A/N: Thanks so much for all the comments, guys. I love them and they make me want to update! FYI, my account is pretty much four years old...so if you want recent, up-to-date stuff...go to for all my fics. If you have an LJ, def add me for up-to-the-minute fic updates! Thanks 3

- - -

Immediately there is furor all around them.

"You saw me as a big blue thing? And you're sure I was evil?"

"Okay, maybe you weren't explicitly evil. But you were definitely standoffish. You had that badass prowl thing that Connor--" Cordelia stops, glancing at Angel. "This guy I once knew, had." Her eyes are far-away, remembering. "Then you picked up Spike by the throat, slab he was attached to and all, and threw him across the room. Called him the shell's intimate."

"I am not intimate with shells, nor have I ever been," Spike says indignantly. "I may be a deviant, but I draw the line at inanimate objects. Most inanimate objects," he adds as an afterthought.

"We believe you," Buffy soothes. "I think it just means that whatever takes over my body does just that: takes over my body. Nothing left of me in there, and that's definitely dangerous. Slayer body with a demon inside it? Of the bad, no good, horrible variety. But look, guys. This vision doesn't necessarily have to come true. You get them so we you can prevent what you see from happening, right, Cordelia? So all we have to do is prevent a few key things from coming to pass, and yay--apocalypse averted." She straightens, squares her shoulders. "We can do this, easy-peasy, and hey. What does that mean anyway? That's a really silly term, peas are in no way easy--"

"Buffy, you can't be so casual about this," Angel interrupts. "Things in LA are different than they were in Sunnydale. The evil isn't so overt--it's gonna take a lot of digging and we don't have time for quips."

Spike feigns shock. "Really, bossman. There's always time for quips."

Buffy sighs. "Okay, I'm focusing. I can focus and quip at the same time--maybe not chew gum all at once, too, but focusing and quipping, can do. Cordy, how long do we have?"

Cordelia sighs. "God. I haven't done the sleuthing thing in along time--so used to the visions just telling me what's up." She arches a brow. "Is that lazy of me?"

Angel gives her a reassuring grin. "The twenty bottles we went through a month of Excedrin Migraine tell me no," he says.

Cordelia smiles back, warmly. Like they're friends, too, not only almost-could-be lovers. Buffy feels shock skitter through her once again, and not only because again, Cordy and Angel ("Hello, salty goodness?" Who ever thinks anything could come of that?), but also because the look on Cordelia's face is a lot like the look Buffy has seen before on Spike's face. Like she's talking to her best friend.

That Buffy could ever have been, could ever be, Spike's best friend sends something incredible right through her heart. Because when they're standing like this, shoulder to shoulder, silently communicating through warm touches and knowing glances, she thinks that Spike could be one of her best friends one day, too. The sort of best friend she smooches, of course, provided the big mystery hullaballoo is solved in time. Buffy shakes her head slightly and tries guiltily to tune into Cordelia's speech. She's really got stop wandering off into uncharted territories of Buffy-brain. It's never conducive to a) people losing the impression of her that she's incredibly stupid, and b) knowing what's up when the chaos starts brewin'.

Cordelia's eyes are squinty as she tries to recall her vision. "I think the people in the club were celebrating something. A birthday. There was balloons...confetti. People yukking it up. There was a banner or something. A banner with... something..." Cordelia closes her eyes, thinks. "Yeah, a birthday greeting...it said Happy Twentieth Birthday! in all those tacky shiny letter thingies. And there's a seriously gross color scheme--purples and lime greens everywhere. Yuck--would it kill to use a little class when it comes to party planning? The seventies were pretty much, oh, thirty years ago."

Angel frowns. "What about the guy in the vision? Did you get his name? The girlfriend was a Jane, or Jen. But what about the guy? He could be vital."

Cordelia squints. "I think she was saying a name as she was, well... bleeding to death," she confirms. "Maybe it was the guy's name? Or the demon's? Pike, so I'm inclined to think: demon, but then, parents are pretty progressive these days."

Buffy and Dawn both stop short. "Pike?" they say in unison.

"Well, it's either that or Ike. Maybe Spice? I don't know, I'm not some kind of a private detective!" She cocks her head. "Anymore."

