"Umm – what the hell're we going to Alaska for?" Xander asked.

Buffy answered, "Ask Giles."

"Umm –" Giles replied, "Because Buffy's slayer powers were impacted negatively due to the curse laid upon her, by –"

"The nerd trio," Buffy finished.

Giles frowned. He disliked having his sentences finished for him, but at least he was spared the awkwardness of employing the slang term for Warren, Jonathan and Andrew.

Spike slapped Andrew on the side of the head. "Hear that, idiot?"

He clutched the side of his own head and winced.

"The chip, Spike," Willow cautioned.

"Thanks for the warning," he returned. "It was worth it, though. You want me to kill the little prat for you? I could drop him off Sunnydale Gorge, t'would probably cause just a medium headache."

Andrew shifted his feet nervously within the confining ropes that bound him to Giles' dining chair. "Aw, c'mon Spike," he whined, "I thought we had something going."

"What?" the vampire opened and closed his fingers like an eagle testing its talons.

"Friendship. A certain favor my pal Warren did for you?"

"Shut your gob!" Spike didn't want Andrew mentioning the Buffy-bot Warren had constructed for him. The Scoobies knew, of course, of his "thing" for Buffy, but Andrew might know details about the special programming he had demanded Warren put in the 'bot. Having his sexual peccadilloes known to them and undoubtedly thrown mockingly in his face, most assuredly by Xander, would be too much to handle. He would be obliged to go wild and kill them all, and the inhibitor chip the Initiative had surgically placed in his skull would give him the king of all headaches.

"We shan't need to kill anyone, Spike," Giles said thinly, "and we will in fact need to take the little prat with us."

"All right," Andrew enthused, "I'm part of the team."
Spike sneered. "No, you're not. You're just a necessary evil."

"And like, so are you," Xander sniped.

Spike growled at him, and his own reaction surprised him. He had intended to vamp out to throw fear into Xander. Spike had a theory that the youth was at heart a coward, and he longed to cause a pee-pee burst in the burk's checkered pants. It irritated him that vamping was becoming more difficult, at least when presenting to humans. He worried a lot that he was losing his primal vampire identity through his dread of the chip.

Xander chuckled. "Grrr," he riposted, clawing his fingers. Always mocking, this one. Spike snapped his teeth shut at him.

"Well, have a good trip," Spike told them and headed for the door. The indifference he showed them was empowering. They seemed to think he enjoyed their company and wished to be part of the group. He supposed it was his own fault, since he kept seeking them out and asking to be part of the group. But, it had certainly led to some interesting misadventures, such as the night they all lost their memories, and they thought Giles was his father. He grinned at the memory as he opened the door, hoping dubiously that a voice would ring out to stop him.

"Er, wait, Spike." It was Giles. Spike rolled his eyes. Any old port in a storm …

"What is it, Rupert?" he drawled, spinning around wearily.

"Spike. There may … just may be a place for you on this excursion."

"So?"
Giles frowned. "Will you come along?"

Spike shook his head. He couldn't seem too eager. The old Spike had despised the company of mortals, and at times he missed that version of himself as sharply as he missed the satisfying taste of human blood.

"You know I can't risk flying, Rupes."

"It's a charter plane, Spike. Set up by the Council. We'll have it prepped."
"Great idea, you ponce. Tell the Council I'm coming, and they'll spring a trap. Short flight."

Giles snorted. "Believe it or not, you conceited sod, the Council doesn't care about you one way or the other. You're neutralized, toothless."
Spike spread his fingers. "Using charm to get me on the team, eh? Well, what's in it for me?"
"You'll be protecting Buffy, Spike, and besides, you've been collecting a lot of favors from us of late. This trip will provide you the opportunity to repay the some of your debt."

It was Spike's turn to snort. "What favors?"

Giles stabbed a finger at him. "Bags of blood. Help fighting off loan sharks. Money. A television set."

Spike threw up a hand. "The telly was used, and you weren't using it anyway. But …since you need me, I'll go. Don't tell the Council. You say they don't care about me. The vampire who knocked off two of their Slayers. I'm not buying it, and I don't want them to know about me."

"Fine," Giles agreed.

"And you supply the blood."

"Fine," Giles repeated.

"And the booze."

"Also fine."

"We can prep the plane," Willow said, "we'll put black paper on the windows."

Spike blinked, more than a little surprised at getting everything his way.
Giles indicated Andrew.

"Your first job is to keep him under restraint."

Andrew protested, "But I'm willing to go. You don't have to keep me tied up."
"Nonetheless …" Giles replied, and let it go at that.

"I'll go along, then," Spike said ruefully, "just to keep this nancy under ropes."

