"Get me a beer"

"I.D"

"Oh come on! I'm eleven hundred years old! Gimme a frickin beer!"

"I.D."

"Fine. I'll have a coke." Anya sighed, reluctantly taking the coke from the bartender. "Stupid sixteen year old body; if I still had my powers, I'd show that no good son of a—"

"Hey An. What's up?" Xander hopped up on the barstool, swiveling the chair around to face the bartender. "One beer please."

"I.D"

"No problem; got it right here." Xander flashed a card, sliding it along the bar. The bartender picked it up, eyeing it carefully. After a few moments, he handed the card back to Xander. Xander stuck the card in his back pocket, whispering to Anya. "Whew. That was close." He turned back to the bar as the bartender came back with his drink. "Thank you. I'll be sure to leave you a good tip." The bartender walked away, muttering something.

Anya stared at Xander, her eyes wide. "Hey, how'd you get that? Human law states you're not allowed to drink until you're twenty-one."

Xander rested his arm on the bar, smirking. "It's called a fake I.D." He fished the card out of his wallet. "Gets you a free pass to alcoholic fun."

"Alcoholic fun?"

"Nevermind. Either way, you get to drink before you're legal. Gotta love living on the edge."

"Well…where I can get one?"

Xander cocked an eyebrow. "Aren't you a bit young to be drinking?"

"You're young. I want alcoholic fun!" Anya stamped her foot impatiently. "I've had a rough day; I lost my amulet, the demons refuse to restore my powers and…" her voice got quiet. "I'm flunking math. Ugh! I hate being sixteen!"

Xander smirked. "Welcome to the wonderful world of adolescence; full of angst and attitude."

Anya pouted. "It sucks." She looked at Xander, grabbing him by the collar and yanking him toward her, practically roaring in his face. "Tell me where I can get a fake I.D!"

"Hey, hey, calm down. If ya yell at me, I'm not going to tell you where to go. Besides, I've had a rough day too, I've…" His voice trailed off as he noticed a single tear roll down Anya's face.

"I just want to beer. I don't like being human and so…" She looked up, eyeing Xander. "I'm so damn emotional!"

"It's called hormones."

"Well, whatever it is, I don't like it!"

Xander looked at Anya, not sure what to do. He set his beer down on the bar. "Come here." He got off the barstool, standing in front of Anya, wrapping her in a sympathetic hug. He heard her sniff.

"What's this?"

He refrained from laughing. "It's called a hug."

"A hug?"

"Yes, a hug. It's supposed to make people feel better."

Anya smiled into Xander's shirt. "It's…nice. I think I do feel better." She nuzzled into his shoulder. "You smell nice." She inhaled deeply. "You smell really nice."

Xander flinched as he felt two hands creep up his neck, digging themselves into his hair. He pulled away. "Hey now, enough of that."

Anya looked at him, puzzled. "But, you smell so nice and your hair is so…soft." She reached up to touch his head again, only to find her hand smacked away. "Hey! That hurts! Why you…men are pigs!" She turned on her heel, walking towards the door. "I'm going to get a fake I.D!" She threw the door open, disappearing outside.

Xander shook his head, putting the beer to his lips. "Ahh!" He jumped as Buffy walked up. "Uh, hi Buff."

"Xander, what are you doing?"

"Having a beer."

Buffy cocked an eyebrow. "You do realize you're not old enough right?"

"Hey, it's a free country. If I want a beer, I'll have a beer, alright?" Buffy glared at him. Xander gulped; he touched the top of his head nervously, his face slightly flushing at the thought of Anya running her fingers through his hair.

"Xander, are you alright? You look like you're kind of wigging."

Xander slammed the beer down on the bar, jumping up from the barstool. "Uh, you know what? I think I'm going go help Anya get a fake I.D. She doesn't know the city very well and she could get lost. So…see ya!" Without a second glance, he ran from The Bronze, bolting down the street. If he hurried, he could catch her; maybe he could see what else those fingers could do…

Buffy picked up the full bottle of beer on the bar, examining it. "Well, at least he's not drunk."