xander sat back up. “Oh. No. No desires in these dreams. These are all about the fears.”

“Speak for yourself, handsome. You look like a dream to me.” Sweet sauntered further into the room, watching him closely.

“I’m no one’s idea of a dream.” Xander scuttled back away, his back flush against the headboard. “Trust me. No one wants to dream of me.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that, Xander. You’re a fine looking specimen of virile manhood. You could certainly be someone’s dream.” Sweet stretched out on the end of the bed, his eyes focused on Xander’s and his seductive tone leaving very little to the other man’s imagination.

“Ah. . . I don’t want to be anyone’s dream. It’s safer if I’m just the comedic relief.” He chuckled nervously, trying surreptitiously to get further away from Sweet, who was trailing his hand over the sheets.

He couldn’t tell, but Xander thought the demon’s expression changed. Something glittered in his eyes that had all of Xander’s nerves on edge.

“I could use some entertainment.”

Sweet shimmied against the sheets seductively. “Perhaps we could entertain each other.”

“No.” Xander was frantically shaking his head. “No. There will be no entertaining. Not a good idea at all.” He clambered from the bed.

“Oh, Xander. Let me entertain you.”

Xander kept shaking his head negatively. He tripped over the sheets pooling on the floor, still backing away from Sweet. The demon was looking at him eagerly, and he rose gracefully from the bed, his voice deep and sultry. “Let me do a few tricks. . . some old and some new tricks. I’m. . . I’m very versatile.”

He swayed to a beat that rumbled through the room, while shaking his hips. He practically purred the next words, “And if you’re real good, I’ll make you feel good. I want your spirits to climb!”

Sweet’s voice dropped to a whisper, causing the hair on Xander’s neck to rise. “So let me. . . entertain you. . . let me entertain you. . . and we’ll have a real good time.” The demon grabbed his hand, pulling Xander to his feet. Sweet leaned into him, his hands barely touching him. “So let me entertain you. . . and we’ll have a real good time, yes, Xander. . . we’ll have a real good time.”

Xander froze in Sweet’s embrace, his brain unable to process what was happening. Until Sweet grabbed his butt and squeezed, then Xander reacted without thinking. His elbow came up, catching Sweet mid-chest and he pivoted away, his other hand forming a fist. The blow was wide, but it served its purpose. Sweet danced back, his expression changing.

“That wasn’t very smart, Xander.” Motioning to his minions, Sweet stepped away. “I’ve tried being nice, tried to do this the easy way, yet you’ve resisted my every attempt.” He shrugged, his expression almost pensive as he watched his minions subdue and restrain Xander. “Now we’ll do it the hard way. Take him, boys.”



&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&


They were about a third of the way there, when Spike realized they were being followed. He drifted forward past the stragglers, to come abreast of Buffy and Giles. The two of them were walking in relatively companionable silence, though Spike sensed the undercurrents that neither one was willing to discuss. Softly, so only the two of them heard him, he relayed the information. “Got a tail.”

“Damn. How many?” Buffy’s instincts were still a bit wonky, though she had felt eyes on their progress for almost the last mile. “I hoped I was wrong.”

“Nope, got it right.” Spike shrugged. “None of ‘em have heartbeats, so it’s a bit harder to tell. Near as I can guess it’s about five.”

Giles resisted the urge to look around. “Five’s not so bad.”

“Not so good, either.” Spike paused, lighting a cigarette. “That’s only the ones I can sense. There’s pro’lly half a dozen more that I can’t suss out.”

Using his pause as an excuse to turn around and watch out for the others, Buffy nodded her agreement. “Feels like way more than five.” She ducked her head, eyes scanning the surrounding brick buildings and alleyways. “We’re not in a good position. This feels like Sunnydale, but . . .”

Her voice trailed off and both Englishmen nodded. “Not any Sunnydale I remember.”

Giles followed the other two and let his eyes roam around. “Actually, this feels a bit like Sunnydale crossed with a 1940s musical. Have you noticed the fog?”

Once again, like the first night, fog was drifting in and around their feet, seemingly rolling in from nowhere. “We’re far enough away from the waterfront that this shouldn’t be an issue.”

“Think it’s more normal than we’re used to.” Spike looked over the Slayer’s shoulder to where the other girls were now standing. “This place wouldn’t feel right without the wispy dewdrops.”

“Why are we stopping?” Dawn’s voice rang through the night, and the others quickly hushed her.
Willow caught on to the general uneasiness wreathing the others. “What’s going on?”

“We’ve got ourselves a tail, Red.” Spike pitched his voice low, so that only their group could hear him. “Gonna drift back an’ see how many.”

Buffy nodded once, shifting the crossbow to her other hand. “We’ll keep moving.”

They started forward again, after a brief consultation with the map. Spike took up the caboose, pushing Dawn ahead of him, urging her to keep pace with her sister.

No more than four blocks further and he materialized at Buffy’s side. “There’s a problem, Slayer.”

“Damn.” She didn’t ask for any more details, she didn’t need them. “Is there any place to hide?”

“Bout fifty yards to the left, there’s a little dead end. Building is unoccupied. We could make for that, an’ then you and I could thin the herd a bit.”

Making a split second decision, Buffy decided to follow his advice. “Take the next left turn, Giles.”

Suiting words to action, Giles headed down the first alley, the girls following quickly behind. Buffy and Spike took up the rearguard, protecting them. It did little good, because the demons following them quickened their pace, catching up to Buffy and Spike without much trouble. Buffy whirled around, yelling at the others to run, and slammed her fist into the first demon.

While they looked nearly identical to the demons Sweet had brought with him, they were much stronger. Instead of crumpling, the demon took the hit, and nailed Buffy with a ringing blow to her cheek.

Spike caught another around the neck, easily twisting its over-sized head. The snap was loud and gruesome, though neither had the chance to revel in the small victory. Every remaining demon converged on them, pummeling the two blondes and cutting them off from the others.

Somehow the two managed to get back-to-back, the demons in a wide circle around them. “Odds aren’t good, Slayer.”

Grumbling her agreement, Buffy took a quick count. “Three to one. We’ve had worse.”

“True.” Spike grabbed one of the more foolhardy demons, wrenching his neck like the other. “This bunch is a bit easier than some. Least we can get them through the cranium.”

Buffy’s reply was grim. “Spike. . . take another look.”

“Oh, bloody. . . hell