"You'll like Alaska this time of year," Willow smiled. In explanation she continued, "Where we're going, it's going to be dark a lot. Thirty days of night."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The van Giles had rented had little lace curtains with floral print at the windows. They were pretty, but worthless against the sun so Willow had duct-taped black construction paper over the rear portals, with Xander's sarcastic help. She repeatedly had to rebuff his suggestions that they sabotage the paper with holes, even small ones, to teach Spike a lesson. Willow wound up more aggravated than if she had to do the whole thing herself.

The plane had eight round windows in the cabin, and by the time the two were finished taping more black paper over them the van roared up with the rest of the gang.

"Whoa, is this luxurious!" Buffy enthused, dropping into one of the massive leather seats and kicking her feet playfully. "Such leg room."

"This isn't luxury," Spike sniffed, toeing the carpet on the narrow cabin floor. "A little on the mean side, eh Giles? Is the Council low on funds or something?"

"This is perfectly adequate," Giles retorted.

"We can make it look bigger," Xander teased, leaning across a seat to grip the edge of the window cover. "With some nice sunlight thisplace can instantly seem more spacious."

Spike ignored him.

"Knock it off, Buster," Willow ordered, slapping him lightly on the stomach.

"I've seen those Council suits do much better for themselves, "Spike went on. "They travel in big fat airbuses. Only the best for them."

Giles moved purposefully to the galley nook and opened a cabinet. He withdrew a box full of miniature bottles of various liquors and presented it to Spike.

"As agreed upon," he said.
Spike took the box gleefully and favored Giles with an approving look. "You're not so bad sometimes, Rupert." He pointed to Andrew where he sat and barked, "Stay!" then strode down the aisle to the last seat, where he plunked down and commenced twisting the cap off one of the bottles.

"Anything to shut him up," Giles mumbled to the others, and Xander favored him with an approving look.

Outside, a motorized cart taxiing their pilot pulled up.

"What'd you tell the pilot?" Buffy asked, playing with her chair's controls.

"The Council's used him before," Giles said, "so he's discreet."
"But," he continued, rising, "I do wish to go over our flight plan with him."

Buffy watched him go. She looked across at Xander. "Hey, this is the first plane trip you and Anya have taken together."

"It's the first trip we've had together," Anya said from behind Buffy. "Cold climate equals sweet togetherness. Sharing body heat to stay alive. Romantic."

She slipped a stockinged foot across to Xander's chair. He took it in his hands and laughed. "Not like we're hitting the North Pole, Ahn. We're staying in a hotel, not igloos."

Anya teased with her toes, wiggling them until the joint on the big toe loudly cracked.

"By all means," Xander said, lifting her foot as though it were offal, "get this … hairy-toed monster off my seat."
Anya frowned petulantly. She pushed her foot farther onto his chair. "You don't like it? Get out a razor and shave, you goose."
"What am I, a veterinary barber?"

Her eyes flashed. "No," she sneered, "but since you're such a loser, maybeyou could just lose the hair for me."

"Well if I'm a loser, get your hoof off me and try a blacksmith."

"Ow!" he cried, as Anya assaulted him very personally. He gripped her foot and dumped it off his seat.

"You're a jerk," she told him.
Xander nodded. "That makes sense. Kick me and then you get mad. And so it starts."

"Yeah?" Her lips were tight. "And that mile-high club you mentioned? Hit yourself in the head with it."

Buffy let her head fall over in just-dead fashion and asked, "Are you two going to go at it all the way there?"

Xander peered sideways at Anya. "Nah, not all the way. Just until she tests the parachutes. And they're made of barf bags."

Anya snapped her fingers in front of his nose. "So's your breath. You better hope I never get my old powers back again, boychick."

"Why?" he challenged. "What do you think you'll do?"

"Let's just say parts of you would inform the rest. Oh, and I think I do want to join that club after all. I wonder if Spike's busy." She hopped from her seat and headed toward the rear of the plane.

"Not funny, Anya," Xander said gravely. "She's not funny," he told Buffy.

Giles returned from the cockpit and sank into the seat between Buffy and Andrew.

"The trip will take just under five hours," he announced.

Xander shrugged. "Great. Maybe she'll de-bitch by then."
"Are you and Anya fighting again?" Giles asked, irritation tinging his patrician tone.

"Just the usual," Buffy informed him. "Xander noted her hairy toes."

Giles winced and removed his glasses, shaking his head.

"Don't say it, " Xander headed him off, "I know. Don't insult the fiancé."
Giles nodded. American youth bewildered him with their tendencies, and he said so.

"I guess we're all losers, America's doomed, and I especially am an idiot," Xander singsonged.
Buffy tapped his knee. "Giles wasn't saying that, Xander –"

Giles smiled dourly. Buffy eyed him. "Were you?"

