*
"Hello, dearie, well don't you look nice today! I love it when the spring comes around, all the girls wearing pastels, reminds me of Monet, doesn't it? And I just said to myself, I said, 'Why not take a walk into town?', what with the nice weather and I heard it's going to rain tomorrow. And then I remembered that I had all these silly checks that I just can't keep track of, and I'm so hopeless at addition, wouldn't you be a sweet girl to total it up for me?"
With that, the elderly woman reached into her cardigan pocket and produced a huge wad of crumpled-up papers. She set the entire handful down on the counter and began to smooth out selected scraps, humming happily. Buffy sighed as she recognized a couple of promotional checks in the heap, "You May Be A Winner" clearly emblazoned on their faces.
"Ma'am, I think some of those are just advertisements…" she ventured, trying to get a better look. Suddenly, the woman's hand smacked down on top of the pile, sending wadded paper everywhere. Buffy looked up, startled, to see the formerly-kindly lady draw herself up and fix her with a beady eye.
"How dare you accuse me of lying!" Two pink spots had appeared on either side of the woman's nostrils, and Buffy focused on them involuntarily as the woman continued to bristle. "I demand to speak to your manager!"
Ugh, no, thought Buffy. Not again. "Ma'am, I don't think you're lying, but see this writing? It says…"
"I certainly don't need some teenybopper telling me about my finances! I've been depositing checks in this bank since 1953!" The woman's voice was getting more and more shrill, causing other customers to stop and stare. Buffy looked at them and shrugged apologetically. "I want your name, miss! And your manager!"
Buffy abruptly got tired of this. She'd been on shift for six hours now, and her mind wasn't really on the job. With Dawn at home, Xander in a raging mood, and Spike in town, one little old lady was just proving too much.
"Yeah, cool." She cut the woman off mid-rant and made her way down the counter to Neil's office. About the last person she wanted to see right now – or ever, for that matter – but she'd happily dump her customer on him. Crazy Lady HAD asked for the manager…
She poked her head through the door. "Neil? Customer on three." She tried to skip out again as quickly as she'd entered, but Neil was already on his feet.
"Again?" He made his way around the desk, and Buffy tried her best not to shudder. She couldn't help it. Something about this weedy, wormy little man just GOT to her. Something about his pasty white skin, the watery blue eyes, the head that had been shaved to preempt the signs of pre-30s balding… Gah. She backed away from him, trying not to be obvious about her revulsion.
"Oh, Elizabeth," he sighed. Neil shook his head regretfully, heaving a deep sigh. He leaned back against his desk in his best 'boss' pose, wide beady eyes staring. "We've talked about your interaction with the customers before, and you've really got to improve your interpersonal skills and managerial independence."
"Hunh?" Yeah, Neil – that might have been English. "No, Neil, she's got those Ed Macmahon coupons, she's trying…"
"Well, did you explain to her the difficulties of promotional materials in the proper manner? You've had enough time to read the entire manual, I would hope..."
Buffy rolled her eyes. She was too tired for this right now. "Neil, she's trying to cash a one million dollar check. She asked for you, I'm getting you. I tried, I failed, she conquered. I'm covered in shame, and I'm going to go give myself a stern talking-to later, I promise. But right now, she's wigging at the desk, so I think you might want to check on her."
Neil straightened up, his face pulling tight. "And you, Elizabeth, might find it useful to reintroduce yourself to our terms of service in the back. The blue binder set, just in case you don't recognize it. You might as well take it out of your lunch break."
He brushed past her, and her skin crawled. Why couldn't he be a demon, she thought despairingly. The one person she wanted to kill outright, and not a horn or tentacle in sight. Just a glistening bald pate, with that one throbbing blue vein right above the right temple, matching his translucent blue eyes… she shivered and instinctively scrubbed at her arms. Mind cooties.
The little old lady pointed and shouted as Buffy slipped by her counter position. Neil was already trying his patented "talk-louder-than-the-customer" technique, and the entire spectacle promised to be deafening.
"Don't slay the humans, no slaying of humans…' Buffy muttered under her breath as she stalked into the back room and leaned against the door of the safe. The six-volume bank manual stared at her accusingly from the makeshift shelf, and
Buffy was hit by a wave of despair. She was very conscious that her emotions were giving her two options: crying uncontrollably, or screaming at the top of her lungs. Given that either would probably get her fired, she didn't see the point in delaying. Slumping into the nearest chair, she laid her head on the kitchenette counter and waited for the onslaught to begin. "I quit, I just quit."
