Part Two: Finding Reason

Dating Games

"That was Rupert Giles, sir."

Clair Iverson looked up from the mess that had once been Samuel Elliot's office. "Reading us the riot act, no doubt."

"Desperate times call for desperate measures, sir."

Iverson sighed and abandoned the office to the capable hands of the cleaning crew. "How did William the Bloody discover our location?"

"There was a leak in New Orleans, sir." Roberts handed him a memo. "We have been unable to contact the man Elliot recommended to contain him. A mister Ethan Smythe."

"And Elliot?"

"Dead. As well as the rest of the team."

"Cara Sewell?"

"Also unaccounted for."

"But alive. Somewhere." Iverson waved Roberts into the conference room and took his place at the far end of the table. They waited in silence. Roberts read through his report several more times as Iverson drummed his fingers slowly, purposefully, on the tabletop. When the long hand of the clock fell to the six, tailored suits of all shapes and cuts began filing into the room. The seats filled quietly, somber faces surrounding the long table.

"Thank you for coming." Iverson stood once the last seat was taken and the door to the library swung shut. He paused for a moment, making sure he had everyone's attention before he began what would undoubtedly be the least popular speech in the history of the Watcher's Council. "We are unbelievably stupid. And blind. I had hoped to do better than the previous Council, who rendered themselves obsolete and were utterly destroyed by the First three years ago. We are not better. We have been greater fools than they ever were."

"I hardly think it is your place to accuse us of these things," Michael Weatherby fumed, almost coming out of his chair.

"Samuel Elliot is dead. Along with the team sent with him. We have lost one Slayer, have no idea where the new Slayer is, and are no closer to repairing our relationship with Buffy Summers. The vampire, William the Bloody, remains at large despite our best attempts to capture him. What part of this hasn't been a complete failure?" The answering silence was eloquent. Returning to his seat, he nodded to Roberts. "Read the list."

Roberts cleared his throat. "A Mary Beth Saunders was reported missing by her fiance five days ago. She came home this morning. Apparently she boarded the subway and got off five days later without any knowledge of time passing. In fact, she suffered no effects of her absence. There was a report of a dragon in Indiana."

"What's the purpose of this, Iverson?" another Watcher, Arthur Caldwell asked as he leaned forward. "We're all familiar with the supernatural."

"Then you're familiar with the theory of multiple dimensions existing in the same space."

"Naturally."

"And you're familiar with what happens when those dimensions begin to bleed together." More silence. "Continue Roberts."

"A unicorn was seen in Nepal."

"And Bigfoot in Oregon, I'm sure," Weatherby said dryly, looking bored.

"A nest of vampires in Sydney attacked a group of children on a field trip. In broad daylight. They didn't begin to combust until nearly an hour later." Roberts flipped the page over. "Earthquakes in various regions. Unusual storms in the south seas. Volcanoes. Herring falling from the sky in Denmark. The Richelieu wing of the Louvre moved ten feet to the left last Tuesday. An island off of Malaysia disappeared into the ocean. Atlantis rose."

"Atlantis?"

"We believe it to be Atlantis, yes." Iverson nodded. "There are pages and pages of similar and even more bizarre occurrences coming in from all around the world. Seeing creatures that have never been seen. Some that have been extinct for hundreds or thousands of years, others have never called this world home. Demons are changing. Humans are changing. The world is changing, gentleman. And it's our fault." He waited for that statement to sink in before continuing. "We were in a position to stop this. We let Elliot pursue his petty and misguided vengeance because we believed that it would work for the greater good. We were willing to make huge sacrifices in the hope that the chips would fall in our favor. It was a terrible mistake."

"It's not our fault that neither Miss Summers or the rogue managed to kill the vampire," Weatherby retorted sourly. "And it's certainly not our fault that Elliot got himself killed."

"We kept him in the dark because we believed it would further unbalance his already precarious mental state. We should have told him the truth." Iverson shook his head. "We have possibly compounded the problem. If we hadn't sent the vampire to Sunnydale, foolishly believing that he wouldn't survive, he might have stayed in New Orleans indefinitely without bringing attention to himself. One of our teams would have gotten to him eventually."