Giles inclined his head noncommittally.

"Five hours," Buffy repeated. She reached down and hauled her backpack up from under the

seat. Unzipping it, she withdrew a paperback book that was fairly well destroyed, with its cover and pages bent askew and flared out like a paper blossom. "Jim Butcher," she said, "take me away."

Giles peered into the mess of the pages. "More of that wizard detective?"

Buffy nodded. "I'm picking up some great tips on fighting the supernatural."
"Remember, that's fiction."
"Giles, my whole life seems like fiction."

"Mmm? That's a metaphysical way of looking at things."

"Could be," Buffy agreed. "I never metaphysical I didn't like."

Not bothering to see how Giles took the awful pun, she opened the novel to the last dog-eared page and started reading.

Giles said, "Before you immerse yourself in that preposterous nonsense, tell me - how did Dawn handle being left behind?"
"Screamed and cried. The whole 'Dawn' revue. At least she was happy to have Tara staying with her."

"Well, with luck, we'll be back before too long."

Buffy waved her hand around. "At least we don't have to wait for a return flight."

Giles nodded. He levered is seat back, closed his eyes, and awaited the always discomfiting takeoff. He disliked the change in air pressure, with its accompanying ear pops. And the lurching of the plane in flight, any turbulence at all, usually made his stomach queasy. He placed his mind on the mission. The dust witch they sought lived out in nowheresville, with no address but only coordinates. It might be necessary to hire a guide to help them find the right place, but Giles suspected that a good cover story could get the local postman to supply them with directions.

Sure, that was out of the question in the lower forty-eights. But Alaska was another country almost. It certainly required a pioneering spirit to abide in such remote and inhospitable surroundings. Anyone who could withstand thirty days of night would be made of stern stuff. If Giles could project the right sort of personality, the townspeople might be willing if not eager to help.

Dark for a month, he mused. Spike could frolic like a puppy, free of the worry that a sunrise would fry him to cinders.

He idly wondered why vampires did not take advantage of the extreme climates near the poles. They would of course need a blood supply, but were towns up there, and they were extremely isolated. He played with the idea of bringing it up to the Council, then the muted rumble of the warming engines lulled him to sleep.

Five hours later Buffy shook him awake, and he blinked uncomprehending as she told him they were landing.

"We're here," Buffy repeated. "Will Rogers Airport."

Giles felt awful. His stomach was churning, and nausea filled his senses. He had missed the discomfort of the flight, but the negative effects appeared to have built up within him.

"Wiley Post," he corrected. "It's 'Wiley Post-Will Rogers airport,' and –" He looked at his watch, but the time failed to sink into his brain. "What time is it?" he asked.

Buffy grasped his wrist. "Six-twenty-three Sunnydale time," she said, "but what time it is here, I dunno."

Giles unbuckled his seatbelt and lurched upwards. "I'll be right back." He walked down the length of the plane to the restroom, no stewardess to chunder at him for rising during the landing. He passed the last seat, where Spike grinned tipsily and hoisted a miniature bottle in toast.

"Really fine flight, Rupes old boy. I'm glad you talked me into coming with."

Giles nodded, resisting the insistent push on his insides. Luckily the lavatory was unoccupied, and he hastened in and avoided evacuating into his slacks.

An imperative knock made him start. "Help me, I have to get in," Andrew called. "Oh please, whoever's in there, get out because I'm gonna lose it."
His knocking increased in force, and Giles feared the door might pop open. He leaned forward and pushed against it with his fingers.

"Do go away," he cried.

"Mr. Giles, is that you?" Andrew pounded as though his knuckles held no nerves. "I'm gonna be whistling beef in a second, I swear. I really need to get in there. Are you doing number one or number two?"

Giles grimaced in disgust. Angrily he raised his voice. "Back off!"
Andrew recoiled. "Oh no, I've embarrassed the G-man. Sorry, Mr. Giles, I think we have the same case of Trotsky, huh? Huh, Giles?"

He knocked some more. "Is there enough toilet paper in there, Mr. Giles?"
Spike leaned toward him. "Listen, runt, whyn't you let him be and go siddown? The old boy's British, so 'e's already embarrassed by any biological urges. So, piss off."
"Do we have any air freshener?" Andrew persisted. Spike started to rise, and Andrew fled back up the aisle.

He plopped into his seat and held his abdomen. "One bathroom," he complained to Buffy. "Who designed this plane?"
Buffy threw a hand to her face. "Then it was you all this time? Aw, gross. Andrew, you're a pig." She shot to her feet and headed toward the cockpit.

