Chapter Notes:

This chapter is based off the episode "Fool for Love"

And I promise Riley is leaving. I promise.

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CH 12

Staked with her own stake. What kind of slayer got impaled with her own stake? By a wussy vamp with horrible fashion sense, no less? Okay, so she was under a lot of stress lately, but seriously? How could she be so far off her game? And to make matters worse, Riley had saved her. Not that being saved wasn't a good thing. And not that her ex-demon hunter boyfriend wasn't the best choice to do the saving. But that was just it. He was an ex-demon hunter. All his supper-supped-up government powers were gone. He'd had heart surgery, like, a month ago. She had repeatedly asked him not to patrol alone. And he still was.

And, yes, possibly it had saved her life this time. But he was so much more breakable than she was and he refused to admit it.

It was one of the many, many things they disagreed on lately. Maybe Dawnie was right. Maybe Riley wasn't the one. She'd never really thought about it before. She was the slayer; she didn't get a forever guy so it had never seemed important. Mr. Right-now was more important than Mr. Right. But if being with Riley was putting him in danger – well, it wasn't like they were making one another particularly happy right now, was it? Riley had been weird . . . always really, but especially weird ever since the surgery. And now with the stuff with her mom— It was like he expected something from her, but she couldn't figure out what. And that had her feeling jumpy and guilty. Jumpy and guilty were not good things, especially when she was already major stressed.

God, no wonder she kept having wiggy dreams and hallucinations. Nobody could be expected to deal with all this stuff. Which was possibly why the Council didn't like their slayers to have friends and family around. Not that she agreed with that policy, but at times like this she could almost see their point. Her personal life had become way too distracting.

Seeing as she wouldn't be giving the people in her life up any time soon, it would probably be best if she didn't patrol alone anymore. Too bad that wasn't an option. Riley was too determined to prove himself, and the rest of her friends were more hassle than help lately. She could take Spike, she supposed, but they'd been taking turns so that Dawn was never left unprotected. So if she was going to take Spike she'd also have to take her sister, and that was so not happening. Dawn could handle a vamp or two, but if the crazy lady with the bad perm showed up Buffy didn't want Dawn anywhere near her. What if this demon could sense the key or something?

Yeah, bad idea.

So she'd have to handle this on her own. Which meant figuring out what went wrong, aside her insane levels of stress. It was just one vamp. One regular vampire. He hadn't been old like the Master, or devoted his life to fighting, like Spike. He was a regular, run-of-the-mill, undead loser. And she'd been training harder than she ever had. Distracted or not, she should have wiped the floor with the guy. So what went wrong?

Fortunately, she knew someone who knew a thing or two about fighting slayers. And he was on his way to her house.

She opened the door almost before his fist connected to knock. It was beyond easy to pick out Spike's distinctive signature after all the time they'd spent together this last year. Especially when she knew he was coming.

"Buffy," Spike greeted. He seemed a little surprised by how quickly she answered the door. Good. Keeping him off-balance would get her more honest answers. Not that Spike wasn't a terrible liar anyway, but she wanted to be in charge for this conversation. Something had been bothering her about this truce with Spike ever since the monk told her about Dawn, and until she figured out what it was she was staying extra-alert.

"Come in, Spike."

Spike stepped up into the house, eyeing her with a touch of wariness when she followed him into the living room.

"Need something before patrol?" he asked.

"No— Well, yes. But, um, you're going to have to handle patrol a couple of days." Riley had offered. She considered it. Toyed with the idea of sending the gang with him. But the same reasons she couldn't take them with her more than applied to sending them on their own. Plus, they were absolutely not going to do anything to deter the crazy lady. It wasn't like Spike wasn't already taking half the patrols anyway.

"Okay." Spike stood slowly. "Guess I'm off then?"

He seemed confused, and she didn't blame him. Her head was a muddled mess since the monk had told her about Dawn. She could only imagine how Spike felt. Though, as he'd lived with Drusilla for a century, he was probably used to things not making sense.

"I need to talk to you first."

"Alright." He frowned, but started to lower himself back onto the couch.

"Not here." Buffy grabbed his sleeve and looked toward the stairs. "Come out on the porch."

"Right."

Spike obediently followed after her.