"Cordelia, come on. Was it Pike, are you sure?" Buffy asks urgently. How much would it figure that this big evil involves one of her exes? Throw Riley in the batch, and it'd be the funnest party ever! Although she probably wouldn't mind sacrificing Parker to a bunch of demons, but she doesn't make that well-known.

"It's Pike. It was so unusual, I guess it's sticking with me. Oh, you would know, wouldn't you, Buffy?" Cordelia gives a pointed look.

"Of course, Cordelia, especially since I know him." Buffy sighs. "Dammit. Just please let him not be a demon-worshipper."

"Buffy?" Spike asks. "Who's this Pike fellow?" His eyes are narrowed and he looks a bit put out, which would be charming if it weren't so dumb.

Buffy arches a brow. "Down, bleached-with-envy. It's the guy you were so charmingly accusing me of flirting with earlier."

"Soul patch?" Spike asks incredulously. "He's our big link to defeating this evil?"

"Pike was here?" Dawn questions, her eyes scanning the room. Buffy remembers that Dawn had a rager of a crush on Pike once upon a ten year old dream, and she stifles a sigh. Prepubescent, whiny Dawn was so much easier than seventeen year old, having of the teenage body parts Dawn.

"Who's Pike?" Angel asks piteously, his expression a little grumpy. Buffy has to hide a smile, even though she's groaning on the inside. Look at all the jealous guys, she thinks bemusedly, except that he's the one who dumped me, and the other one died and came back without letting me know. Stupid jealous guys!

Buffy passes a hand over her face. "An ex, of course," she mumbles. "Shoot. He was here!" She looks around and prays he still is. "Okay, listen. Dawn, Spike, you two know what Pike looks like. You guys comb the crowd and outside the bar, see if you can find him."

"I was like, ten, when I last saw him, Buffy." Dawn protests, but the tell-tale gleam is in her eyes as she rakes a hand through her long hair. Gunn looks a little ticked.

"He still looks the same, Dawnie. 'Cept he grew a soul patch and he's wearing an updated thrasher tee-shirt and oh god, if you still think he's hot I have no faith left in your taste in men. Spike? Look after her." Spike looks at her for a moment, clearly not liking being sent on an errand looking for Buffy's ex. "Please."

"Always do, pet," Spike finally sighs, then, his hand at Dawn's elbow, he guides her through the crowd as they begin to look for Pike.

"Okay," Buffy says, turning back to the group. "From what I remember, Pike's birthday is...what's today? The...oh my god. His birthday is in three days! Three days. Okay, alright, that's longer than I've gotten for some apocalypses, I can do this...wait, what if it isn't his birthday they're celebrating anyway? He's not twenty. Why didn't you listen when he was talking to you, Buffy? Stupid Slayer attention span!"

"Buffy." Fred's hand is on Buffy's shoulder. "Hey, there. You don't have to stress out, okay? Having an embolism would be really bad, although I suppose it would get you out of bein' the host to some parasitic demon, but--the point is. You don't have to do it alone."

"Yeah, girl. We got your back," Gunn confirms, giving her a smile that doesn't nervously twitch for once.

"He's right, Buffy," Angel says quietly. "We're gonna make sure this vision doesn't come into fruition."

"I'm okay," Buffy protests. "I'm not worried--" Just a little hyperactive, but there are medicines for that. Like Valium. Ooh, Slaying on Valium. That's an acid trip waiting to happen. Buffy probably should be worried at the way her thoughts tend to derail, but she's too busy derailing to care.

"Puh-lease," Cordelia scoffs, breaking through Buffy's momentary distraction. "You're not worried that I saw you as the empty shell being taken over by an ancient demon?"

"She fought the very First Evil, sweetlips," Lorne chimes in. "I'm betting our Buffy isn't too rattled by something she's determined not to let happen. Good for you, kiddo--you're starting to understand destiny is what you make of it."

"I stopped worrying about dying a long time ago," Buffy says quietly. It's true. After The First Evil, everything else feels small potatoes. Buffy isn't just unafraid of dying though--more like, she's afraid of not living while she's alive. "It doesn't mean I don't take this seriously. I know if that thing takes over a Slayer's body, then we're all in deep doodoo. And I don't want Pike dead, or any of those clubgoers dead, either. But we have to think rationally and positively, okay? It doesn't have to be the end of the world."

Fred smiles. "Truer words never spoken," she says. "I really like your optimism, y'know?"