Xander and Anya, reconciled from their tiff, sat together on one seat. "Where's she going?" Xander tipped his head toward Buffy.

Andrew suppressed a grin. "She wants to get outside so she can let out some really heinous gas. Apparently she's been tooting for the last hour."

Yeah?" Xander grinned. "I wondered who that was. Tough to have that condition in an enclosed tube like this."
Andrew shrugged, and the action caused an audible slip of his own. "Oh well," he said quickly, but not fast enough.

"You grossburger," Xander growled. "You do that again, I'll toss you out the emergency door."

"Dang, guy," Andrew simpered, "it's not my fault. Giles's bogarting the only toilet."
Xander rose, and Anya got up with him. They looked to Buffy, who came from the cockpit. "Pilot says a ground crew's supposed to come with some stairs."

Xander glared at Andrew. "I'd be willing to jump to the ground."

"Better get our jackets on," Buffy suggested.

"It's so weird that we're going to be in snow." Willow yawned and capped it with the back of her sleeve. "Go to sleep in California, wake up at the top of the world. I'll be right back."

Buffy stopped her. "If you have to go to the bathroom, wait for the terminal."
In reply to her questioning look, Andrew volunteered, "Yeah. Mr. Giles is having an assquake right now."

Xander hovered over him. "Shut up about Giles."

"Hey, I didn't mean anything. We all get the Hershey squirts every now and then."

"I told you to shut up."

But Andrew was on a roll. "Come on, Giles' chocolate soldiers are acing the obstacle course."
Xander tapped angrily on the top of Andrew's blond head. "Not – another – word!"

"Ow!" Andrew exclaimed, and covered up. "Free speech, man."

"And don't be floating any more air biscuits, either," Xander cautioned him.

Buffy sighed "Now you're starting?"

"I'm starting to get claustrophobic," Xander groused. "Let me out of here, already."
An eternity passed before the pilot came back and unlocked the door. The crewman outside got the stairwell in place, and opened up, letting in a rush of crystal clean, chilled air that flowed into the warm cabin where the gang gulped it in gratefully.

Giles trudged up the aisle, his face pale.

"Is it free?" Andrew asked unnecessarily. Giles hooked a thumb back over his shoulder, and Andrew got up and hurried back.

"Wait for Andrew, Spike," Giles ordered. Spike nodded and grumbled about the unctuous task. Then they debarked. The terminal was close, and in short order they were gathered inside.

Giles went to the Hertz counter to get the keys to the SUV the Council had reserved. The others filed into the crowded Top Of The World Café, where a fleshy waitress glared but otherwise ignored them.

Spike threw a bonhomous arm over Giles' shoulders. "The baby's finished with his leave-a-penny, old boy."

Giles shrugged him off. " That's terrific."
Spike leaned back and studied the Englishman's face. "You're lookin' almighty pale, friend. "We need to get you summat to eat.

"Later, Spike," Giles replied. "Right now, I have to get our rental." He pocketed the keys and started for the outer door.

Spike looped his arm and steered him toward the cafe. "Sustenance first, mate. I need something to absorb all those tiny li'l bottles."

Giles let himself be steered. The crowd in the café was so dense they could barely thread their way to the others.

"Watch it," a man snarled at Giles.

Xander waved at Giles. "Twenty minutes' wait for a table," he said.

Giles shook his head. "We don't have time for this."

Buffy agreed. "Did we bring any food?"
Giles shook his head. "There will be plenty at the hotel." He waved a sickly hand and looked at the Slayer pleadingly.

Buffy decided for them. "We're leaving," she told the others. "We can get all the food we want later."

"Yes," Giles nodded gratefully.

"I'm really hungry now," Andrew protested.

Giles' hand tightened to a fist.

Spike slapped the back of Andrew's head. "You heard the leader."

Andrew seethed in protest, but the group pushed and shoved him along until they were outside. Giles thumbed a button on the key alarm and their SUV chirruped. They got to it and streamed in.

"The windows aren't covered," Spike observed.

Willow withdrew a hand from the pocket of her parka. "Duct tape! And I brought paper."

"I thought it's dark for a month," Buffy said.

"Yeah," Willow said, "but I don't know when that starts."
"You don't?" Spike cried. "Why the bloody hell not?"
Andrew said, "It starts tomorrow. I saw a flyer."
"Like I'm going to believe you."
"Whatever."

"Look," Giles said chidingly. "It's dark enough right now, so let's set it aside. Please."

Xander sat sideways across the rear bench seat, his head pressed against the low ceiling.

"They make cars differently up here?" he asked. "I'm not diggin' the head room."

"No leg room either," Anya complained, shifting in irritation.

"What the hell are we doing in Alaska again?"