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Therapy
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"Dawn, I don't like therapy."

"Yeah, well you don't like broccoli either. You still have to eat it." Dawn didn't look up from her book.

Buffy adjusted her seatbelt strap nervously. All passengers were securely fastened after the courier's last turn had qualified for Xgames.

"Really, I think I'm better now. We can turn around..."

"You need professional help," Anya piped up from the front seat. "And boy are you going to get it!"

Buffy allowed herself only the briefest of moments to dwell on that before she leaned into Dawn.

"Really, I don't think we need to do this. I'll be good, I promise!" She whispered below the level of Anya's off-key humming.

"What, good and quiet?" Dawn muttered back. "Give it up, Buffy. We're going to turn you into a star if we have to drag you kicking and screaming your lungs out." A beat. "Of course, if you'd just do that in the first place, the dragging part wouldn't be necessary. Deal with your going." She gestured at the tupperware between them. "Eat your Willow-cookies and pipe down."

Buffy slumped back in her seat. The sisterly support had obviously dissolved. This was ridiculous. She'd been a secure and proactively guilt ridden woman for nearly twenty four hours now, and they were treating her like some sort of child.

Hadn't they caught the epiphanal pork rind bit?

"We're here," came the sudden declaration from the driver.

Anya looked around. "Are you sure?" They were in the restaurant district. "Which one's the therapist's office?"

The runner squinted at the sheet on his clipboard, then up at the streets in front of him. "Can't see a thing without my glasses," he muttered. Dawn and Buffy chose to ignore it. Anya appeared not to care.

"That one," he finally pointed. Three necks craned.

"Vegan Cuisine and Aura Readings?"

Buffy stared at the bead-doored establishment.

"This does not look good."

@@@

"Yeah, Dad. Mm-hm. Yeah, yeah, I know. No, it's not. Yah, I'm well aware of that..." Spike glared into the overstuffed icebox. Sweet pickles, I know you're there. "No, Dad, we're not firing her." His hand reached out cautiously and shifted a jar of mayonnaise. "Damned if I know," he muttered in response to his father's question, pulling both the mayonnaise and a roll of cheese out of the fridge and setting them by his knee.

They had not been hiding the pickles. This would require more effort on his part than originally anticipated.

"Well, Xander and Oz got behind them," he elaborated as he shifted the phone to an ear/shoulder pinch and dove into the fridge with both hands. "Plus, the little sis has made it bloody clear she doesn't work without the blonde one. Even if we could get some reliable fill-ins, everybody but me seems to think it's all gonna blow over..." Score! "...Makes it a little difficult to plan ahead, you know?" He put the prized jar on the counter above him and began shoving the unwanteds back in, still talking.

"Nah, they're at the therapist right now. Some new-age mate of Anya's or something. Gonna talk the frog out of her throat, I guess."

His father said something, and Spike snorted.

"'Course not. You know I don't believe that bullshit any more than you do."

Spike winced. "Sorry, Dad." Quickly, the wince turned to a scowl. "No, I'm not." The cap came off the jar, and the fingers went in. "Yeah, I know that's what I said, but that doesn't mean the band's already broken up. And even if it does, I'm not coming back home and joining you in your ...shipping empire." The pickles went on the sandwich.

"It's not a 'failed experiment,' you-- sir. I's a career. Do you have any idea how much money they're paying me to wiggle my fingers a couple hours a night?" Eye roll. "Well if that happens, then I'll play for somebody else!" The cap went on the jar. The jar went in the refrigerator.

The sandwich was sitting there, ready to be eaten.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm sure it is. Okay, well, you know how these phone bills rack up..." Spike pulled the phone away from his ear and shrugged at it.

"Bye to you, too."

"That your dad?" Spike looked up to see Oz emerge from the bunk area.

He snorted. "Who else? Keeps asking me if we've fired 'that little twit' yet."

"And of course you say no."

"Of course I say no," Spike replied dutifully, taking a bite of the completed sandwich. "At which point he helpfully points out that the band's in ruin anyway, and I'll probably be open to a new career soon."

"The green polo would look pretty hip," Oz answered.

"There are no green polos in my future," Spike said fiercely. "I'll turn to food service before I hit my dad up for cash."

"I really believe you."

Spike got up and headed for the back. "I'm gonna go to the dressing room, work out a few things."

Oz didn't completely understand until the blonde reemerged with his acoustic.

He nodded. "See ya, man."

@@@

"Oi see ....music."

"Mm-hm." Buffy rubbed her head. All the incense was giving her a migraine. Or maybe it was the 'therapist.'

"Beautiful music. It shoins 'round you loike..." the dark-haired woman giggled, "...loike little fishes."

"Mhm." Buffy looked over her shoulder at Dawn and Anya, who were sitting on large jeweltone cushions against the wall, removed from the action. "Fishes, huh? What else do you 'see'?"

"Hair," came the response. "But it's not real..."

Buffy's brows went together. "Did you just call me a bottle blonde? Because highlights don't--"

A long-fingered hand was placed in front of her face, stopping her. "Sshhhhhh." The psychic whispered. "Oi can't hear the fishes when you talk so loud..."

Dawn leaned into Anya's ear. "That woman is on so many drugs."

"I really need to talk to Hallie about her friends," Anya replied, smiling plastically.

"This obviously isn't going to do any good. Why don't we just thank the nice loony and leave?"

"Because she is an extraordinarily expensive loony, and doesn't offer refunds after the session has started. Besides, I haven't finished my toferky." Anya nodded emphatically. "We bought an hour, we're staying an hour."