She sank onto the back steps and, after a moment of hesitation, he did the same. She noticed he was careful not to get too close. There wasn't much room on the tiny stoop, but it was obvious he was trying hard not to touch her. For a moment she wondered if vamps got slayer tinglies. She knew they could sense slayers, at least the old ones could, but she'd always kind of assumed it was a smell thing. Maybe being near a slayer made them uncomfortable. Like, pins and needles or something? She'd never thought to ask Angel and it wasn't like she and Spike ever had much call for physical contact now that they weren't trying to kill each other.

Though, now that she thought about it, probably not a half-bad segue into her topic of choice. Especially if she didn't want to reveal her real reasons for asking about his past.

"Does it bother you?" she asked.

"What?"

"Being so close to a slayer?" she clarified. "Does it bother you? Like, I get this tingle along my spine and out into my limbs when there's a vampire nearby. Do you get the vampy equivalent?"

Spike shifted. "Uh, no. I mean, yeah, can sense a slayer, but 's not uncomfortable."

"Really? But we hunt you. Shouldn't there be some sort of fight or flight thing going on? Or don't vampires have that?" It had never occurred to her before, but now that it did she was truly curious.

"Well, that's the thing, innit?" Spike gave her a sideways look, considering. "Both the predator and the ultimate prey aren't you?"

He had a very good point. And one she'd never considered. Also, this conversation couldn't be going better if she'd scripted it. She was choosing to take that as a sign.

"Is that why you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Hunt slayers. I mean, you're the Slayer of Slayers right? It's your thing."

He stared at her, strangely reluctant considering the lack of fear in his blue eyes. Funny how eyes, which were supposed to be the windows to the soul, could tell her so much of what he was thinking and feeling even though he didn't have one.

"I'm not going to stake you," she said. Just in case that was part of the reason he didn't want to tell her.

"No, I know. Don't have one on you."

She blinked, surprised. He knew when she had stakes on her? How could he know that? Could he smell the wood or was it some visual cue? She hadn't noticed him scan her for weapons, but Spike was an accomplished fighter and a proven survivor. Just because he leered at her frequently didn't mean he couldn't be sneaky too.

"Then what's your problem?"

"Well, not going to like it are you? An' you know where I sleep."

She scoffed. "You're not afraid of me, Spike."

"Course not. Respect you though. Enough to know you wouldn't really do me in my sleep. Least not now. But I'm curious why you want to know. Never much seemed to care before."

He shifted, angling his body toward her, and without thinking she followed suit. The movement pulled at her injury and she hissed in a breath.

Spike quirked a knowing brow, but his eyes reflected no pleasure. He almost seemed concerned.

"Thought as much. Some nasty get a piece of you?"

His hands lifted and then fell back to the step, fingers flexing there briefly. Was he fighting the urge to reach for her? Weird.

Reflexively, she laid a hand lightly over the injury. "It's nothing. Riley already patched me up."

"Doesn't smell like nothing." He nodded toward her hand. "This why you need me to patrol the next few nights?"

Since pretense was clearly futile Buffy let her hand drop away. She sighed. "Yeah. I just— I need a few days."

He frowned. "The Bit?"

She never understood why he called Dawn that. She was taller than he was. But Spike had a nickname for everyone, and at least that one wasn't rude or food related.

He shook his head. "'F you don't think you can fight the everyday nasties, how you gonna handle psycho-bitch if she shows up?"

"I'll manage."

Spike's gaze darted away and then back and he rolled his lips between his teeth. "Could stick around a few days, if you like. Plenty of room in the basement. Or I could stay outside. Nice tree 'round front. Not near any important windows."

Did he think the suggestion upset her? It wasn't like Spike to ramble except when he thought he was in trouble. Of course, the rambling was usually what got him into trouble.

And she didn't know what was more wigsome: the thought of a master vampire standing guard over her house at night, or the fact that he'd offered it.

"I've got it covered. Bad perm doesn't even know where I live."

He seemed to deflate a little at that. "Right."

"Not that I don't appreciate the offer." Even if she did wonder what triggered it. This went way beyond note-truces. Though he had helped her with Riley, and even let her cry on his shoulder, and she knew he genuinely cared about her sister and her mom. Maybe Spike was just a really loyal friend? He'd been a loyal lover, but Drusilla was also his sire, so that was different.