"No. Remember, you're not allowed to." Ruth stepped through the back door, tossing the butt of her cigarette into a potted plant. She tried to shut the door behind her quickly in a vain attempt to trap the fumes from her smoke-break outside, but the tobacco fumes wafted in nonetheless. Ruth made a face.
"Jesus – it's a bank! You'd think you'd be able to close the doors quick when you need to." She shook her head in disgust and marched over to one of the kitchenette cabinets. She tossed a spray-bottle down to Buffy.
"No quitting. We made a pact, we don't leave the other one here to rot and despair. 'Breeze me." Buffy smiled wanly and obeyed, dousing the woman in Febreeze as she spun, arms outstretched. Ruth's body-hugging sweaters and long skirts did tend to carry the scent of tobacco with them, and Buffy wasn't sure how much the spritzing helped.
"Does this stuff actually work?" she mused, trying to read the back of the bottle.
"Don't know, don't care – keeps Neil off my back." Ruth took the bottle back and stowed it as she peeked out to the front counter. Her lips twisted downward sourly.
"Got chased off by the prick, I see," she spat. Ruth's hatred of Neil was never far below the surface, and was probably the only thing that kept Buffy from killing Neil outright. No matter how vile he was, how pompous, how rude, Buffy would never, ever be able to hate him more than Ruth already did. It perked her up a little.
"Yeah, but I foisted some crazy lady off on him. He'll be busy for a while." Buffy watched Neil at the counter for a moment, wincing as she heard his voice crescendo in competition with the customer's ranting. She cocked her head.
"Does he even know that he's really unbelievably rude? To everyone?"
"Refer to previous 'don't know, don't care' reply, but this time with deepest sincerity," said Ruth, snagging a Wheat Thin out of the open box on the counter. She casually rattled the box to check its contents, then extended it to Buffy. "Eat some of these before I finish them off."
"No, thanks." Buffy rested her chin on her crossed arms, looking miserably out of the window as Ruth began to chatter. She hadn't eaten all day, but she didn't feel like it right now. Every time she tried to focus, images went flashing through her head. Dawn, Xander, last night's fight, Spike beginning to smoke in the morning sun….
"Hola, chiquita, you're missing out on my fascinating theory. It involves Neil, a maverick Russian robotics corporation, a sudden lack of funding and then program budget cuts under the heading of 'human social interaction skills'." Ruth pushed her gently on the shoulder, and Buffy shook her head, blinking. "But something tells me that you're not really going to be into the theory humor right now. You feeling okay?"
Buffy shook her head wearily, trying to clear it. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." Ruth gave her a look, and she relented.
"Okay, fine, I'm totally zoning out, have been all morning, feel like crap and could probably kill all the customers with a stapler. At this point, without provocation." She sighed, rubbing her eyes. "It shows that much?"
"Only when you talk, walk, or interact in any way." Ruth slumped into a chair next to her, digging into the box of crackers. "Seriously, Summers, what's up? I haven't seen you this out of it in ages. You sick or something?"
Buffy took a deep breath and let it out in a gust, half hoping that Ruth would just drop the topic. But Ruth knew her too well; when Buffy finally looked at her, she was just sitting expectantly, daintily munching cracker after cracker. Waiting.
Buffy cradled her forehead in her palm, fingers covering her eyes to block out the light.
"An…." Uh. "Old friend came back to town this morning – totally unexpected."
"I see we're saying 'friend' with air-quotes," Ruth quipped. "Which, of course, means that opportunities for mackage abound."
"No, no." Buffy shook her head. "He came with my sister."
Ruth's eyes widened. "Oh, so that should be SMACKAGE, rather than mackage – how the hell old is Dawn anyhow? Twelve?"
Buffy laughed in spite of herself. "No, not like that! She was flying home to surprise me, there was plane trouble, she got hurt, he drove her home. No nothing of any kind." She paused. "Ever."
"Good to hear. Well, not about the hurting, but the rest…" Ruth settled back against the counter, squinting out of the window. "So she's okay?"
"Yeah, she's fine, I left her at home, casts and everything. She's asleep, I think."
"Right. Yeah." Ruth was obviously thinking hard, with the narrow-eyed concentration that made her so intimidating to the average customer. Ruth's face at rest settled into an unconscious 'piss me off and die' expression which, according to Ruth, "Is very useful at work or on the street late at night, but not so good when someone's trying to set you up at a cocktail party. Hence, single and fancy-free." She'd smiled when she said it, but Buffy could tell it bothered her.