"Thanks," Buffy smiles back. "I like it, too, keeps me saner than--well, not sane. Now, listen." She sighs, thinking hard. "Okay, we have little to no time to figure out things. First things first, we need to track down both the sarcophagus and the location of the bar." Buffy stops. "Angel, Wolfram & Hart has a lot resources, right?"

"The best," Angel affirms. "We're at your disposal."

"Oh." Buffy's eyes are wide. "No, I didn't think--Angel, this is your thing, I'm sorry, I didn't mean--"

"No, don't worry," Angel says. "You're...doing a good job. Maybe it's time I let someone else take the reigns for a bit. Might keep people alive for once." His eyes burn with past recriminations, and maybe Buffy doesn't want to kiss him anymore, but she does want to hug him and tell him she understands. She settles for a small, shadowed smile.

"Doubt it." she says. "I have the same unfortunate tendency to get people killed as you."

"Well, that's encouraging," Wesley interjects dryly. "Believe us, Buffy. If we were to listen to anyone else's unorthodox methods besides Angel's, we're glad it's a Slayer's. The Slayer's." His smile is almost proud, and Buffy feels a little bit of regret that she doesn't know what Wes is like anymore, not as a colleague or a Watcher. She thinks they may one day have been friendly, even, given the chance. Would like the chance, after this all. With all of them.

"Well...good." Buffy says, touched. "Unorthodox method one: I need someone at Wolfram & Hart to dig up as much info on Pike as possible. Including his girlfriends. Uh, excepting me, of course. Illegal is your middle name up there, right? So don't worry about anything untoward."

"I can do that," Fred volunteers. "Although, it sorts bears mentioning that my middle name is Maryanna. Anyhow, I'm awfully good with the computer hacking if there's nothing scientific around to concoct, and my moral compass kinda tinkers out when I enter that building. Or at least, it will for this."

Buffy nods. "Good going," she says, even though her biggest concern is that Fred's whole name is Winifred Maryanna Burkle and four whole syllables longer than her own. Almost puts Anya's old alias to shame, and if there's a small pang in Buffy's heart at the mention of her old sorta-friend, no one else will ever know. This would be just the sort of operation the ex-demon-turned-demon-again-turned-human would appreciate. Buffy sends a silent prayer that whatever she's doing will save other people from losing friends like Anya, and then gets back into the game. "Okay, so, we should actually probably set up base at Wolfram & Hart. I'm gonna need Gunn to follow up leads on that sarcophagus. Find out everything you can about it. That is one of the most important pieces to this entire puzzle."

Gunn assents, looking sheepish. "I got it," he said. "And I, uh, promise not to sign anything without thinkin' again."

"Beneficial thoughts, lawyer boy," Buffy says. "Wes? I need you to find out what you can about the Well thingy, and--hey. Does Wolfram & Hart have private jets?"

Angel answers. "Better believe it."

Cordelia gapes. "Really? When this mess is over, it's so Paris for us, buster!"

Buffy gives a small grin. "Great. Well, why don't the two of you take a mini-vacation for now to the Well's location--when Wes finds it, of course. Hit up this graveskeeper for any info about the Old One who may have been stolen. Mention blueness, ask for things like names, origins, followers, weaknesses. Yeah, weaknessess are a plus. Okay?"

Angel nods. "Sounds good." His eyes look admiring, Cordy's too (albeit grudgingly), and Buffy blooms a little under their impressed gazes. She's not some sixteen year old moron anymore--she's a big girl now. 'Bout time they all realized it. Her tone gets more authoratative, and she works to keep an even keel to her voice. No use getting all shouty when it's not thirty teenage girls she's talking to--just a bunch of emotionally stunted twenty-somethings or immortals who act like teenage girls.

"Lorne, I need you working the underground demon info train. Find out all you can about anything big that's supposed to go down in a club setting. And I don't mean a gig-big. I mean end-of-the-world big. Mention Pike's name, see if it rings a couple of bells. Damn, if only I could remember his club's name--"

Lorne nods. "Easy, sugar. Not a problem. What about you? What are your well-manicured fists of fury gonna be doing?"

Buffy frowns in thought. "Well, while we wait for the apocalypse, someone's gotta patrol. Right? And I've been jonesin' for some vampiric smackdowns for a long time. I guess, point me to choice vamp spots, and I'll be on my way."