She shook those thoughts away as they skirted dangerously close to the things she was not thinking about her former nemesis and her sister.

She turned her focus back to Spike. "Look, we'll be fine. But there is something you can do to help."

He looked less than pleased, but he didn't argue. "Alright."

"Tell me about the slayers. The one in China during the Boxer Rebellion, and the one in New York. The two you killed."

He didn't seem upset by the question, or even wary, but he also didn't seem eager to tell the tale. He tilted his head in that curiously bird-like way he had.

"Not sure what good that'll do, pet. 'Cept to make you angry at me."

"I'm not looking to start a fight. I just," she sighed, "I need to know. What did they do wrong?"

He shook his head. "What is it you think you want?" he asked. "A quick demo? A blow-for-blow description you can map out and memorize? You're not looking at this right. It's not about the moves, love."

Not about the moves? Of course it was about the moves. What else could it be about?

"Tell me anyway." It was more of an order than a request, but to her surprise Spike didn't argue. He didn't exactly answer though, either.

"You asked why I went after slayers, yeah?"

"Yeah," she agreed, uncertain where he was going with this. Was he going to tell her he won because he wanted it more or something? Because if so, he was right – all this was going to do was upset her.

He ran a hand over his hair, but not through it – he was always careful not to disturb the rigidly gelled nest. She wondered if the habit was left over from the days before gel.

"Right. Well, to understand that you need to know something about what I was before."

She frowned. "Before you hunted slayers?"

"No, before I became a vampire. Don't interrupt."

The last was almost scolding as she opened her mouth to protest. Slayer 101: vampires were not the humans whose bodies they stole. They had their memories, but those were only used to deceive, and to blend in when they needed to.

"Not going to go too deep into this, mind, 'cause my past is my own business, but sufficed to say I had a miserable life as a human. Too naive, too sensitive, and too stupid to know it. I don't know if the way I was treated by my peers could be called bullying, per se, but they looked down on me, and they weren't shy about letting me know it." His fists clenched, as though the memories were painful. "At any rate, becoming a vampire was the best thing that ever happened to me. It was profound. Powerful. I could feel this new strength coursing through me. Getting killed made me feel alive for the very first time. I was through living by society's rules. Decided to make a few of my own. Not that my new family liked that much. Was a bit of a trouble maker. Liked a good brawl and, well," he gave her a knowing look, "you know Angelus. He's more into the cloak and dagger.

"I think when he told me about slayers he was hoping it would scare me straight, so to speak. Cure me of my glory-hounding. Showed how little he knew me. After that I was obsessed. I mean, to most vampires, the Slayer was the subject of cold sweat and frightened whispers. But I never hid. Hell, I sought her out. I mean, if you're looking for fun, there's death, there's glory and sod all else, right?" He shrugged. "I was young."

Despite herself, she was intrigued. "So how'd you kill her? The first one?"

It startled her when he slipped into game face. Her hand instinctively moved toward the back of her waistband where she usually kept a stake. But, as Spike had pointed out earlier, she didn't have a stake with her right now.

Spike held up his hands in the universal gesture of surrender and his features reverted to his familiar human mien. Actually, come to think of it, when was the last time she saw him in game face? When he first came to town with Dru it seemed like he was always suited up, but since then the only time she could recall him sporting fangs was when he'd been putting the scare on Tara's family.

"Lesson the first: a slayer must always reach for her weapon. I've already got mine."

Huh? Okay, good point. But what did that have to do with the Chinese slayer?

He must have sensed her confusion, which, not at all surprising considering half the time it seemed like he lived inside her head. And that did not sound at all the way she meant it to. Half the time it seemed like he could read her mind. That sounded better. Though still very, very, bad considering their sometimes-mortal-enemy status.

"The Chinese slayer was good. Expert martial artist, naturally, and the closest I knew was street brawling, maybe a bit of boxing. Not like I had anyone to train me, yeah? And William knew balls about fighting. Violence made him sick. Sometimes literally. Still, she was young, and I had more than twenty years under my belt – mostly bar brawls and mob fights, but I'd learned a thing or two about fists and fangs and ferocity." He smiled fiercely. "The girl? She had this sword."

He brushed a finger along the scar on his eyebrow. Did he get that from his first slayer? That was almost a hundred years ago. What could scar a vampire for a hundred years? On some level she'd always assumed the scar was from his human days.

