A/N - Another short chapter but I promise an extra long one next time to make up for it. I had to move a few scenes which really messed with the word count but it should be all sorted out after this update. Some characters from earlier chapters are making a return and the Big Bad is established.

Special thank you to Slayerette16, DMoravec0505, Vivi H88, ResilienceR9, and everyone else who reviews, follows, or favorites.

Let me know what you think!

Chapter Eleven - Message In A Bottle

"Okay, maybe we shouldn't have waited so long to go Christmas shopping." Willow remarked weakly from the passenger seat as Xander pulled into the mall parking lot.

Buffy was in complete agreement. Every single spot had been taken, rows and rows of cars gleaming dully in the weak light cast by the lampposts.

"I can't believe how irresponsible some people are, leaving their shopping to the last minute. I mean, we're basically kids so it's expected but all these adults…" Xander cruised down each and every lane, searching for somewhere to park.

Buffy was tuning out most of what Xander was saying. She was happy she was sitting in the backseat so her friends could not see the frown she had not been able to shake.

Ever since she had left Giles', every fiber of her being had tried to pull her back. It had taken a few hours for her brain to wrap around the scene in the bathroom, her thoughts consumed by tear-stained blue eyes and the feel of gel stiffened hair beneath her fingers.

It was the most intimate experience of her life.

She knew most people would not understand how that could be, how crying with someone in a bathroom could be more intimate than sex. But intimate was, by its very definition, something private and personal.

The world seemed to have shrunk in the last few hours, what once felt so vast now inexplicably confining.

Willow and Xander were still laughing, oblivious to her inner musings. She studied their reflections in the windshield. They were smiling so brightly, skin aglow with humor.

She had never felt so far from them.

Being the Slayer meant she had always had more responsibilities than those around her. The stakes were higher and failure had never been an option. Her friends may share in her fight, may stay up late and whittle stakes or research obscure demons, but the fate of the world always seemed to ultimately rest on her shoulders.

She loved the two of them and knew that, without them, it was likely she herself would not have survived this long. The gap, however, that separated them had grown from a crack to a canyon. At some point, she had started to grow up and they had not.

Killing Angel to stop Acathla was where it had started. Words could not express what she had felt after. She had been numb but somehow extra sensitive to everything. She could feel nothing but the ache of despair had never lifted. Leaving Sunnydale had been her only option. She had needed to feel something, anything, and escaping her destiny had seemed her salvation.

She wondered what would have happened if she had never returned.

Xander and Willow continued to joke, never once looking to see if she shared in their mirth. She was a shadow, something they had grown accustomed to. But losing Angel had taught her that one could also become accustomed to loss.

She felt far older than eighteen, as if she had already lived a lifetime. She had the scars to prove it, the emotional baggage usually carried by someone much older. So many times she had lost her way, stumbling through the darkness and daring it to claim her. She had lost so many people - Angel, Kendra, her own father in a way.

It never got easier.

And when Spike had given himself to his emotions, allowing a century's worth of misfortune to befall him in one bitter explosion, she had found a kindred spirit. But his pain seemed to outstrip even her own. For such despair to fester for so long, she could not imagine how twisted it could make the world seem.

Christmas shopping felt so frivolous to her right now. Back at Giles', she was sure Spike would be doing his damnedest to pretend nothing was amiss. He would not confide in the ex Watcher, his own pride holding him back. But he had broken down for her and she was certain she could repair him, stitch up every hurt.

Getting him a Christmas present was an important step she had to take but right now, still able to feel the heat of his tears upon her shoulder, she wanted nothing more than find him again and make him laugh.

He needed space though and she knew better than to overstep her bounds. He was like a kitten, tail puffed in defiance even as he quivered in terror. She suspected this was the first time he was addressing some of his most repressed feelings.

Finals were soon and she needed to focus on those as well. Giles would not let anything terrible happen to the blond in the meantime. After Christmas, she had a whole month off before the next semester started and in this four week span, she promised herself she would make everything right again.

"Can't I just park in one of the handicap spots? I mean, does anyone actually check those?" Xander groused as he finished his second revolution around the stuffed parking lot.

"Check one more time, someone has to be leaving soon." Willow implored, searching for a spot he may have missed.

Buffy caught Xander watching her from the rear-view mirror and realized her silence must have been noticed.