"So." Ruth turned to her, businesslike. "You're at work, even though your sister's at home, hurt." Buffy nodded. "And there's some guy around who…" she raised an eyebrow, "…is something different."
"To put it mildly," Buffy groaned.
"Exactly. And you are here, for a nine-hour shift, even though there's all this important crap going on at home and you really should be there rather than here. Right?"
Buffy's mouth twitched downwards – Ruth's diagnoses were often dead-on, and this was no exception. "Yeah, right." And after this morning's talk with the hospital accounts department, she'd need as many hours as possible to cover the bill. She slumped further in her chair and peered over at her friend, who had gone very silent.
Ruth was still staring out of the window, and Buffy turned to watch her. The rhythmic motion of her jaw as she chewed was oddly fascinating. Circular, grinding, the little bits of cracker getting crushed into….
"Elizabeth."
Buffy jumped as Neil entered the room. "Yes! What? Hunh?"
"Mrs. Eidleman has requested that you be reprimanded for your behaviour towards her, and I can't say I blame her. We don't accuse our patrons of lying, Elizabeth – it's one of the many, many things we never say to them. And this kind of slip shows a certain lack of respect for the profession in general, honestly…."
Buffy gaped at him. "But I never said she lied! SHE used the word, and then I got you!"
Neil continued as though she hadn't spoken. "I think we might have to review your position here, Elizabeth. Certainly something with less customer interaction, and the raise we usually offer at six months will have to be reviewed, but…"
Buffy's heart pounded in her chest. Oh, not now. Not now, of ALL times. Her throat closed and her eyes blurred; she could see the house accounts changing in her mind. Xander would have to pay too much – he would, because he'd never let her down, but she didn't want him to have to – and then with Dawn to feed, the possibility of more hospital bills… She was in such a daze, she almost missed Ruth's opening volley.
"Neil, stop being such an ass."
Neil blinked and his head shot up. "Excuse me, Ruth?"
"You heard me, and we've worked here the exact same amount of time, you only got promoted a few months ago and I don't respond to power-tripping so don't try it. Her sister was in a plane crash, arrived this morning, no one's at home with her, Buff's a little bit concerned about that because it's a human emotion and people sometimes feel those, Neil." Ruth was on a roll now. "And the fact that she came in today? Shows professionalism, don't you think so, Neil? But it'd probably be a good idea to let her go home now, take the rest of the day off, because frankly I don't want her to be around you, now you've made all those lovely little threats. Which we'll be talking about as soon as she leaves." She smiled icily at Neil. "Buffy, honey, grab your shit, you're going home."
Buffy paused for a split second before swiftly rising and heading for the cloakroom. Ruth's voice, only slightly softer, continued behind her.
"Don't look at me like that – did you even ask her if there was something wrong?" Silence. "Yeah, going out on a limb to say no. And Jesus, Neil – you know she'd never tell a customer that they were a liar. Me, maybe, but never her. So that was just dumb." Ruth had obviously meant her to hear that bit, but then she lowered her volume and Buffy couldn't make out the rest of the conversation. Just in case, she lingered in the cloakroom until all sounds of talking had stopped.
"Am I leaving?" she asked Ruth hesitantly. Neil was nowhere to be seen.
"Yep, off you go." Ruth rooted around in the cracker box, not looking at her. "You're also off for the rest of the week."
"What?" She panicked. "Am I fired?"
"Hell, no, sweetie." Ruth smiled up at her softly. "You're just taking a few of your sick days to shore up your sister."
"But I don't have that many sick days saved up, do I?"
"No, but you do have cover for the rest – I'll take two of them, and Marcus'll take the other. As for the sick days – well, you never get sick, so I wouldn't worry." She grinned at Buffy, who wasn't processing the news. "Lord, woman! We're taking your shifts so you can go back to your sister! Don't look so shocked! Head for the hills!"
"J-just let me know how much I owe you guys," Buffy stuttered. "I don't know if accounting can work it out, but I could write you checks, too…"
"Oh, shut up," Ruth chuckled affectionately. "We're covering you, you don't need to pay. It's all right."
Buffy was stunned. Ruth could see the emotions playing across her face silently, flickers of joy, confusion, suspicion, panic – it was as though the girl didn't understand how well-liked she had become at the branch in the past months. Well, she'd just have to get used to it.