"And how many men were you willing to sacrifice to that monster?" Weatherby shook his head angrily. "This whole affair has been a ridiculous farce."

"That is precisely my point." Iverson was beginning to get impatient. "We have been profoundly stupid in dealing with this matter. We should have informed Miss Summers and arranged to have Faith released from prison much earlier. We should have sent them after him instead of the other way around."

"I seem to remember that Miss Summers rather has a penchant for fucking vampires instead of killing them."

Iverson ignored Weatherby's crude remark. "Our own Slayer, Cara Sewell, is missing in action. No other Slayer has been called so we believe her to still be alive. As far as we know, William the Bloody is still in New Orleans and for the time being, he has ceased his rampage."

"Do we know what set him off?" Caldwell frowned.

"Only rumors so far. It appears that the man hired to capture him mistakenly took a woman in his place."

"He was looking for her?"

"That is what we believe."

"Why would a vampire care?"

"You forget which vampire we are dealing with." Iverson bit his tongue to keep his temper in check. "He has already defied any of our classifications. We were ill equipped to deal with him and we still are. Now it is too late."

"Can it be reversed? Can the boundaries between dimensions be repaired?"

Iverson shook his head slowly. "That is not known. It is possible that the vampire's death will reverse the flux between our world and the others but there are no guarantees."

"How bad will it become?" The quiet woman who spoke reminded Iverson of a librarian, complete with steel rimmed glasses perched on her nose. What was her name?

"Worse case scenario. Total collapse of dimensional walls. Worlds bleed together. Mankind will suffer enormous casualties. The whole earth will undoubtedly be destroyed in the struggle. Demons and monsters will roam freely." Iverson placed his hands carefully on the table. "Man will fight back. There will be war unlike any we have known. Endless, bloody."

"Nuclear?"

"Most likely. There won't be anything left of this world but ashes and demons. Because we have failed. We have failed our entire race."

"Are we sure that this is because of the vampire? I don't understand how one creature can be so important." The Librarian woman frowned.

"There are a limited number of universal truths." Iverson leaned forward in his seat. "What do you suppose would happen if the second law of Thermodynamics ceased to be a law? Just stopped. What if gravity no longer played by the rules? Pushing out rather than pulling in. Chaos. Absolute chaos. The universe itself would be rearranged to accommodate the change." Seeing that the confusion on her face hadn't lessened, he continued. "All we know is from our seer. She was quite plain that William the Bloody has broken one of those laws. A metaphysical truth. We don't know which one or how but we now have proof that it has happened."

"Why now? What has changed?"

"We don't know. It is possible that there are other factors. Other forces keeping the balance to slow the deterioration between dimensions. The first rifts were seen four years ago but they weren't considered abnormal. Like earthquakes in California. Since Cara was called, the occurrences of supernatural phenomena have increased exponentially."

"Will we continue our attempts to capture him?"

"I don't see any other option. However, we will be approaching Miss Summers about the situation." Iverson pulled back from the table. "That is all. Are there any further questions?"

Caldwell raised his fingers to signal his desire to speak. "If the vampire's death doesn't halt the collapse, do we have other options? Magic perhaps?"

"We are still looking for answers. As of right now, we have none. Let us hope we don't need any other options."

The sound of a boot tapping against the linoleum caught Dawn's attention halfway through the sentence. A Slayer boot. It had been a good sentence too, one of the more interesting parts of The Brothers Karamazov. She'd decided to get a head start on the book for her European literature class. Truthfully, she was avoiding her sister and the inevitable questions that hadn't bothered to conveniently tag themselves with the answers. She'd take What the Hell was Wrong with Dawn Now? For two hundred.

"You'll wear out a perfectly good boot," she commented without looking up.

"And you're wearing out my patience."

Dawn drew her book closer to her face. "Don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't make me ask Spike about it." Buffy's tone was threatening. "And I still haven't forgotten that you went down there in the first place. What were you thinking?"