"Willow's right." she said, voice slightly hoarse from lack of use.

"Or maybe Buffy could just use her Slayer strength and push some car out of the way." Xander joking but there was a serious hint to his tone as he surveyed the unyielding mass of parked cars.

"There's one!" Willow shrieked, pointing excitedly to where an SUV had just pulled out.

"Hang on." Xander muttered, tapping the gas and sending the car flying.

Buffy gripped Willow's headrest to steady herself as the car careened towards certain doom. Her stomach felt like she was on a roller coaster, her organs bouncing as Xander accelerated over speed bumps specifically designed to stop drivers like him.

To her utter amazement, they did not die.

The car shuttered to a halt within the white lines and Xander gave a sigh of relief, slumping forward. Willow looked green, her features drawn. Everyone sat their in silence for moment, reveling in their newly realized mortality.

"Xander, if you ever do that again…" Buffy threatened shakily, leaning forward to hit him on the back of the head.

"Then one of you drive next time." he mumbled, turning off the car, "This may have been our only option."

"Guys, most of the stores in the mall are going to close in an hour so maybe we should get going." Willow checked her wristwatch.

The three climbed out, weak in the knees, and made their way towards the main entrance. The front was a wall of glass, allowing the light from inside to spill out and illuminate the people walking through the automatic doors.

Entering the mall, they froze in horror.

People were everywhere, the tiled floor completely obscured by thousands of pairs of feet. The escalators looked ready to buckle under their massive loads and the food court was now a mosh pit filled with screaming children.

Involuntarily, Buffy took a step back. The crowd of people entering however, hit her like a wave, urging her forward. To her dismay, she was swept up and forced away from her friends. She only just managed to maintain her footing, bodies surging around her. Trying to move against the crowd was impossible even with her Slayer strength - she did not want to hurt anyone.

Fortunately, most of the stores located on the lower level had large double door entrances and, after several failed attempts, she managed to duck through one of these.

Sighing in relief, she gave a quick look around where she was. The only patrons were teens clustered around racks of bright shirts. A piece of a Volkswagen Beetle was against the wall. Staring at the car, Buffy realized she was in a Gadzooks of all places.

The crowd outside the store had not lessened and she was not keen on rejoining the stampede. Willow and Xander could find their way to her. In the meantime, she still had to figure out what to get Spike.

Despite the time she had spent with the blond, she did not know all that much about what he liked aside from mayhem, blood, sex, probably blood mixed with sex… where had that come from?

Shaking her head doggedly, she began to walk around the store, waiting for something to pique her interest.

A small stand held several CDs and she approached, remembering his battered CD player. Reading the names, she faltered. Even if she had known nothing about him, she was absolutely positive he would not appreciate Britney Spears.

Moving on from the music, she next came to a small selection of make up. Most of it was unnecessarily gaudy, designed to attract teenagers who were beginning to experiment. There was black nail polish though and she picked a bottle up thoughtfully.

Ever since he had moved in with Giles, she had not seen so much as a hint of black on his finger nails. Seeing as he had showed up at Thanksgiving with just the clothes on his back, it was safe to say he had probably run out.

Wait… clothes.

She nearly face palmed. How many time had she noticed what a poor fit Giles' clothes were on him? Earlier today he had looked sad, nothing even remotely fitting him properly. He had acted indifferent about the whole thing but she was sure he missed his old attire.

Opening her purse, she counted out the money she had on her. With a thrill of excitement, she realized she could get him a few pairs of jeans, some tee shirts, and still have a bit left over. Clothes had that personal edge she wanted. Hopefully, it would be enough to set him at ease in the group. It would also help prove to her friends that Spike would be sticking around and they should just accept that.

Gadzooks, however, was not the place she needed. The clothes here were far too childish and colorful.

"Buffy!" a voice called and she turned in time to see Xander and Willow scramble into the store.

She walked over to them, "I wasn't trying to ditch you guys. Promise."

"I've never seen the mall like this before." Willow said nervously, "Someone could get hurt."

"More importantly, we'll never get into the food court." Xander complained. At the exasperated look he received from his friends, he rubbed his neck self consciously, "Not that food is more important than people getting trampled."

"So, where should we go now?" Willow asked, "I mean, I don't know what kind of stuff you guys need to get."

Buffy stilled, realizing she had a slight dilemma.