Ruth shrugged unapologetically. "You don't have tons of cash, and it's no trouble for us to take your shifts. With Dawn home you'll need it." She looked at Buffy bemusedly. "Buffy – we like you. We're happy to do it, don't worry. Besides – I kind of get the feeling you'd do it for us."
Ruth wasn't expecting the blur of leather that enveloped her, but she handled it well, only spilling some of the Wheat Thins on the floor. She could feel Buffy taking deep breaths in her arms, trying to pull herself together, and smiled. "Watch out, kid – the Febreeze might kill you if you breathe it too deeply into your lungs." She was rewarded with a shaky laugh, but when Buffy pulled away her eyes were bright and happy.
Ruth stood up as well, straightening her sweater. She gave Buffy a gentle shove towards the door. "Don't worry about Neil, it's not you, it's him – he was taking something out on the wrong person, and now he's got me to deal with." She smiled evilly. "I plan to enjoy this afternoon, don't you worry."
Buffy was still standing there, grinning goofily. Ruth snorted. "Now take off before I change my mind or request payment for my services, and whoops, sounding like a hooker."
"Thank you, Ruth."
"No problem, Buff. Love to Dawn." Ruth watched the brunette stride out the door and smiled to herself. Poor kid – so much to deal with, and she so rarely let it get to her. Days like this, she must just shatter… Ruth turned and headed back to the front counter, smiling cheerfully.
A day in which she helped Buffy and demolished Neil? Ahhhh… Life was good.
"Dawnie, I'm hooooo – HOLY CRAP!"
Xander dropped his keys and sprinted to the kitchen door where Dawn was clumsily hopping on one foot, her arms full. He was beside her in a few steps; Dawn let out a soft whoop of surprise as he easily swept her up, letting the contents of her arms fall against his chest between them.
"What are you doing out of bed? Buffy's going to kill you!"
Dawn's reply was cut off by a voice from the living room.
"Yeah, I will, if she doesn't get that ice cream in here soon. Move your gimpy little ass, wench!" Dawn snorted and poked at Xander to let her down, but he ignored her completely, carting girl and ice cream together into the living room.
Buffy was lying on the couch, Fugly pulled up to her chin and an abandoned bag of microwave popcorn on the table beside her. She waved cheerily at him as he entered, but was quickly distracted by the Ben and Jerry's pint that Dawn lobbed at her clumsily from across the room.
Xander carefully set Dawn down in the depression Buffy had left along the inside of the couch, noticing the many empty cans of soda littering the windowsill. "Well, I'm going to make a wild guess and dub this a sugar high?" he drawled.
"Oh, there is no word to describe the amount of sugar I have in my system right now," Dawn snorted, turning her arm over to reveal two spoons stuck handle-first into the top of her cast and offering one to her sister. Buffy scrunched up her face, but accepted. "I think my teeth have turned into Chiclets."
"So… we're NOT in bed." Xander rolled his eyes and collapsed to the floor in front of Buffy. She offered him the ice cream lid and he set it on the coffee table.
"We're improvising," admitted Dawn. She was wearing a new set of pajamas, he noticed, and she'd washed her hair somehow, and was now looking delighted to be home.
"Yeah, she got all uppity and wanted to take a shower and roam freely, so we made a deal: I washed her hair for her, she became Ice Cream Bitch during the movie." Buffy smirked at her sister, who made a totally ineffective threatening gesture with her cast. Xander smiled at how easily they were falling back into the same old patterns. He eased up a little, relaxing against the couch.
"So, what're we watching?" He accepted the spoon of Cherry Garcia Buffy thrust at him and focused on the television. A woman in a floaty white dress gracefully coasted down a huge staircase towards a man in extremely tight pants. A trailing end of her dress blew out behind her in a gauzy, 30-foot trail. Xander waved the empty spoon at the dancers. "I sense the influences of a wind machine, 'cause that's not natural."
Buffy snatched her spoon back. "A Gene Kelly retrospective - but we skipped anything without Cyd Charisse."
Xander nodded. "As you do."
Dawn slid further down on the couch, her ankle propped up next to Buffy's elbow. She'd taken the aircast off, Xander saw. While the entire area was still mottled with yellowish-green bruising, it had returned to its normal proportions.
Buffy was watching Dawn too, and noticed her sister's ice cream tip over in her lap. "Hey! Don't spill on the blanket!"
"Why not? A little ice cream might improve it…" Dawn held her spoonful next to the quilt with an appraising eye.
"So," Xander interrupted. "How was work?"