"That he might want to see a friendly face." Dawn finally looked up, knowing she was only stalling the inevitable. "You're treating me like a child. I'm not."

"You haven't exactly shown a lot of maturity lately, Dawn." Buffy sat down on one of the stools and pulled the book out of Dawn's hands.

"Hey! I have to read that for class."

"Read later. Talk now. What's going on?"

"Nothing. I told you. Just whispers." Dawn tried to brush it off. She didn't want to admit how terrified she'd been. How her stomach had twisted into knots when she realized that Spike could hear the voice. The moment she had realized that she would never ever be entirely normal, even with Glory gone and the only known door that she fit into locked forever, she would never been ordinary. She didn't know if that meant she wasn't real or if she wasn't human. She didn't want to know anymore.

"Spike seemed concerned about it." Buffy almost choked on his name.

"Yeah. Well. He's like that. Always mollycoddling and being the big brotherly type. You know Spike." Dawn laughed, too high and too forced, and reached for her book.

Buffy kept the paperback out of her reach. "Is there anything you're not telling me? Spike said demons could hear the voice too."

"I'm not a demon." It came out with more force than Dawn had intended.

"But you are a Key."

"Not anymore." Panic edged its way into her voice.

"I'm sorry, Dawn." Buffy pushed the book across the counter with a sad shake of her head. "I'll talk to Giles. Maybe he can find more about where you came from. What you were before they gave you to me. More than last time anyway."

A lump welled up in Dawn's throat. Old pain she had thought long gone and buried crawled out to stick daggers in her heart. "Buffy."

"You're still my sister. That won't change." Buffy smiled. "We just have to figure out what's going on."

Dawn nodded, not trusting her voice enough to speak until the lump got a little smaller. "Where is Giles anyway? Did he head back to soggy old England already?"

"Doctor's office. Ethan was none too gentle with his broken arm." She reached out to brush a stray lock of hair from Dawn's face. "Don't worry. We'll take care of it. Whatever it is."

"I know. Just got used to being plain old Dawn, that's all." Dawn opened her book again and tried to find her spot. The words were blurry and her eyes refused to focus. She waited until Buffy left before putting the book down and staring out the kitchen window bleakly. It was still there, nagging at the back of her mind and tickling between her shoulder blades. The strange whispering voice that had woken her in the basement in time to see Spike a breath away from killing Cara. She knew that It had wanted him to kill her; screaming in Dawn's ears as It tried to convince the vampire to take that drink. When he hadn't, It had raged impotently in the background. All false tenderness had been stripped away; It was no longer seductive. Just furious. And evil.

The curtains breathed in the scent of the neighbor's lilacs, filling the kitchen. She wished the flowers were still there. A bright splash of color and the sweet smell of roses. Too bad flowers never lasted long enough. Like peace and comfort, they faded and withered before you were ready to let them go.

Closing her eyes against the pricking of unwelcome tears, she wished fervently that the monks hadn't done such a good job at creating her memories. Or maybe she just needed different memories. If her make-believe past had been dark and painful then it wouldn't hurt so much to remember. Wouldn't seem so hard if the past wasn't full of light and love. No nicknames, no teasing with Buffy, no picnics, no birthdays. No mother. They didn't have to give her a happy childhood, why had they bothered? Semi-happy anyway. She'd been broken by her parents divorce. Not really. But it still felt real.

This was Sunnydale. Everything weird was inevitably bad and she knew this would be the same. First, she's not a real girl, she's a Key. Then, of course she can't just be that random key that no one wants on their key ring and can't remember what it opens anyway, she has to be the one and only key that a really bitchy Hell God named Glory needs to get back to home. And that meant blood, badness, and death of the people she loved. Of course, with a handy-dandy superwitch in her pocket she could bring back the dead sister to do the horizontal mambo with the vampire who used to baby-sit her. It all got very confusing very quickly. But it ended up with Buffy being cold and angry most of the time. And alone.

Dawn shook away the gloomy storm clouds in her head and determinedly turned back to her book. The professor probably wouldn't take being a Key and hearing voices as a reason for not finishing the assigned reading. With her luck, he would probably give them a pop quiz as well.