Buying clothes for Spike was all well and good but if the others saw her they would know and start asking questions. Spike's style was a little unique after all. As she had learned from Thanksgiving, the less time her friends had to complain, the better in the long run. She had no intention of telling them about the additional guest for the Christmas Eve party until they had already arrived. With any luck, Giles' acceptance of the situation would be enough to stop Xander from making one of his famously bad remarks.

"Maybe we should split up and meet up here. The stores close soon and we don't exactly have time to visit them all." Buffy said, which was not entirely untrue.

"I guess we have no choice." Xander nodded in agreement.

"Okay. One hour and then we can have dinner in the food court. It should be cleared out a little by then.

The others agreed and, after a brief hesitation, they dove back into the crowds.

Buffy was delighted to find that the path to the escalator was easy to navigate. So many people were heading that way that she simply following along. She had decided the best place to shop would be Macy's - she went there often enough to know they stocked what she needed.

Getting off the escalator, she headed for the far side of the mall. The second floor was not as crowded and she sighed in relief as she was able to walk without fear of hitting someone else by mistake.

Reaching Macy's, she made her way directly to the men's department. Keeping her eyes trained forward, she tried to ignore the call of the shoe section. There was no time to shop for herself tonight.

To her relief, the men's department was devoid of life, not even a sales representative present. For whatever reason, she felt like she was committing a crime by being here. Her senses were on high alert as she looked through a rack that held pants.

Most of the jeans were blue or acid washed and she pushed them aside without a glance. The section of black was surprisingly small, only two dozen pairs wedged in the back.

Picking through these, she finally found black jeans that looked somewhat faded. It was as close as she could get to the coloration of his old pants and she pulled a few pairs loose for a better look.

Holding it up for inspection, she was relieved to find there were no patterns or rips decorating the denim. She was certain Spike would never forgive her if she mistakenly bought him pants with a butterfly stitched onto the ass.

Checking the waistband, her blood ran cold. For all her excitement, she had forgotten one, tiny insignificant detail.

She had absolutely no idea what size Spike was.

The tag on the jeans revealed another unexpected dilemma, men's pants had two sizes. Guessing his waist size would be difficult enough but an inseam too? What even was an inseam?

Out of her depth, she looked around desperately for a sales rep. As she had noted earlier however, she was the only person in the men's department. Time was running out, however, and she did not have the time to track someone down for help.

Spike was a few inches taller than her so she decided to work from there.

Holding the jeans up to her own waist, she tried to find a pair that covered her feet. After a few attempts, she realized she would have to find a another way to measure.

"Do you need assistance?"

Buffy whirled, clutching the jeans guiltily. A bespectacled teen wearing a polo shirt adorned with the Macy's logo was surveying her curiously.

"Um… yes actually." she reddened, "I'm trying to buy pants for a friend but I… don't know his size."

"Oh a Christmas present then? Believe it or not, this happens all the time around the holidays." he took the jeans from her hand and surveyed the rack critically, "How tall is he?"

"Uh… maybe five foot nine?" she guessed, trying to remember how tall he was in reference to her. Usually when they stood close, they were fighting and she was not really paying attention to the height difference.

"Okay he's probably a thirty-four inseam then. What's his build?"

"Slender. But he's muscular too. Not too muscular though. I guess they call it an athletic build?" she rambled.

It felt obscene to be discussing Spike's physique out loud, like she was admitting to this stranger she had seen him shirtless - which she had, earlier today in fact, but that was besides the point.

Fortunately, the sales rep did not seem to care, "Okay. Does he prefer a type of cut?"

"Form fitting." she answered confidently.

"This is your best bet then." he handed her a pair.

She took it, relieved. Who would have thought buying jeans could be so difficult?

"Thank you so much." she said brightly.

"My pleasure. If you need help with anything else, just let me know. I'll be around somewhere." he said, walking away.

Buffy returned to the rack, getting two more jeans. She figured three pairs would be more than enough for him. As far as she was aware, vampires did not sweat so he would not have to change his clothes every single day.

The shirt section was located right next to the pants and she walked through, keeping an eye out for anything black. Near the underwear, she found a pack of black t-shirts. They were inexpensive so she picked up a set of three mediums.

Glancing at the underwear, she wondered if Spike would need those too. Then she wondered if he even wore any. And if he did, would that mean he had been borrowing Giles' for the last few weeks?