There was a sudden crash that had them both jerking on their cushions.

Drusilla had knocked over an ornamental incense holder. She was pointing at Buffy.

"You!"

Buffy leaned away in surprise. "Me?"

"It's all your fault, isn't it?" Drusilla's eyes burned into hers, and a hand grabbed her wrist.

Dawn started to stand up. Anya pulled her back down. "I think it's working," she hissed.

Buffy stared fearfully into the mad psychic's face, feebly twisting her wrist. "You're hurting me..."

"You're hurting me," came the response. "Too bright, you are. Little shutters don't help, you know."

The face leaned in, and Buffy realized she couldn't lean back any further than she already was without falling over.

The psychic's eyes suddenly turned pitying. She shook her head slightly. "They'll see you anyway."

Brown eyes turned cold. "Take them off."

Dawn looked about to jump up again. "What the hell does she think she's doing?"

Buffy tried to pull her hand away. "Take what--"

"You know," she hissed, tightening her grip. "You know what you don't want them to see."

Something in that triggered a memory of a thought. Buffy cocked her head.

"I-I don't want them to see..."

"Mm?" Drusilla prompted.

Buffy leaned in just the slightest bit. "I don't want them to see me ...not seeing them."

Drusilla smiled an eerie, sweet smile. "Little hunter, you are," she said, like 'what a darling little thing.' "Instinct, that's what it is. Little wolvies in the shadows give you worry."

Still gripping Buffy's wrist, Drusilla leaned in conspiratorially. Buffy couldn't help but lean in as well.

"Don't worry," she whispered. "You're much stronger than the little wolves."

"Little wolves?" Buffy repeated.

Anya and Dawn shared a glance.

"They smell fear," Drusilla said gleefully. "And they feed on it." She shook her head, and Buffy found herself bobbing her head along with it. "They can't hurt you if you aren't afraid."

"But--"

"You're too bright. No sense in hoiding. The bright little fishies call to the nice ones."

"I'm not sure this is entirely healthy," Dawn muttered.

"I think it's working," Anya repeated excitedly. "The crazy woman's fixing her!"

Drusilla let go of Buffy's wrist and put a hand on her cheek. "You can fight the wolves," she said. "And they will fight them with you."

Buffy cocked her head like one making space in her noggin for a new idea.

"...fight?"

@@@

Spike worked his way through the chords and riffs with a kind of mechanical efficiency. Occasionally he'd mumble bits of the songs he was playing, but mostly he allowed the instrument to speak for him. If the guitar was doing the talking, he could allow himself to think.

He'd been trying to avoid too much of that, recently. In retrospect, that might have been a bad plan.

The thing of it was, though, that this was his life. Which meant that when this was threatened, it was a life-or-death situation, and it was either him or the enemy that had to go.

That the enemy he had to defeat was a cute little blonde girl with cords like solid gold...

He shifted into When She Was Bad, one of the songs they'd had to cut from the set due to pronoun conflicts.

If she'd just do right, everything would be perfect. As it was, he couldn't afford to let her get any further into his inner sanctum than she already had. Exposing any more weaknesses was not an option. Nor was just going with it and expecting it to get better when it w--

*Bingledybingledybling!*

He cut off abruptly halfway through a strum.

*Bingledybingledybling!*

Oh, right. He set the guitar against his chair and hopped up. He dug around in his jacket pockets until he found the ringing cell phone.

"Hello?"

"Spike?"

"Xander?"

"Uh, yeah. Listen, can you do me a huge favor?"

Spike sat down on the armrest of the couch. "...Probably..."

"I'm done with the interview, and now security won't let me back into the lot without a pass."

"Xander, where's your laminant?"

"I dunno."

"Don't they recognise you?"

"They never recognise me. That's why I need you to come down here with an All Access and wave me through."

Spike got up and grabbed his jacket.

"Where are you?"

"Uh, west entrance? I think it's left of the busses."

"We need to tie that thing to your wrist, mate," Spike said, shutting the door behind him.

@@@

The Therapist Trio, Spike, and Xander all got back to the bus at almost exactly the same time.

"Xander!" Anya said, climbing onto the bus first. "Where have you been?"

"Arguing with rent-a-cops," he muttered, following her inside.

She sighed. "You lost your laminant again?"

"Not again. It's just the first time ...this year." He put his hands in his pockets. And suddenly looked up. "Oh.."

Spike watched him. "If you just found the little piece of plastic that would have kept me from marching twice around the compound trying to find you..."

"Uh..."

"So!" Dawn interrupted, "How was your day, Spike?"

"It was ...fine," he answered cautiously. "...How was your day?"

She put an arm around her sister's shoulders. "Buffy got some spiritual healing!"

Spike's eyes turned to the eldest. "'s'at right?"

Buffy shrugged. "I feel a lot better about things. I guess we'll find out in," she glanced at her watch, "three and a half hours."

"Bein' a bit flippant in the attitude, pet." There is something different about her. "'D hate to have a repeat of the other night."

"You won't," she answered immediately. "Whatever happens tonight, it won't be silence."


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I don't know about you, but I smell a song fic.

You can all thank premeditated faculty snow days for this chapter, and it's timeliness. You can thank me for the next chapter, and it's tardiness (just a prediction, you understand).

Also, this chapter might make slightly more sense if you read the previous one after 2/20/04. You know, that weird 'revising' thing again.

~starmouse