"Hey, Dawn." Faith's voice broke into the silence. "Who's around?"

"Don't know." Dawn closed the book, watching as she shut the backdoor gently and sit down. Her face, which was still enough to give impressionable young minds nightmares about men with knives, had been greatly improved by Willow's healing spell. The bruises were gone, leaving only the thin, angry welts that had been much worse the night before. It was a chilling reminder of what had happened.

"Whatcha reading?"

"Dostoyevsky. Russian. Dark. Kinda depressing." Dawn put her hands over the cover and rested her chin on her wrists. "How're you?"

"Five by five. Will did wonders with the damage. I'm still gonna look like a spider web but at least it'll be a much smaller spider web." Her voice was breezy, covering up the tension with casual bravado. "What happened to the bastard anyway?"

"Buffy said the police came and took him away. Back to prison or wherever." Dawn shrugged. "She let Cara go. Made her promise never to come back."

"Cool. I guess."

"Where's Spike?"

"Hopefully asleep." Faith glanced out the window anxiously. "Still a few hours till sunset. Thought I'd head over after dark. See if he wanted to patrol or something."

"Yeah. Buffy said the whole demon population's been acting a little crazy. She could probably use the help."

"Be good to get back in the game. Probably scare a few vamps with the new make-over." She tapped the counter restlessly. Dark eyes turned to Dawn and her fingers stilled suddenly. "Hey, Dawn. Does Buffy still, you know, want Spike? I kinda got the whole unresolved issues vibe. What's up with that?"

"Big on the unresolved. Not that there was ever anything to resolve really. She doesn't talk about it. But I did hear that Giles totally laughed at her when she told him."

"Stuffy old Watcher Giles?"

"Yeah. Xander went postal. Naturally."

"He would."

"I wasn't too surprised. I was the first to know that he loved her. It was so obvious." Dawn picked at the cover of her book absently. "I think maybe she actually was in love with him. A little. But I don't know. She hasn't really dated anyone seriously since. It's like she's just given up on men completely."

"Too bad."

"Yeah. I've been trying to get her out there again. Not interested, I guess."

"But you don't think she's still in love with him?"

"Odds aren't good for a Buffy and Spike passion fest any time in this millennium. But there might be something there." Dawn glanced up at the Slayer. "Why? You thinking of taking the plunge into the world of undead boyfriends?"

"Nah." Faith looked down at her hands for a second. "Maybe. Would she be totally pissed if I did?"

"Wow." Dawn sat up straight on her stool. "I think this is the part where I tell you that if you hurt him, I'll beat you with a shovel. Or that's what Willow would tell you if Spike was her brother figure."

"It's not like that, Dawn." Faith blushed, looking everywhere but at Dawn. "It's just. There's something there. Maybe."

"Sparkage?"

"He's definitely a muffin."

"Is he interested?"

"Don't know. I don't think he's un-interested."

"That's something." Dawn tapped her book on the counter. Would Buffy care? There was always that slim chance that she'd totally wig out and try to kill Faith again. Not that Dawn had been around for that whole soap opera either. "Don't know what to tell you, Faith. She doesn't exactly let people in." It was impossible to keep the taint of bitterness out of her voice.

"Guess there's only one way to find out." Faith resumed her nervous rhythm, fingernails clicking against the countertop. "Not looking for death do us part or anything. Just a little bit of fun. And he doesn't care about the face issue, which is a good thing considering you know. Can't imagine a lot of guys not caring that I look like the Bride of Frankenstein."

Dawn stretched, biting back a yawn. "I say go for it. You too probably have a lot in common. More than Spike and Buffy do anyway."

"See? You should totally go for it. I'll run interference with Buffy if she decides to go psycho ex-girlfriend on your ass."

"Used to be evil, blood of the innocent on our hands. Buffy's tried to kill us both at some point and the Scoobies all hated us most of the time." Faith was smiling as she ticked off the things she and the vampire had in common.

"Assuming he's interested."