Visibly blanching, she moved on hastily, deciding she really, really did not want to know the answer to that question. Ever.

She looked down at the bundle of clothes she held. It seemed kind of underwhelming, just a pile of black cloth. Before it had seemed the perfect gift but now doubt was beginning to worm its way in and expel her excitement.

Their shared moment in the bathroom may have repaired some bridges but she knew Spike was not one to forget a wrong. Still, the foundation for forgiveness had been laid.

But were clothes enough?

For all she the poking and prodding she had done, there was still so little she knew about Spike. She knew his insecurities but not his favorite band, knew his past but not his hobbies, knew what made him cry but now what made him laugh.

And while these things seemed trivial, Buffy knew that friendships were built on the trivial.

The clothes she held represented what Spike showed everyone, the belligerent punk persona that caused him to be feared in the demon community. As she had learned today however, beneath that punk lived a man who craved affection and feared loneliness.

She did not want her gift to only compliment the vampire least it come off as superficial. He needed to know she had been paying attention, the she cared enough to see and accept William too.

It felt weird to think as the demon and William as two separate entities that together made up Spike, but she could feel that right now those two halves were in discord. They were not lining up, most likely in part because Spike had only just come to terms with William's resurrection.

Spike had clearly accepted the demon part of himself a long time ago. He had had over a century's worth of time to test and acclimate to it. William was brand new though.

Sighing, she shifted the clothes in her arms to a more comfortable position. All this contemplating was exhausting, how did Giles do it?

The checkout line was near and she hopped onto the end, holding back a yawn.

The last few hours had finally caught up with her, weariness settling heavily throughout her body. She paid for her items quickly, answering the cashier's questions with single word responses.

Picking up her shopping bag, she left the store. As it was so late, most of the shoppers had finally cleared out and she was wasted no time making her way to the escalator. Willow and Xander were probably waiting for her in the food court.

The lack of a crowd meant she was able to window shop as she walked, her eyes sliding from one store display to the next.

She did not immediately see the item, too lost in thought to take in much of her surroundings. The garish colors from inside the store, however, caught her attention.

Unwittingly, she wandered closer to get a better look.

Blues, reds, and yellows jumped out at her - the brightness enough to make her eyes hurt. The front window displayed a selection of objects and she looked at each one, enthralled by the innocence.

Then she saw it, nestled in the corner of the glass. The moment her eyes landed on it, she knew it was the perfect gift for Spike.

Hastily, she checked her purse and counted out her remaining money. She had about thirty dollars left. Leaning close to the glass, she sought for a price tag.

Twenty dollars.

She rushed into the store, knowing it would be closing shortly.

It really was the ideal gift and she knew it would go a long way in helping her repair things with Spike.

And it was black so he could not complain about the color.

He had been watching her for the last hour, brown eyes drinking in the sight of her hungrily. When he had first caught her scent, it had seemed like a dream. How often had he spent pining for her smell, her touch?

Finding her at the mall had been surprising. It was so crowded that picking her out should have been impossible. He had always suspected their connection, however, went beyond the physical. Whenever she was near, he could feel it, feel her.

Following her had been simple, she had appeared to be lost in thought and never once noticed him, not even when he had been in Macy's with her.

He wished everything had not gone to shit like it had at Thanksgiving. Spike's appearance had ruined what should have been a nice reunion. One would think that the blond menace would have had the good grace to show a little respect for his grandsire but no, he had instead initiated a brawl.

Knowing Buffy had stuck up for his childe instead of himself had stung terribly, a tingling burn that settled just under the surface of his cold flesh. Since then, he had stayed in a motel on the outskirts of Sunnydale. He had fed his team back in Los Angeles some cock and bull story about tracking a rare demon. They had bought the lie which had allowed him to remain here, his anger festering to loathing.

He was not sure what Spike had done to Buffy but it had to be stopped immediately. His childe had always had an unhealthy fascination with Slayers and it seemed he was the only one who remembered that the blond had tried to kill Buffy a dozen times at least.

His musings were broken as he watched Buffy enter the men's department. With narrowed eyes, he kept parallel to her, situating himself by several racks of shirts so she would not see him.

After their last meeting, he was a little wary about approaching her directly. Spike could have told her forty years worth of horror stories about himself. He remembered when his past had not mattered to her, when she had calmly attributed his actions to that of a soulless demon. She had changed her tune in the last few months, no doubt because of Spike's influence.