"Blessed," he answered the question she hadn't asked. "It was clear she was dependent on it. Knocked it out of her hand and she didn't even think to grab one of the broken boards nearby. She panicked. One lucky explosion and it was over."

He was trying to be casual about it, but she could tell he was at war within himself. Part of him was afraid of her response. The other? Well, the other was proud. Maybe more than proud. He was an evil demon; he'd never pretended not to be.

"You got off on it." She didn't mean to speak the revelation aloud. It was something she observed, meant to catalogue for further study. She wasn't upset. Or, she wasn't overly upset. Blame it on a year of dealing with him, or on the monks' memory modification, or Dawn's constant cheerleading.

"Sayin' you don't?" he asked, more defensive than anything. "I've fought you, Slayer. Watched you too. You like it. The rush. The feeling of power."

"I like vanquishing evil," she protested. Okay, that sounded a little silly. "It's my job."

"Know that. But you still like the fight. That's what I like too. The challenge."

There was something oddly honorable in that. Not that she'd ever admit it to him.

"And, yeah. Evil. Drank her down, not gonna pretend I didn't. Was the best thing I've ever tasted." He met her gaze, serious. "Didn't drink the second though. Not even a taste."

That one surprised her. Why wouldn't he?

He shrugged. "Told you, was young when I took on the first one. Was the middle of the Boxer Rebellion, literally in the middle of a riot. Got caught up in the moment. By the time I took out the one in New York though it was different. I'd trained. Become a fighter instead of just a brawler. Matured too, learned some control. That was a match of pure skill and draining her would have cheapened it somehow. She wasn't a meal, she was a bloody quest."

"Show me?" She didn't know what possessed her to ask that. He'd already said it wasn't about the moves. But something about the look in his eyes, almost nostalgic, reminded her that the two of them hadn't fought in ages. Reminded her that she missed it. She'd rarely felt as alive as when she fought Spike. God, he was right, she did get off on it.

"You sure?"

She nodded. Too late to back out now.

He bounced lightly to his feet and when he offered her a hand up she took it without thought. He fell into a loose, but somehow still aggressive, stance, and her body answered automatically. He grinned at her, bouncing on the balls of his feet, and she smiled back.

"Okay, then. Went like this."

He swung and she ducked. He swung again and then paused, holding his right shoulder at an odd angle. After a moment she realized he wanted her to hit him there and she did. He nodded and aimed a kick for her legs, making sure to catch her gaze and swing his down to the soon-to-be point of impact first. She easily avoided the telegraphed blow. It quickly became clear that he was walking her through a carefully choreographed set of movements. Leading her through the fight that earned him his second slayer. How scary was it that he remembered each move after almost thirty years?

And, damn, but he was good. And right. This was like a show match, not a fight to the death. And maybe he was softening it up a bit since he didn't plan to kill her, but she could see the beauty in it, and how the ferocity of a true death-match would only enhance it.

But she couldn't be distracted. She had a purpose here. "You said it wasn't about the moves?"

"Right. Question isn't 'how'd I win' it's 'why'd they lose'."

She frowned and almost missed a step. Spike waited for her to right herself. "What's the difference?

"There's a big difference, love." He led her through another couple turns and then resumed his story. "So, the first was all business. But the second, she had a touch of your style. She was cunning, resourceful." He paused, let that wide, unrepentant grin take over his features once again. "Oh, did I mention? Hot. I could have danced all night with that one."

The urge to roll her eyes at his antics was swallowed by curiosity at his last comment. "You think we're dancing?"

"That's all we've ever done."

She considered their movements as he led her into another set of carefully exchanged blows. Some he telegraphed, clearly wanting her to avoid, others he did not, instead making deliberately softened contact. Hadn't she just thought of it as choreography a moment before? And even when they had fought in earnest, what felt like forever ago now, it had been a bit like dancing.

He didn't wait for her to answer, not that she planned to.