Buffy's brash manner changed completely as she ducked her head, a small smile on her lips that she half-heartedly bit back. "Um – good, good." The smile broke into a full-on grin. "Actually, I got the week off!"
"But how? Oh, ah - what did Neil say about that?" He'd heard far too much about Neil to trust any sort of favors from the man.
"Didn't matter – Ruth took him on! It was like a prizefight. Well," she amended, "except that Neil didn't' really fight at all, Ruth just destroyed him." She brightened. "And the guys at work are taking all of my shifts! So I'm clear to spend all the time I can with my favorite person in the world," she crooned. Then she turned to Dawn. "Oh, and you, too."
"Knew it was coming, already had the pillow ready," responded Dawn as she launched a cushion at her sister. Buffy caught the pillow easily, and Dawn took the opportunity to simper at Xander.
"The people at work like her! They really, really like her!" She clasped her hands in front of her, eyelashes batting manically.
Buffy mock-glared at her, but her face was flushed and happy. "May I point out that you didn't even exist for that acceptance speech?"
"Did too. Was glowy and energy-bally, but I existed. And the sincerity of that speech cut through all dimensions. Demons in hell wept."
Buffy was different, Xander realized. As the sisters sparred good-naturedly, he couldn't help but notice the change in his friend. Far from the tired, wan girl he'd lived with for the past months, she was bursting with energy and light. And all because of a kind gesture by her coworkers, because she had her sister with her again, that's all it took. At least, that's what he hoped had triggered the change. He wouldn't let himself think of the other part of the equation. A high-pitched wail brought him back to attention.
"No, seriously, you have to go to bed now." Buffy was trying to extricate herself from the couch, but Dawn wasn't making it easy, trying to trap her sister in the blankets.
"But Buffeeeeeeeeeeee…" she groaned as Buffy neatly escaped onto the floor. "It's only nine o'clock! What's up with that? It's wicked early!"
Buffy stopped to stare at her. "What language ARE you speaking right now? "Wicked"?"
Dawn smirked. "All the cool kids are saying it."
"You're bizarre. And you're also going upstairs to bed, either under your own power or under mine." She lifted an eyebrow significantly; choice A would be far less humiliating than choice B. Xander averted his eyes, choosing to become much more interested in the carpet than the battle of wills.
Dawn considered starting an argument for a moment, mentally weighing the pros and cons. But to her surprise, she found she was actually quite tired. Maybe the drama from the morning, maybe it was the road trip, maybe it was the idea of climbing into the clean sheets of her room while she still smelled of shower gel. "Whatever," she concluded, shrugging and hoisting herself out of the cushions. Buffy gave her a grateful smile and began to pick up some of the trash littering the room.
Halfway to the stairs, Dawn stopped. "Are you going out on patrol tonight?" she blurted. Only at the end of the sentence did she take in Buffy's expression. Oh, god, not in front of Xander, they'd as good as talked about this… She cringed inwardly but tried to brazen it through, apologizing to Buffy with her eyes.
"Yeah – thought I'd do a quick round," Buffy answered, her voice carefully bland. "Why?"
"Well, if I have to go to bed all early and crap, I might as well get pancakes out of the deal tomorrow morning."
"Last time I tried pancakes, I nearly burned the house down," admitted Buffy. "But I can do waffles!" She turned to Xander in appeal.
"Yeah, she can do those – there's this nifty red button on the machine that goes on when they're done. Buffy-proof – hence, breakfast sometimes escapes unscathed, unlike every other meal." Xander grinned at her, and Buffy let out a breath. He was acting normal. Everything would be fine.
Dawn thumped up the stairs behind her, an uneven gait that reminded Buffy of Quasimodo. Heh. Would have to use that nickname tomorrow, she decided as she left the trash in the kitchen. He was still standing in the hall when she returned; she avoided Xander's eye and went to the closet, pulling out a long canvas jacket.
"So – you're home late," she commented, pulling the jacket on. Unconsciously, her hands flew in and out of pockets, checking on the various weapons. "What happened?"
Xander slouched against the wall of the foyer, staring at his feet. "Oh, the architect's gone and convinced the homeowner that a swimming pool would be a great idea. Unfortunately, the only place to put it is over the garage, and what we've got up so far?" He shook his head. "Not going to do that too well. I spent most of the night explaining how the structure would slowly collapse over the next five years, and one day he'd find his precious Jag full of chlorine, but he didn't like that so much. The architect doesn't help, he's a total brownnoser – he just keeps insisting that there must be SOME way to do it on the current budget. And I keep telling Mr. Gregson that it's not going to happen without more funds, but there's no WAY he's going to pour more money into this house, so now he'd just mad at me because I say it won't work." He sighed, rubbing at his eyes. "I might just build it, then let it fall. Serves him right, less grief for me."