She was looking through the men's jeans and his brow furrowed in confusion. The only two males he was aware of her being close with were the Watcher and that boy, Xander. Perhaps she was getting one of them a present, Christmas was in two weeks after all.

When she pulled out a black pair, he ignored the warning signal telling him something was amiss. She moved on to the shirts and he followed carefully.

When she picked up several black t-shirts, his demon bucked viciously and he was nearly consumed by fury.

Spike. She was buying clothes for Spike.

He left the store hurriedly, trying to reign in his demon. Shoving people out of the way, he descended down the escalator and stalked out of the mall.

"What the hell is going on?" he snarled.

A woman walking by gave him a fearful look and veered away sharply.

Halting, he took a deep breath. He needed to get back in control. Wandering around in a fury would not do him any good, Sunnydale had become more dangerous of late and it would not do well for him to wander around stinking of killing intent.

Taking another breath, he set off across the parking lot at a more relaxed pace. He was still wired but moving worked off some of the energy that often accompanies rage. By the time he reached the motel, only a half mile from the mall, he had cooled considerably.

Unlocking the door, he stepped inside and shrugged off his coat, hanging on the back of the desk chair. Out of habit, he turned on a lamp and light bathed the small room.

It was dismal, clean but sad looking. The color scheme was bleak, all greys and browns.

He picked up the phone from the night stand and dialed quickly. As he knew it would, his call to Angel Investigations went to voicemail.

He checked in with his team regularly to let them know he was alright. Generally, these calls were made when he was certain no one would be around to answer them. The messages he left were brief, just enough to keep everyone out of his business, and no one seemed to mind his prolonged absence.

Sunnydale, however, was not the same place he had left behind six months ago.

He had never been aware of the number of demons who lived in the surrounding area. With the tunnel reconstruction well under way, dozens of vampires and the like had made an appearance. He had come across species he had only ever heard legends of, myths from so long ago they could not possibly be true.

Of course, these demons had also heard of him.

To keep Buffy from knowing he was around, he rarely strayed far from his motel room. It aggravated him to no end that he could not keep an eye on her but the name Angelus was still infamous to this day. Someone was sure to recognize him and report to Willy.

He began pacing around the small room, his broad frame feeling freakishly big in the confined space. From behind the closed window curtains, the gleam from the headlights of a car in the parking lot still managed to shine through the thin fabric.

Approaching the window, he pulled the curtain back a few inches and looked out to the parking lot. He kept tabs on everyone in and around the motel, lest he be caught unaware. Some vampires were still none too happy about the part he had played in burying the Hellmouth.

A new car had arrived, bearing Ohio plates, and as he watched, a family clamored out. Two small children were being herded towards the main office by a woman while the man leaned against the car and lit a cigarette.

Replacing the curtain, Angel retreated towards the bed and sat down heavily. The springs squeaked in protest as he jostled them but he hardly noticed the sound.

Cigarettes only really reminded him of one demon, the same demon who was the reason he was here instead of in Los Angeles.

Sometimes, he really wished Drusilla had been too insane to sire.

Seeing Buffy buying clothes for Spike had been alarming. As far as he was aware, Spike had no hypnotic abilities. He was no great shake at magic either, though his knowledge of curses was somewhat dismaying.

So, why was Buffy buying him clothes?

He had assumed that whatever fragile truce had been struck up in November would have been destroyed by now. The last time he had seen the Slayer and vampire interact, they had been as cold with one another as he had expected, only mutual need making them swallow their pride long enough to work together.

He was certain Buffy was in danger from Spike. The blond had killed two seasoned Slayers already. Something sinister had to be at work, there was no other explanation for this sudden shift in temperament.

Spike would have to be eliminated.

But he could not be the one to do it. If Buffy ever found out… No, it was best to leave this to someone else.

Reaching for the phone again, he dialed a familiar number.

"Hello?" an elderly voice answered impatiently after the second ring.

"It's Angel." he said shortly.

The demon on the other end laughed, "Change yer name as ya please, but the past stays the same Angelus."

"I need some information." the conversation was already beginning to wear on the vampire.

"Reckon so, only reason you'd call the likes of me. What are you lookin' to find?"