"Make him an offer he can't refuse." Dawn glanced at her watch. "You've still got a few hours. We could totally find you a really slutty outfit to wear."

Faith motioned to her face. "Does it really matter what I wear if I look like I took on the spinning end of a lawnmower?"

"You look tons better." Dawn grabbed her hand. "You're taller than Buffy so you can borrow some of my stuff. It's a little conservative. Buffy still freaks at my clothes. But I'm sure we can find something." She pulled the slightly nervous, slightly excited Faith up the stairs to her bedroom and started into the closet. "Is he still into black and leather?"

"I don't think so. I've seen him in jeans and moderate color." Faith grabbed the pair of jeans Dawn threw in her direction.

"Skirt is definitely the way to go. Not too short though." Dawn pulled out a handful of skirts, holding them up to the mirror by their hangers. "Too long? Too short? What do you think?"

Faith reached out, touching one of the soft floral skirts softly. "I like this one. It's pretty." Her cheeks flushed and she pulled her hand away quickly.

"That's it then." Dawn tossed the skirt onto the bed, wondering at the choice of the pale blue with white and pink flowers. "I usually wear white with it. And sandals." She pulled the halter top out, draping it over the skirt, and searched for a pair of strappy heels. Sixties style with thick wooden heels, they lent a certain carefree air to the outfit. "You won't be able to do any slaying in them but they make your legs look good."

Faith was holding the skirt nervously, eyes darting back and forth from the mirror to the fabric. "Thanks, Dawn

"Next. Hair and make up."

"I don't think-"

"You asked for help. I'm helping." Dawn pushed her down onto the bed and climbed up behind her with a hairbrush. "He may be on a red liquid diet but he's definitely still a guy." She wound her fingers through Faith's hair, trying to decide on the best course of action. Faith looked both bewildered and happy.

"You didn't have any sisters, huh?" Dawn asked casually as she pulled the bristles through the short dark hair.

"Never had any family. Well, my mom. She didn't really count."

"Didn't know I was there." Faith was stiff, her voice quiet. "Sheshe didn't really want me. I had my Watcher. After I was called. But she was killed. Vampire. He...he..."

"You don't have to talk about it."

"He made this look like nothing." Faith gestured toward her face. "I saw it. I couldn't stop him."

"But you got away."

"Yeah."

"That's good. Cause you're here now. And you'll have your own family someday." Dawn wrapped her arms around Faith's shoulders and smiled into the mirror. "And you have us. The Scoobies. We're sort of family. Not that anyone in their right mind would want us." Pulling away, she returned to the fifty strokes she was working on. "And after tonight you'll have a very hot boyfriend to do all those things that Buffy doesn't think I know about."

"You're a rebel." Faith smiled again.

They chatted idly about boys and college as Dawn expertly teased Faith's hair into a modern, sophisticated look. A curling iron added just a touch of pizzazz to the ends of the locks. Dawn hadn't realized the extent of Faith's injuries until she had the Slayer model the outfit. There were still bruises fading on her legs, bared by the knee length skirt and no amount of bracelets could cover up the scars around her wrists. The white halter top was only tied with what could have been a shoelace in the back, leaving the diagonal slashes across her back clearly visible. Her shock must have been evident on her face because Faith turned around to get a look at her back in the mirror.

"Damn. I knew it hurt like a bitch," Faith sighed. "He never said anything. Just told me I was beautiful. Liar."

"He's like that." Dawn had no trouble imagining Spike saying just that, regardless of the wounds.

"Hey, you were right. These shoes do make my legs look hot. Except for the big purple marks of course." Faith grinned as she spun around slowly in front of the mirror.

"And you're not going to be worried about your scars. I'm sure he won't care."

"He's already seen them all." Faith smoothing the skirt carefully, still transfixed by her image.

"Accessories next." Dawn opened her jewelry box and dug through it for the set Willow had given her for her eighteenth birthday. A string of illusion pearls with just a hint of blue in them and matching earrings. She slipped the necklace around Faith's neck, carefully setting the clasp before handing over the earrings. "You probably don't even need make up. Just a touch up here and there."