"I'll join," Spike chimes in. Buffy turns and her eyes dim as she sees Pike is not with Dawn or him. "He left ten minutes ago," Spike explains at Buffy's downcast look. "Little bit asked the bouncer." He gives Dawn a reproving eye. "Chatted the meathead up, more like."

Dawn shrugs. "If you had boobs, you'd use 'em, too."

Buffy can't disagree, and from the look on Spike's face, neither can he. They both shake their heads to rid themselves of the disturbing thoughts, and Buffy speaks.

"He's gone?" she asks, despaired. "Well. Nevermind. Fred's gonna track him down, and I have faith in her abilities." She tries to smile brightly, racking her mind for anything she knows of her elusive ex.

Spike smiles fondly. "So do I, have faith in her abilities. Brought me back, didn't she?" Fred smiles shyly back, and Buffy is struck by all she doesn't know about Spike's bond with Team Angel. All she still doesn't know about Spike. He knows her so well; and she never let herself know him--how will they ever work with so much she doesn't understand?

Buffy sighs; now's not the time to think about it--she should just be glad there's no more testosterone shows bandying about. God, it was like a bad episode of the newest and edgiest shows, set in the most trendy of cities with the hottest of leading men--

Then something clicks.

"Wait! New York! I know Pike said he spends time in New York. In fact--" Buffy slaps her forehead. "I remember now! Lorne, the club's called Chosen, somewhere in New York City. I of all people should've remembered that. Find out what you can about it, and any parties happening there in the next few days. I'm almost positive that's what we're looking for." She shakes her head and frets. "I'm so dumb. He laid it all out in front of me. He wanted me to come. What if he's in trouble with the cult and that was his cry for help? I ignored it!"

"You're not dumb and you didn't ignore anything, love. How did you know your ex was gonna end up being vital to an evil plot?" Spike tries to comfort her, his voice cajoling.

"Uh, because it's me and this stuff always seems to happen?" Buffy says. "I killed one," she says, pointing to Angel, who looks mortified. "And come to think about it, I killed another, too." Spike grimaces at this and does that patented my-girl's-falling-apart-like-a-crazy-person look. Buffy continues to rant. "And hey, I ran off quite a few guys, too! This is just keeping with tradition--not only did I run Pike off, I also am getting him killed." Buffy shakes her head and whines slightly. "All I wanted was a nice vacation. The only stressful thing was gonna be whomping you about the whole lying-about-your-resurrection thing. But nooo. Some stupid demon clan's got to make a ritualistic sacrifice." Her pout intensifies. "Someone is going to pay so bad."

Dawn wraps and arm around Buffy's shoulders. "You bet. I can scream at the loser when we find them, if you want."

Buffy, having been on the recieving end of Dawn's sonic blare of a voice, gives a weak smile. "Yeah, that'd be nice retribution," she agrees. "Okay."

Spike grins. "Don't be in a strop, pet. I have an idea that will make everything better." His eyes shine with that gleam he always used to get when he got particularly devilish ideas. "Let's go to New York tonight."

Immediately again, there is furor. Of the non-furor-ish sort. In fact, it's a flurry of appalled voices and shocked tones. Like Spike has had a good idea for once.

"That's not a bad idea," Wesley says carefully. Buffy rolls her eyes and prepares to say that yes, yes it is a bad idea, because Scooby road trips? Never good.

"See? I had a not bad idea," Spike smirks. "Thanks, Percy. Look--I'm telling you, Buffy. Leave Wolfram & Hart up to the A-Team here. All the real action's in the city that never sleeps. I miss the place, to be honest. All those starving artists and their bloody creative impulses--felt really at home. Before I ate them, of course." Spike's eyes are wistful, and it's a testament to how far gone Buffy is even now in the throes of an apocalypse that her heart thumps a little at how hot he looks when his eyes are so faraway.

Buffy squints, shaking herself out of her severely innappropriate moment. "Of course," she scowls. "Greenwich Village was a five-course meal, huh?" She taps her foot. "And I veto this idea. It's a stinky idea, and that's not a fun pun about New York subways and sewage and smelly muggers and taxi pollution and ew. We can't all go to New York tonight. Or soon--or maybe ever--we've got things to do! Research and prep and slayage--"

"Put a pipe in it, Buffy." Cordelia interrupts. "God. You're still such a headcase. You and your bleached boyfriend could take a company plane to New York tommorrow morning. Do your slayage tonight here, stop by Wolfram & Hart, and then we'll all split up--me and Angel and Wes will go to the Keeper's Well, Lorne and Fred will stay behind to do research, and Gunn can be your muscle and Dawn's bodyguard-babysitter-thingie--"

Dawn looks like she's about to either die of happiness or kill Cordelia for the hyphenated insinuation that she needs a babysitter.