"I need the names of someone powerful near the Sunnydale Hellmouth. Someone powerful enough to kill a master vampire." his grip tightened on the phone.

"And what's it worth to ya? I'm runnin' a business y'know."

"I have money." he fingered his pocket, which held a rather thin wallet, "I could get you five hundred dollars in a few days."

"Don't usually deal with money. No, I like to trade for things of value."

Angel was losing patience. He needed this information immediately, otherwise he would not have bothered calling a specialist.

"Money is all I'm willing to offer, I don't deal in the trading of virgin hearts or whatever's become popular lately." he growled menacingly.

"My my, you have changed boy. It's a shame, truly. So much wasted talent."

"Do we have a deal or not?"

"There are a few demons around Sunnydale capable of taking down a master vampire. I must warn you though, most are not known for playing nice." the voice had become much more business-like.

Angel rolled his eyes, "Well, who do you recommend then?"

"Are you, perhaps, familiar with the wolf tribes of the east Asia?"

"Do you mean werewolves?" Angel asked.

The term seemed familiar but he could not place it. Asia was not a place he had visited often aside from that brief stint during the Boxer Rebellion.

"I advise you to never call one of them a werewolf to their face, they take offense to the term."

"What are they then?" this conversation was getting irritating.

The specialist's tone became more serious, the joking edge vanishing, "As long as man has walked this earth, so too have demons. Many of the elder breeds have died out or cross bred themselves out of existence. A few, however, valued their bloodlines and took great pains to make sure they remained 'pure' as they say.

"The wolf tribes of the east were begun by the earliest known shapeshifters - Nightstalkers. They were the precursors to the modern werewolf as human blood entered the lineage. Those who kept to their own kind, however, became a powerful, if small, race."

"And some of these Nightstalkers are in Sunnydale?" he asked.

"Yes. From what I have gathered, two who go by the names Samuel and Ezra have been in town for several months now."

"And they can kill someone of my own family?" he had to be absolutely sure.

"My dear Angelus, even the Master was careful to avoid antagonizing them."

"How do I contact them?"

"You don't. They'll find you. I must warn you though, most of your dealings should go through Samuel. Rumor is Ezra has gone a tad insane."

"Insane?" Angel asked derisively.

"Do not underestimate them. The magic which runs through their veins is as old as the first Slayers. Now, the matter of the money-"

"It will be sent to you after I have spoken to these two. I don't like for paying for false information." he hung up abruptly and laid back on the bed.

This was a dangerous game he was playing, contracting one of these Nightstalkers for mercenary work. Demons were not, by and large, known for being reliable. He wondered why he had never heard of these two if they were supposedly so terrifying even the Master had avoided them.

Rolling onto his side, he stared unseeingly at the wall. He still could not believe that Buffy had become so casual with Spike. Inviting him to the holidays, buying him clothes, she should know better. Spike must be playing with her, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. He knew though, that Buffy was not likely to listen to him. By now, Spike had had suitable time to poison her thoughts of him.

He remembered the contempt she had showed during Thanksgiving. Never once had he expected for her to look upon him like any other vampire. Their bond was special, an unbreakable chain that bound them to one another.

Killing Spike was the only option available to him. If Buffy had been placed under a spell, then the easiest way to break her free was to destroy the link.

Besides, it was not like Spike had ever done the world any good. He was an evil, soulless vampire who thrived in destruction.

Still though, Angel could remember a time when the blond had been so desperate to prove himself. He had taught him how to survive, how to torture and maim. Those blue eyes would be full of excitement, eager to please.

And then he had killed a Slayer.

The dynamic had changed rapidly after. Spike refused to take orders from anyone in the group and began becoming more independent. Angel had left soon after but he could still remember the turmoil caused by the Whirlwind's youngest member.

So many times Angelus had tried to break Spike - break his body, break his spirit. But somehow, he had always prevailed.

And now he had snared Buffy.

Growling, he kicked off his shoes and stared at the ceiling. Hopefully, this Samuel fellow would contact him soon and he could formulate a plan to remove his childe from the equation. Permanently.

A/N - I'm doing a little competition. The secret present Buffy bought Spike will not be revealed until chapter sixteen. In the meantime, whoever guesses closest to what it is will win a one shot. Leave your response in the comments or pm me directly. I'll write any plot, any pairing you want so long as it's not really weird (like Joyce and Angel weird).