Faith blushed, remaining quiet as Dawn fussed over her make up. The teen tried to be extra gentle as she brushed on an earth tone blush. "It's Rhubarb. Weird name, disgusting plant, great shade." Darker, richer eye shadow; just a hint over her eyelids and mascara. "You've got great eyes, you don't even need eyeliner at all. All those lashes."

"Thanks." Faith fidgeted nervously before giving Dawn an awkward hug. "I mean it. Thanks. No one's ever done anything like this for me."

"You look great. He won't be able to resist you." Dawn pulled her back in front of the mirror for a look at the total transformation. "See? Beautiful. You're a Spike magnet. Spike superglue. Better than fresh blood with Wheatabix."

"Not gonna ask about that last one."

"This is so cool. Buffy never lets me dress her up." Dawn wrapped her arms around Faith and smiled into the mirror. It felt nice. She couldn't do this with Buffy. They chatted, they went to movies, they had girl nights, but Buffy was always somewhere else. She was more of a mother than a sister. It wasn't her fault but Dawn still missed having a sister who was just that.

"Dawn?" Buffy's voice startled them. "Faith? What are you doing?"

"Hey B." Faith moved out of Dawn's embrace self-consciously. "Little sis was just helping me get prettied up. What do you think?"

"It's different. For you." Buffy's smile was puzzled. "What's the occasion?"

"Nothing."

"She's making a move." Dawn glanced over quickly, suddenly unsure if she was supposed to be saying anything. Faith looked slightly panicked.

"Who's the lucky guy?"

"No one."

"Spike." It was already out before Dawn registered what Faith had said. She watched the two women stare at each other for a minute, not saying anything. Buffy was completely still, hand gripping the doorframe tightly. Faith had turned her eyes to the carpet, studying her toes.

Buffy finally broke the silence. "Oh. I guess it's really none of my business." She turned away, pausing just beyond the door. "Good luck. I think." She disappeared into her room.

"That wasn't so bad," Dawn said cheerfully.

"Yeah. She didn't try to stake my ass."

"Grab some grub and head over there. It'll be the best wake up call he's ever had." Dawn pushed her into the hallway and toward the stairs. "And don't be home until morning, at least. I want you out and about and having the time of your life."

"You're one crazy ass chick, Dawn."

"But you love me, I know. Now get." Dawn grinned as she hurried the Slayer into the kitchen. "And remember the shovel."

"Shovel, check. Don't hurt the vampire."

"Don't beat him up either."

"Check."

"And have lots and lots of hot monkey sex."

"Dawn!"

It's a long hard road out of Hell. If you've ever been there, you know what I'm talking about. The flat on your back staring at the ceiling with bloodshot eyes and a mouth full of cotton, head beating out a primal rhythm of pain, nerves replaced by red hot needles digging in under your skin kind of Hell. You'll promise any God who'll listen that you'll never touch another drop, never look at another woman with anything less than respect, help the old ladies across the street, and go to mass each Sunday if the pain will just end. Pick a God, any God, pray until your knees are bruised and bloody; you'll still be flat on your back in Hell and with any luck you'll get a few stripes to go with those bruises.

Been here before. A couple of times at least. After Glory dug around my ribcage, after my swan dive from the tower that left Dawn bleeding and one Slayer dead. Lying in the alley behind the Sunnyhell PD, lying in the caves of Africa. I'm an old pro at Hell, one of these days I'll get myself a badge and visor, set up a goddamn tour of the place and sell tickets. To the left, circle one and that Greek poofter Homer; should be there for bloody lack of talent, making poor sods suffer through the Odyssey, double penalty for the Iliad. On your right, level eight and home to the fraudulent, wave hello to Pope Nicolas III. He can't wave back but he can kick his feet a little. Poor bugger. Maybe I'll brush up on my Dante when the herd of buffalo in my head stops the fucking stampede. Maybe I'll just see how many people I can help on their way to the grave via second hand smoke and send a few of my relatives to whichever level of Hell vampires go to when we dust. All nine of which look better than the inside of my eyelids.

