"So, this feels a lot like last time, huh?" Anya said a few minutes into their walk.

"Were you just reading my mind?" He glared suspiciously.

"What? No, seriously, this time I wasn't."

He grunted and walked a little faster.

"Let me guess, now you're thinking that you want to get rid of me as soon as possible?" Anya was still giddy from the rush of spilling her thoughts out to him—giddy and dizzy and a little sick, but also a little free. She was aching to reach out and listen to his thoughts, or just catch his mood, only for a moment, but she was trying to channel her burst of adrenaline into self-control.

"Wrong. Your powers must be slipping."

Anya wrinkled her nose, about to object to his insulting tone—but then she realized what he had just said. He wasn't eager to get rid of her. She imagined his body pressed up against hers like it had been and sighed.

He looked back at her and frowned. "Why are you doing that stupid smile? Stop it, it's worse than your psychic face."

"I have a psychic face?"

"Yeah, it's like this." He stared into space blankly and widened his eyes (a dramatic feat, since they were already so large).

"I look like that when I'm being psychic? Gross."

His face fell, and she realized how her words sounded. "I mean, imagining me with that look seems gross. You're… not… gross." She giggled and somehow couldn't stop.

"Are you drunk?"

"No. I don't think so. You drank three beers, though."

"What are you, my mum?
"Definitely not." Anya realized that her words had come out vaguely suggestive, although she wasn't sure what she was suggesting. Toad raised his eyebrows, and she wondered if he was intrigued.

"You're acting like a freak." Her hopes fell, and her teasing mood began to fade. Did he really feel only scorn for her? It hadn't felt like that at the club, but now his brooding, silent act was getting to her. She was so insecure without her powers.

"I wish you'd walk faster," Toad said irritably.

"Make me." The words popped out before she thought about it, an experience that had happened more in the past few weeks than in her entire life previously.

Toad stopped and turned to look at her. "Did you just say 'make me'?"

"Um, no." An orphan giggle escaped her lips.

"Yes you did." He stepped closer to her, his broad shoulders tensing, walking with slow, purposeful steps. It was pretty threatening, truth be told.

"Stop, that's scary."

"I'm scary, love. A scary freak. Remember?" He jerked his head to the side and flicked his tongue out of his mouth. She recognized that this was a familiar mode for him—defense mode. Intimidation mode. Joke to be scary, joke before other people could.

Anya felt nervous energy that could express itself in any manner of ways. When he was just a few steps away, she stuck her hands out and grabbed his arms. She had thought to hold him away from her in fear, but when her hands touched him, they didn't push him away. They just stayed, looking small and white against the dark, broad backdrop of his sweatshirt-clad arms.

"Is that the best fighting back you could do? Pathetic!" His voice was cocky, but his muscles were now tensing in an awkward way instead of a menacing one. He was holding still, trying not to move, not knowing how to move. She didn't read his mind. She just knew.

"I'm not fighting." She mustered her last bit of bravery and insanity and slid her hands down his arms until they rested in his big, cold, familiar hands. His fingers curled around hers like a reflex, and suddenly their pose had completely changed. Anya had the sense of watching from the outside again, watching their bodies come together so strangely.

"Why are you doing this?" he burst out, shattering her sweet mental image.

"I don't know. I don't even know what I'm doing."

"You're playing me because you know you can. You're flirting and teasing and it makes me sick."

Anya's stomach turned and shame burned in her face. She was about to pull her hands back and flee when her psychic mind, unable to shut off completely when strong feelings were present, felt what Toad really meant.

"Why does it make you sick? Why do you think I'm teasing?"

"Because I know you don't want any of this."

"Any of what?"

"You're just being stupid now. Walk yourself home." He stared to jerk his hands back, but Anya tightened her grasp and wouldn't release them.

"No!"

"I'm not your bloody bodyguard. I can leave."

"Don't, please." She threw away her dignity and kept his hands. "I have a question."

"What now?'

"What was the 'or something'?" She had found a memory that gave her hope. She knew what he wanted. She was getting close to knowing what she wanted, too.

"You said we could be friends 'or something'."

"I don't know. Don't be so bloody literal."

"I want the 'or something'."

"You can't want just something. You're barmy, and I'm going home."

"I… I…" Anya knew what she wanted to say, but she couldn't make herself.

"What?" He twitched impatiently, but didn't try to pull his hands back again.

"I want you." Anya yanked her hands out of his and covered her face. She had thought that telling him her feelings from the night was hard and embarrassing, but that was nothing compared to this. She was offering herself up for rejection or scorn, with no way out. Big paragraphs of description were open to interpretation or context. There was no mistaking the three words she had just said.

She peeked out between her fingers and saw him standing in front of her, stunned, his hands still out like they were expecting to be filled.

"What for?" he suddenly said.

"What?"

"What do you want me for?"

"I don't know…"

"A slave? An accountant? A cable guy?"

"What?"

"You're being rather vague."

"I don't know what I…" She covered her face again. "Damn."

He laughed. "You're weirder than I thought." He paused. "I thought you wanted me to take you home."

"I do." She cautiously let her hands fall.

"Let's go." She walked behind him, feeling like a puppy trailing after its master and considering banging her head against something so that the temptation to find out what he was thinking about her would be gone.