"--and all you guys have to do is scoop out Poke or Pike or whatever's creepy club scene. It's not rocket science, okay?"

Fred gives an eager sound. "Oh! But if it was...I'd be able to help you out with that, y'know. I've got a lot of--unofficial degrees in mathematics and science and...okay, well, Pylean wall-paintin', but the point is, if it was rocket science--"

"But it's not," Cordelia interrupts, giving Fred a weird look. "It's just finding vampires and demons and killing them." Her lips quirk as she gives Buffy a pointed look. "Without falling in love with them."

Buffy rolls her eyes. "It's a lot harder than it sounds," she says crossly.

Cordelia shrugs. "Don't I know it," she responds matter-of-factly. The girls' eyes hold in empathy for a moment, then fly to their respective honeys.

Buffy sighs inwardly, thinking about how she and Spike still haven't had any alone time. Then she thinks about moonlit nights through Central Park, smoky bars with just the bass thumping and their hips bumping. Sewers where, chances are, she won't get dumped. Times Square, with the lights and the craziness and the cool stores. MTV headquarters, where Buffy thinks she may stop by and give those VJ's a piece of her child-of-the-nineties mind (Grunge may be dead, but nothing could ever be cooler than black eyeliner and combat boots, and no amount of 'ice' in one's 'grill' would ever refute that fact). Buffy can just imagine the trouble she and Spike could get into against the backdrop of a vibrant city and an endless supply of things to do.

New York, she admits grudgingly, could be a lot of fun, with Spike along. And they might get to smoochies. Buffy keeps going back to the smoochies a lot, she knows, but it's an issue vital to her sanity. If she doesn't get Spike lips soon, this whole trip will seem like a big waste and then it'll be back to those dreams and the hot-and-botheredness of waking up in Rome without all that cool skin and those sexy blue eyes and the platinum hair (which Buffy actually really likes, all snarky comments aside) to run her fingers through.

"Buffy?" Spike's voice cuts through her reverie, yet again. Buffy starts, embarrassed. She's really gotta stop doing that. "You've got a little..."

He motions to his chin, and Buffy's hand flies up, terrified to think she may have gone so low as to emulate Xander in the drooling-in-publicness-of-doom.

But to be fair, Spike is pretty delish. Before Buffy's eyes can go faraway again, Spike gives a small grin and tugs at her elbow. "Come out of it, slayer," he admonishes. "Got to be righteous and noble and strong and hearty, can't go along all starry-eyed over whoever's playin' leading man in your perverted dreams." He gives a self-important nod. "Wouldn't be right."

Buffy arches an eyebrow. "I'll try and stop myself from thinking so much about Andrew, then," she deadpans. "'Cause we all know how much I love manly men like him."

Spike blanches. "I am nothing like Andrew," he protests. "I mean, alright, I have a healthy appreciation for the classics, but come on--how can you not enjoy a little Patrick Stewart in your life? He's a very robust man!"

Dawn nods. "He is pretty hot, for an old, balding Englishman. I mean, Professor X and Captain Picard?"

"Not to mention King Richard in the bloody Cary Elwes movie--Men in Sodding Tights, I think? Anyway, thank you, bit. Provin' my point." Spike says, even though Buffy thinks Dawn did nothing of the sort as her taste in men runs the wrong side of gross. "But, back to the issue. I'm nothing like Andrew, yeah?" He squares his shoulders. "Bit more meat to my bones and brains in my head, in any case."

Angel snickers. "I'd debate that, Spike. You and Andrew seemed like two peas in a really annoying pod last I saw. What was that about Gandalf the Grey and his little eyes lighting up like a kid at Christmas?"

Gunn joins in on the fun. "Yeah, sounds like he wanted to be the Gimli to your Legolas, man."

Everyone stops their laughing and looks at Gunn. He shrugs. "What?" he asks. "Black man can't enjoy himself a little Lord of the Rings in his downtime? It ain't always Showtime at the Apollo or BET, okay?"