Days like this are the ones that leave you questioning the many virtues of reality and quality of life. Although in most cases the sentence to Hell has been well earned. If I'd gotten drunk and taken on half a dozen Fyarls, I'd at least be lying here with a sense of satisfaction. Suffering the morning after without the revelry of the night before takes all the appeal out of it. What's this world coming to when you go to sleep one morning and wake up at sunset feeling like shit? I could think of a more eloquent turn of phrase. Hit by a Greyhound. Run over by an Amtrak. The usuals. Bug, windshield. You get the picture.

Someone's banging away in the background, sending ripples of pain through my head. Where's a railroad spike when you need one? Assuming I could actually move enough to get out of bed and find the source of the noise. Bed? Where the fuck am I?

"Mr. Davis? It's Judy." Landlady. Apartment? Sweet lady, not too heavy on the intelligence scale but comforting and solid in that old fashioned, Pillsbury Grandma way. There was a note. I can't remember what it said.

"You had a package delivered. I signed for it." Her homemade apple pie voice is getting louder, sounding more like screech owls rattling in my ears. "Oh my! Are you alright? You look dreadful."

I think I managed some sort of groan. Maybe. It must have been pathetic because she started fussing like a mother hen. Crazy bint chattering incessantly about her grandma's remedies while she plumps up one of the pillows and pulls a blanket over my shoulders like a bloody child. I'm old enough to be her grandma's grandfather. Is she completely off her gourd? No, I don't want hot tea. Or a cold compress. I'm a horrible, terrifying, evil demon. At least I will be when I can move again. Damn.

"Do you have anyone to take care of you, dear?"

Just bring me a stake and I'll take care of myself, end this torment once and for all. At least I wouldn't have to listen to her yapping anymore.

"I'll bring over some chicken noodle soup. Just lie still and rest." She's gone. Finally. I should get up and lock the bloody door. Should. Can't. I wish I was dead.

"Hey. How's Bugsy?" Xander fixed his friendliest smile in place, hands stuffed in his pockets as he pretended to survey the selection of donuts. One couldn't be too choosy. What type of donut they liked said a lot about a person. Jelly filled, hot, glazed, chocolate, sprinkles; they all had meaning and required careful selection.

"He, um, hewell." The cute brunette behind the counter frowned and nervously adjusted the hat she wore as part of her uniform. Her nametag read Jane. Xander liked it. Nice, simple. Very non-demony.

"Did I just ask one of those questions? Like asking someone in a suit who died and then finding out they're going to their grandfather's funeral."

"No. It's just" Jane stopped again and shook her head. "My shift ends in fifteen. Could you wait around? I mean, I'm not going to go all Wolverine on you or anything if you can't. If you have plans, that's fine."

"No plans whatsoever. Completely plan free."

"Great. Thanks." She flashed him a smile and disappeared into the back of the donut shop.

"Not a date," Xander murmured as he slipped into one of the booths, fiddling with the latest promotion flyer and watching people move past the door. "Not a date. No dinner, no candlelight, no roses. Hence, no date. Maybe her cat's sick. Or she needs a cat sitter." He wasn't even sure he liked cats but he couldn't probably learn to like them if it meant getting on the good side of the cat owner. He was surprised when she flipped the closed sign over the door and untied her apron. Another hesitant smile and she was sitting across the table from him. "You're early."

"Slow night. Not big on the donut demand. Been thinking of spiking the batter. Maybe a little cocaine in with the powdered sugar."

"Keeps the customers coming back for more. Good plan."

"Except for that whole part where the cops figure out my sinister plot and it's off to the land of barred windows and hunter orange jumpsuits where some Xena wannabe makes me her bitch."

"There's that."

"Yeah." She tapped her fingers for a second, glancing down at her nails and then hiding her hands, as though she was ashamed of them. "So. Who are you?" She winced. "That sounded a lot more suave in my head. You know, all Bond girl. The new Bond girls that is. Nothing with Roger Moore, cause they were all brainless tramps."

"Harris. Xander Harris." Xander grinned and held out his hand. "Donut connoisseur. I work construction but it's really just a hobby. At night I'm a crime fighting hero."

