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The phone call came in the evening, amidst a rather vicious game of Risk. Dawn, with her due date right around the corner, was using her belly as a staging ground for her strategy. Will and Spike were busy massacring one another, and weren’t paying much attention to the united attack Buffy and Dawn were putting together. Buffy picked up the phone with laughter ringing in her voice.

“Hello?” she asked breathlessly.

“This is Special Agent Daniel Osborne,” the voice identified. Buffy felt herself go a bit pale.

“Hi, Oz. It’s Buffy.”

“How are you?” The question was sincere, but it didn’t make Buffy feel any better.

“I’m…healing,” she admitted, consciously trying to follow Olivia’s instructions to own up to her emotions instead of repressing them and putting on her happy face.

“Of course. How’s Dawn?” Buffy smiled, imagining the colorful agent leaning back at his desk as he asked her about her life. Oz was definitely one of the good guys.

“She’s doing well. About to pop. She’s getting along with Will and Spike really well…she and Spike have bonded over bad British punk music. They’re inseparable,” Buffy said with wry resignation. “But you didn’t call about that.”

“I was calling to tell you your…they took the plea bargain. They’ll probably be out of prison in three years with good behavior.” Buffy sank to a chair, staring out into nothing. She felt torn; part of her wanted them punished, all of them to suffer for what they’d done to her. But the part of her that had loved her parents and Xander, who couldn’t imagine they’d ever do something so horrible to her…that part wanted to forgive them and accepted Oz’s news. “Buffy?”

“I…thanks, Oz. I’m not sure how I feel about that, but…thank you.”

“Understandable. If you need anything…”

“Yeah, I’ll call.” Buffy said softly. She bade Oz good bye, and hung up the phone, her mind still wandering.

“Pet?” a soft voice interrupted. Buffy blinked, coming out of her reverie. “You’ve been gone for a while…” Spike looked at her, concern written on his expressive features.

“I…that…Oz called. They’re…” She trailed off, her eyes watering and her emotions choking her. Spike’s arms immediately wrapped around her, his presence soothing. “It’s not fair! I should be happy. They did this to me, they…they betrayed me! I should be celebrating and happy and…” She dissolved into tears, trying to bring her emotions under control.

“Oh, luv,” Spike sighed, holding her closer to him. “You’re too good for us. Too perfect. Can’t even hate the wankers that did you wrong.” He held Buffy to him, letting her cry herself into exhaustion. Sometime through, Will had come in and sat beside them, gently stroking her hair. One glance had confirmed Dawn was in bed, tucked safely away.

It seemed like years later when Buffy’s tears dried up. She felt numb and tired, and wanted nothing more than to fall into a hopefully dreamless sleep. She forced her bleary eyes to focus on Spike.

“Sorry,” she said, smiling humorlessly at the giant wet spot on his shirt.

“What’s that Love Story quote you Americans are so barmy over…love means never having to say you’re sorry?” Spike asked sardonically. Buffy felt a slightly manic laugh trying to force its way out of her chest.

“You are an absolute font of useless poncy information you soddin’ poof of a wanker,” Will said with incredulity. “And that line makes NO sense!” Buffy couldn't help it. She burst into laughter, the weight of everything crashing into her. She let it go in loud, joyous burst. She felt Spike join in, his chest shaking, and heard the gentle slap of flesh on flesh.

Spike reached over and slapped his brother’s arm, giving him a mock-glare. Will arched an eye brow and smacked Spike upside the head. Thus started an all out slapping war, when they could concentrate for want of laughing.

Buffy sat back and watched the tail end of the contest, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. She rolled her eyes when the slap-war turned to punches, and Spike landed one suspiciously close to Will’s jewels.

“Hey! I like those!” she protested, grabbing Spike’s wrist. Will smirked and threw a punch at Spike, only to be intercepted by a stern looking woman. “I like those too,” she said firmly. Will smirked again, eyeing his twin.

“Funny enough, so do I.” For some reason, Buffy found that incredibly funny and spent the next five minutes laughing herself silly. Will and Spike tolerated it for as long as they could, before mutually agreeing that it was time for bed. Spike scooped the giggling blond up in a fireman’s carry, ignoring her laughing protests. He popped her one on the bum, grinning at his partner in crime.

“Now now. None of that protesting stuff. We know you, kitten. Just enjoy your ri-ide!” Spike’s voice went up several octaves when Buffy laid a playfully sharp nip on his bum. She winked cheekily at Will, who was enjoying the view on the way to their bedroom.

***

Xander stared despondently out the bus window as the scenery passed by. He raised his hands to scratch an itch at his nose, only to be stopped by the cuffs bound to the seat in front of him. He closed his eyes against the roiling nausea in his stomach. God. When had it all gone so wrong? Xander’s dull eyes went back to the passing land, and he tuned out the background noise of the other convicts. He winced. The other convicts. He was a convict. A prisoner.

When had everything gone wrong?

“Hey, Pretty Boy!” Someone wolf whistled in the back, and people laughed. Xander simply stared unhearing out the window. “Pretty eyes!” Someone thumped the oblivious young man on the head. Xander stared out of his musings, the physical contact jarring. He turned slightly and caught the sight of a man with hard eyes that were currently boring into him.

“There he is. Pretty Boy. I hear you’re in for kidnapping. Steal someone’s kid? I gotta kid. Know what I’d do if you took ‘im?” Xander turned his attention back to the outside, but he could still feel those eyes boring into him. He tensed when hot, rancid breath tickled the back of his neck and assaulted his senses. “I’d beat the bastard to death, I would. You just think about that, Pretty Boy. Think about that.”

Processing was, Xander concluded, one of the most insensitive and dehumanizing experiences in the world. He was poked, prodded, examined, stripped, and turned into an orange-jump suited number. Carrying some linens and a couple of towels, he followed his fellow inmates to his cell. He walked in and stared at the small space, grey the only color he could see. With detachment, he laid his belongings on his bed and joined the mess of people who were walking…somewhere.

“Well well well. It’s the Pretty Boy.” Xander turned around, face-to-face with some of the toughest, meanest looking people he’d ever seen. He understood now what it meant to have hard eyes. Three men flanked him, their arms crossed and sinister smiles on their lips. “This young Pretty Boy is a kidnapper, boys. You heard that?”

“That so?” Xander shrank back, his eyes wide and afraid.

“I don’t like kidnappers,” another one of them said, cracking his knuckles. Xander thought, ‘How clichéd’ before blinding pain wiped away his ability to think.

A/N: So. As the chapter title says, I'm starting to Tie up all of Twinlet's loose ends. This fic is reaching its natural conclusion. That's not to say that I won't be posting little ficlets based in the Twinlets universe (they can be found here: http://www.thehookupzone.net/SpuffyRealm/viewstory.php?sid=23888 ) But for this particular fic...it's wrapping up. And who knows, maybe I'll find some inspiration and make this a trilogy. But first I'll be finishing Check Mate (which is also about to reach it's natural, rather funny conclusion) and get back to my baby, Haven.





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