"And the thing about the dance is you never get to stop. Every day you wake up, it's the same bloody question that haunts you: is today the day I die?" He caught her wrist on the next pass, brought her carefully to the ground and stood, looking down at her. The twinkle in his eyes, the one that told her he'd missed fighting her just as much as she had him, vanished, replaced by something sober. "Death is on your heels, baby, and sooner or later it's gonna catch you." He motioned for her to come at him and she bounced to her feet and aimed a punch at his jaw as he tilted it in invitation. He staggered back, wiped roughly across his face with a fist, as though she'd made him bleed even though she barely tapped him, and then circled around her. "And part of you wants it." He was behind her now, speaking in her ear. It was hard to focus on his words, his presence, and the fight at the same time. "Not only to stop the fear and uncertainty, but because you're just a little bit in love with it."

Without warning he wrapped an arm around her waist and brought them both to the ground. It was a strangely gentle fall, and she landed on top, somehow turned to straddle him. He lifted his chin again and she tapped it with alternating fists until he finally grabbed her wrists. His eyes met hers and suddenly their positions were reversed. She hadn't even felt his muscles tense. He placed his hands against her throat, not pushing, just resting, but she knew he'd been strangling that other slayer. It should have terrified her. Should have angered her. But it didn't. The look in his eyes as they met hers was far from violent. She'd seen him look at Dawn that way.

"Death is your art. You make it with your hands, day after day."

He leaned in, closing the distance between them, and she couldn't look away.

His voice dropped, becoming low and seductive, though she wasn't sure he meant for that last to happen. "That final gasp. That look of peace. Part of you is desperate to know: What's it like? Where does it lead you? And now you see, that's the secret. Not the punch you didn't throw or the kicks you didn't land. Every slayer . . . has a death wish." He stopped inches from her lips, close enough the breath of his final words brushed against her lips as he near-whispered them. "Even you."

And then he was gone. On his feet and helping her find hers. His look and touch were clinical in their efficiency, but his words weren't nearly so distant.

"The only reason you've lasted as long as you have is you've got ties to the world. Your mum, Bit, the Scoobies. They all tie you here, but you're just putting off the inevitable." He stepped closer, tipped up her chin to stare down into her eyes. "Sooner or later, you're gonna want it. And the second -the second- that happens . . . some demon gets to have himself a real good day." He smiled, but it was a sad thing. "Here endeth the lesson," he murmured. And then he took a step back and away.

Again it occurred to her that she should be angry. Not only at the revelation of what he was, what he'd done, but at the liberties he was taking with her tonight. But how could she berate him for doing as she asked? How could she be angry when it was obvious he took no pleasure in it? He didn't look pleased or smug; he wasn't gloating. He looked concerned. Spike was worried about her. She wished she knew how much of it was real and how much was the knowledge that some higher power had told them they would need one another in order to survive. For that matter, how much had the monks forced on him with that memory spell of theirs? Was he really different than the other vamps she faced night after night, or was that a fantasy created so that he would protect her sister – so that she would let him? Had they made him more than he was to ensure Dawn's safety?

More than anything right now she hated that she couldn't trust her own memories.

She realized that was what had been bothering her lately. She felt slow for not realizing it sooner.

Spike was looking at her expectantly and she decided that if he hadn't already come to the same realization it was probably best not to bring it to his attention. It didn't really matter how much of his feelings were real as long as Spike believed they were, right?

She'd talk to Dawn about it later, but first she needed to get rid of Spike.

"Uh, thanks," she said. Motivations aside, he'd made a good point, much as she hated to admit it. And he'd certainly done what she asked. "Here." She had money in her back pocket. It was her shoe allowance, but, hey, Spike had earned it. And he probably needed it now that he was buying blood from the butcher. She threw in a little extra because he hadn't been a jerk about it, even if that was more the monks than him, and also because they'd never settled up over Riley last month.

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Spike stood carefully apart from Buffy, fighting the unnatural urge to pant for oxygen, and the completely natural erection he prayed the Slayer hadn't noticed. Now was not the time.

Truthfully, he'd half expected this little show and tell session to end with a broken nose as a souvenir, but Buffy was surprisingly calm. Might just be she needed him to patrol in another minute, but he thought there was more to it. Hoped there was.

Could be she was starting to like him, just a little. Really trust him, maybe, instead of just have to trust him. That'd be nice, wouldn't it? Trust was a solid foundation, yeah? Hadn't the Bit said that all along? It was all about earning Buffy's trust.

And that little brat had planned this from the start hadn't she? She'd wanted him and Buffy together all along.

"Here."