"Super powers?"

"I'm working on laser vision. Hard on the eyes."

"Cool. I'm Jane Liddle." She shook his hand firmly before putting her hands back in her lap. "With a d, as in put a lid on it, not a t. My parents really didn't know ahead of time I wasn't ever going to qualify for the WNBA."

"Teased?" He hadn't noticed her height but now he realized she was probably shorter than Buffy.

"From kindergarten to high school. So much for equality and fair treatment of the vertically challenged. How'd the whole adolescent gig treat you?"

"Basic zeppo type."

"Jimmy Olsen?"

"The comparison has been made."

"Without the cross-dressing, I assume. Not that you wouldn't look smashing in a tube top and mini combo."

"Haven't had to chart that territory just yet." Xander laughed, trying to picture himself on patrol with Buffy in a pair of heels. Most of the time he couldn't believe the shoes she wore. How did she run in those things? "Would you like to grab a cup of coffee sometime? Maybe hit the Bronze. Not literally, of course. Unless you've got a tank stashed in your back pocket. That could be fun."

"Cool. Yeah." She fidgeted in the booth for a second, not meeting his eyes and gnawing at her fingernail.

"Are you okay? What about your cat?"

"You grew up here, right?"

"Yeah." Xander took a deep breath. He had a pretty good idea where this was heading.

"I know this isn't a normal town. That there are things happening here that people don't talk about. They look the other way. Like Roswell and Area 51. Only I think the military's gone now."

"Now? When were they here?" Feigning ignorance was always a good option.

"Army brat here. I can spot Marine training a mile away and there's no way those guys were just pampered frat boys." Jane shook her head. "They've been gone for a couple of years."

"A couple? As in two? As in less than, oh I don't know, six or seven?" The Initiative was long gone. He'd been there when it finally went down in a hail of gunfire and demon blood.

"They were here for a while then? You knew about them." The main problem with intelligent women was that they were, well, intelligent. He'd have to watch his words more carefully.

Xander held up his hands. "Wait. I didn't say that. Just wondering."

"I moved here three years ago. To go to school. I noticed a couple guys who didn't seem to fit in. Disappeared after a year or so. But there's been other weird stuff. Like all the creepy deaths and disappearances around here. And sometimes, even when you know someone's dead, you could swear you've seen them walking around at night. You know?"

"I've heard stories." Definitely not a safe topic of conversation, Xander thought. "How does this relate to your cat?"

"He's been watching me lately. Not the usual cat staring thing where they follow you around and wait for you to feed them. Real watching. Like he's trying to tell me something. Or maybe he's waiting for something to happen." She folded her arms on the table, resting her chin on her elbow. "I thought maybe, since you've been here longer, that you might know someone I can talk to. I've tried the vet. He just spouts a whole lot of mumbo jumbo about blood pressures and chemical balances. I need someone who isn't pulling an ostrich."

Xander smiled, reaching out to touch her arm comfortingly. Just a brush against warm, tanned skin. Gotta love those California girls. "No problem. One cat detective coming up."

"Thanks." She brightened and sat up straight, brown eyes shining. "Hey, it's not that late. We could catch a movie or something."

"Movie would be great."

"Popcorn?"

"Only if augmented with licorice."

"Two of the four food groups."

He slid out of the booth and started for the front door. "What are the others?"

"Swedish Fish and Dr. Pepper." Jane pulled off her hat, folding it carefully and starting on the hairpins. "Have to stay well rounded. Ready?"

"Ready." Xander left the donut shop with half a smile, listening to Jane talk about the places she had lived growing up. The hare-brained idea of asking her out hadn't gone too badly. And Willow probably wouldn't mind looking at Jane's cat. What could be wrong with a furry little kitty? Of course, that was the kind of question that usually ended up leading to all sorts of Hellmouth badness.

Crossing the street, he realized that he hadn't heard from Willow or Buffy that day. Not too unusual. They all had their own lives outside of the things that went bump in the night. Tomorrow would be soon enough.