"Rich people and their money, hunh?" Buffy walked over and leaned against Xander's chest, one arm wrapped around him. He dropped his arms around her shoulders, resting his chin on the top of her head, a familiar and comforting pose for them both.
"Yeah, well, I wouldn't know about rich people. Or money.
But I do know about construction, and if they'd just listen to me…"
Buffy nodded sympathetically, the motion causing his shirt to crinkle under her cheek. "Everything would be all right. But they never listen to you."
"They're not the only ones."
Buffy stiffened at his tone, aware that his hand had stopped rubbing her back and rested flatly against her shoulderblade. He hadn't forgotten, and he wasn't going to let it go. She pulled away, looking up at him resignedly.
"You're not going to see him, are you." It was a hopeful statement, almost a question. She studied his face. He was calm, still, seemed almost relaxed - but beneath the surface his emotions were broiling, a sort of tension palpable in the room.
"I'm just going out on patrol, Xander." She belted her coat, pulling her hair out of the collar. Xander waited. She sighed, exasperated.
"I don't even know where he is," Buffy said, her hands spread wide. "I'm going on patrol, I'm going to get some waffle-stuff, and then I'm going to Clem's before coming STRAIGHT home." She paused, then decided the whole truth was better than half. Reluctantly, she dragged out the rest of the sentence. "And yes, I will be asking Clem to tell Spike to call me."
Xander let out an explosive, disgusted breath and paced away from her into the living room. She followed quickly.
"Xander, I just need to talk to him," she tried to explain, but Xander was furious. She stood back as he began to gesture wildly, his voice bouncing off the walls.
"WHY? Why could you possibly need to see him? You saw plenty of him last time, and then he went off to… wherever the hell he's been! And you know what? I don't CARE where he's been! I wish he had stayed there!" He laughed bitterly, raking his hand through his hair.
Buffy steadied her tone, speaking quietly. "Yeah, and that's one of the things I need to know. Like, how did he find Dawn? Was he looking for her? And I also want to know about a lot of the hospital stuff, because Dawn can't tell me, she was too drugged up."
"Besides," she added quietly. "We need to talk about some other stuff, too."
Xander spun to face her, blazing.
"But what if he hurts you?"
"Xander, he won't."
"Hello?! Am I the only one who remembers why he left in the first place? What he did to you last time?"
He'd gone too far.
Buffy silently waited for him to turn to face her before replying, deadly calm. "Actually, Xander, I may have a vague recollection of that." She watched him with narrowed eyes, no longer worried about soothing him. It only took one look for him to realize that she was seconds from snapping; he couldn't push it anymore without her walking out on him altogether.
All at once, the fire went out of him. He collapsed onto the couch heavily. "I hate him, Buff. I hate him more than I can explain."
"I know."
"But not for me, Buff." He looked at her plaintively. "I think he's dangerous – he's BEEN dangerous. I - I don't want you to get hurt again. I don't want him to be able to hurt you, any of you." He buried his head in his hands. "I just want to keep everyone happy. Safe. Normal…" He trailed off dejectedly.
"Yeah, I know you do," Buffy replied. She made no move to assure him, but crouched down in front of him. She caught his gaze and held it. "But you can't. It's my battle, Xand, and I have to deal with it my way."
He chuckled hopelessly. "Yeah, probably should have learned that by now, but I keep on trying. Dammit." He closed his eyes, his teeth clenching. He could feel Buffy starting to stand, and reached out for her instinctively.
She paused, allowing her hand to be caught in his. He seemed to have trouble choosing his words.
"Xander, it's okay, don't…"
He looked up at her and squeezed her hand. "Okay. I won't." He tried to smile, but it came out as a grimace. "Please, just be careful."
She tried to pull away but he held her fast, pulling her closer. Confused, she let him until their faces were only a few inches apart.
"I mean it, Buff," he breathed. His expression was serious, his stare imploring her to hear him, to listen. He didn't want to say it out loud, but he couldn't afford to have her forget.
"You aren't as strong as you used to be."
Her lips pressed together thinly, but she nodded.
"I'll try not to be late."
And then she was gone.
TBC