The Slayer's voice, accompanied by a wad of cash being thrust under his nose, pulled him from his half-serious thoughts of retaliation. He stared at the money blankly for a moment, unable to process why she was showing it to him.

And then he realized.

He didn't know why it stung so much. Maybe because he'd just been thinking that she might actually trust him, might be letting him in, and this almost certainly meant that she wasn't. Maybe because even after he was so careful to keep the demon in check –a hard thing whilst reliving the glory days– she still didn't think he'd changed. Maybe because he hadn't asked for money in ages, and it was insulting that she'd offer it now.

"Put that away!" he snapped. He pushed her hand back toward her chest.

"What?"

She looked so confused he almost felt bad, but the anger was too close to the surface for him to act on the inclination. Still, wouldn't do him any good to get her goat up, would it?

"Don't want your money," he said with forced calm.

Her eyes widened incredulously. "Okay. Who are you and what have you done with Spike?"

He grit his teeth against the urge to answer with a snarl. Did she not pay attention to anything he did? "If you haven't noticed I've been helping for a while now," he pointed out. "Free of charge, I might add." Hadn't even charged her to help track down the tin soldier, or the carpenter either, now he thought about it.

Buffy hesitated, no doubt realizing he was right, and he took advantage of the silence to press the point.

"Haven't asked you for anything in quite some time, B—Slayer." He caught himself at the last moment, not wanting to give her an excuse to cloud the issue. "'S not about the money," he finished quietly.

She stared at him and for a moment he was afraid he'd given too much away. Wasn't unlikely; mouth had a tendency to get ahead of his, well, head. He frantically rehashed the last few moments in his mind, but aside the unusual gentleness he couldn't suss out what could have tipped her off. Damn, Bit was gonna be pissed if he bollixed this up. She'd warned him it was too soon.

He was on the verge of saying something rude, just to get them back on even footing, when she shuffled closer and studied him with narrowed eyes and pursed lips. It was the hesitance behind the expression though, that stayed his tongue.

"Because of the notes?" she asked at length. There was something a little quizzical, a little hopeful, in her tone.

He wanted to laugh and cry. Of course she was still looking for ulterior motives. But at least it meant he'd not given himself away.

"Yeah, because of the notes." He couldn't keep a touch of sarcasm from his response – she was so bloody clueless. And then, because she needed to know he was changing, even if she wasn't ready to know the full of why, he added, "And because, well –an' I'll rip your throat out if you ever tell anyone this– but it's kinda nice to be part of something again."

Her eyes widened again at that, but there was acceptance there too. Yeah, she got that. She was like him, not built for being alone, even if fate said otherwise. Their gazes held a long moment as understanding passed between them.

And then the moment was gone as Buffy slipped her valley-girl shield back into place. She shoved the money into her back pocket with a disdainful shrug. "Fine, I need new shoes anyway. Slaying is hell on the wardrobe."

"Right," he agreed, because he couldn't think of anything else to say. "So, we done here? Got patrolling to get to, yeah?"

"Yep. Stop by in a couple nights, I should be good after a day or two. And I'm sure Dawn'll be sick of me by then."

"Right." He glanced up toward the second floor. "Tell her good night for me?" Bit wouldn't complain, but she'd definitely wonder at the sudden change of plans. Didn't want her to think he'd bailed on them.

Buffy gave him an odd look, but she nodded. For once he had trouble sussing out what was behind it. Nothing strange about him making nice with the Bit. Even less so since the monk's memory switch. Their friendship was established fact. Though maybe that was it. Now she knew about the memory spell, now she'd told him, maybe she was wondering why the monks had made them chums. Not like she knew that was only an accommodation of the existing reality. And she never would.

Or maybe she was wondering when he would turn on them. Would be like her, wouldn't it? Even after he'd bared a bit of himself for her scrutiny tonight.

No good would come of asking her about it, so he returned the nod –a sort of farewell– and headed out into the night.

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Chapter End Notes:

Yay! I got this up! I might try to post chapter 13 from work one day this week, just because it picks up right where this one leaves off, so making you wait two weeks for it seems not nice, and like it could confuse some people. I'd love to think my computer will be back up and running next weekend, but, let's face it, something always goes wrong when you move computers so I'm not getting my hopes up.

Thanks for reading,

reenas-as