Lorne chimes in. "Yeah, sometimes it's Soul Train."

Buffy guesses racially-charged jokes lose their lustre when one guy is a street-thug turned lawyer-for-an-evil-firm, and the other guy is...well, not a guy, but a green-skinned demon.

There is a general melee as half the group joins in at Gunn's expense, and the other half continues to make Spike basement-crazy. Dawn is taking great delight in detailing the many dreams she's heard Andrew have in the livingroom, and the naughty things she claims to have heard come from the little freak's mouth. Angel is just smiling a smug little smile at Spike's manliness being questioned, and Cordelia is joining Fred and Lorne in thinking up other hidden hobbies of Gunn's that may be embarrassing (ballet, apparently, brings tears to his eyes, which ought to solve the Dawn problem right away--the girl's pretty much dead-set on the opinion that she's the only crier allowed in her relationships).

Buffy is just sorta sorry she started it at all.

It's Wesley who finally breaks the good-natured, highly distracted fights (and is it a superhero thing to have severe, severe ADD? Buffy thinks so, but then she thinks a million things at once, and is surprised she's never ended up in the basement of some high school, scaring impressionable youths and rats off into the darkness). "People are going to die," he says loudly. "Just thought you all should know."

That pretty much brings the hyperactiveness to a low roar. Everyone exchanges guilty looks. "We know, English," Gunn says, abashed. "We'll be good."

Wesley cocks his eyebrow. "See that you are," he says, his voice taking a highly affected tone. "Only because I think it's a bit more important to discuss Buffy's impending demon possession as opposed to your severely questionable heterosexuality." At the stunned silence, Wesley grins unexpectedly. "Got you. Got you good."

The others break into nervous chuckles as Gunn slaps Wesley on the back and Buffy watches in abject horror. When even Wesley Wyndham-Price is making light of an apocalypse, something is terribly warped.

"Hey," she says sharply. "Maybe I was being all tra-la-la before, but suddenly? Demon possession not seeming like such a far-fetched possibility. And me? Getting really worried."

Spike snorted. "No need, love. Just 'cause Justice Leage can't get their shite together doesn't mean I can't."

Angel sneers. "Oh, yeah, Batman?"

Spike sneers back. "Interesting you should call me that, Peachie, 'cause really, the Dark Knight is a lot like you. Broody, blustering, and a right bloody bore! I mean, please, stop whining about your tragic past already and do something, right? Now Spiderman, there's a bloke with superpowers. Can swing from ceilings and quip at the same time and my fucking god above, I'm just as much of a terrific loser as Junior Whelp, aren't I?"

By this time Spike's expression mirrors Buffy's earlier abject horror, and they both stand there for a moment soaking in how extremely, er, quirky he has turned out to be.

"You're very good looking," Buffy says, steeling herself. "And you give good kisses. You're very good looking and you give great kisses." The phrase is well on its way to becoming a chant, Buffy can tell.

Spike gives a bemused smile. "Thanks, love." He bends down and gives her a lingering kiss on the cheek, his lips cool and smooth against her hot skin, his fingers ghosting over places they really shouldn't be touching in a public place. Buffy feels that familiar jump in her gut at his proximity and curses herself at being so girly all over again.

Gooseflesh and all, it's a repeat of that sexually-driven year after her resurrection. Minus the deathly angst and pain and general pyschoticness of it all. Now it's just heat and flesh and the promise of something more to come. Buffy catches the smoldering look in Spike's smug eyes.

Something way more to come.

"Ewwww. Come on, guys," Dawn whines. "Not in front of all the other skanky couples." Angel and Cordelia look overly offended for a minute before they realize Dawn's speaking about the gyrating pairs on the dance floor.

"Yeah, Buffy, you sure you're okay?" Cordelia gives a suspicious look. "You were always really freakish about public displays of affection."

Angel shoots Buffy an assessing look. "Love makes you do crazy things, I guess," he supplies. Buffy shoots him a gratified, surprised look.

"Yeah," Buffy agrees, and now it's Spike's turn to look surprised and gratified.

And maybe she is doing a crazy thing, 'cause New York with Spike? Suddenly seems like a great idea.

And so it's decided. "A New Yorkin' we will go," Buffy says wearily. "God help us all."

- - -TBC-- -