Disclaimer: Viola Kerrigan is the name I gave the server in my other major Veronica Mars story. Far as I know, she never had one in continuity.

Also: This is another episode off, for Veronica. I start in on An Echolls Family Christmas next chapter.

X X X X X

Of course, the time out metaphor fails once you realize that during an actual sports time out what everyone does is hash out what they're going to do next in the actual game, and were I to do things that way that I'd be spending the day thinking about my next move, which was the exact opposite of what I actually planned, which was nothing.

Of course, this is Veronica Mars here; I'll almost certainly ponder my next move no matter how hard I try to do otherwise, because that's who I am. But it's not going to be a conscious, major goal. If it happens, it happens.

Of course, even after Buffy left I received phone calls: from Willow, from Sheila -- asking how I was doing. I wasn't up for a long conversation with Willow, but I appreciated the effort and asked her in turn to let Giles know that I was okay -- not great, but okay.

Sheila, and yes I know I don't do this a whole hell of a lot, Sheila I wanted to hang out with for a few hours if I could. She was up for it, so we went out for lunch and then hit Sunnydale's only non-magic-based used bookstore, and browsed for a couple of hours.

remembering that Sheila's preference is for long books – and remembering why – I almost pointed her in the direction of a Remembrance of Things Past I ran across, but then, none of Sheila's books were both long and hard to read, and Proust, or at least his translator, had nothing on Isaac Asimov in terms of sheer readability.

I did pick out what looked like a humorous reference book called An Incomplete Education for her; liking that, she also picked up two thick paperbacks of what looked like alternate history stories.

As for me, I just went through almost everything. I might not be quite the polymath that Willow Rosenberg is, or read for pleasure quite as often, but I've done plenty of it in my life. I picked up an Agatha Christie omnibus for myself – all the Hercule Poirot short stories in one volume.

This did take up a few hours; Buffy called once as well, and practically backed off in horror when she realized I was in a bookstore. No, Buffy wasn't stupid, not even close. But Buffy would never really be the kind of person to get pleasure out of just reading a book.

Still, she was glad I was okay and taking a day off from thinking.

Which I'd managed to successfully pull off, for the most part.

Yes, I'd done some thinking about the immediate future, beyond tonight. If anything about this Aaron Echolls Christmas party matched the one from my original timeline, one of the waitresses would confront Aaron and stab him. If I saw it, I wasn't so sure I would stop her.

Of course, enough about this didn't match: Aaron had asked for Dad's help instead of Lynn; Xander was involved, at least tangentially (though Dad seemed reasonably sure he had nothing o do with either the nasty notes or murdering Lilly); and Aaron had had the good sense to invite Dad (and by extension me) to the party to be an extra pair of eyes, instead of relying on the local security. Of course, like I've said, Aaron Echolls isn't stupid, and he almost certainly knows how incompetent Sunnydale security guards are anyway. Dad's probably smarter and more capable than all of them put together.

So I had what I was going to do there more or less set, in my head.

As for the rest? Still didn't know. I certainly wasn't going to be able to manipulate Buffy or any of her friends into staying away from Drusilla, whether as myself or as Epimetheus.

That might work on Drusilla, but the problem with trying to manipulate Drusilla is that there is pretty much no one, ever, less apt to being set in a certain direction and then going reliably in that direction. Let me set the picture. Drusilla comes to a four way stop sign. To the left, there's "Helpless Humans Full of Nummy Blood." Straight ahead, there's "Slayer Waiting to Ambush you." To the right is "Portal to the Heart of the Sun." And pointing the way she came is "Certain Death."

Not only could you not predict that Drusilla would go left, you couldn't guarantee she'd go anywhere. She might just as well decide to stand there for hours. Or knock the sign down.

Spike, well, he'd be easier to manipulate, but who wouldn't? And even that would be dangerous. Spike might be sane, but even he was certainly capable of a random act of anarchy. (And yes, there's planned anarchy; for further details, please contact Ethan Rayne, who for a dedicated servant of chaos certainly was a meticulous planner.)

Still, should I choose to go the (admittedly somewhat foolish) route of trying to avoid an immediate confrontation by maneuvering the vampires out of the way rather than Buffy and company, Spike would be the one I'd work on.

For me, every signpost on the four-way intersection read "Who the hell knows," and the way behind me was blocked off (and steamrollers were coming up fast, so I couldn't just stand there, either.)

Amy, well, her death was already an established fact of life in this particular iteration of the Buffyverse. That made it easier to deal with, not harder, because her influence wouldn't be felt until Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered rolled around, and I didn't think I was going to make it that far anyway.

What I mostly thought about was the books in front of me. It can be a bitch and a half to distract yourself, especially, since you know what you're doing, but at least sporadically I was able to pull it off.

I did not have the feeling I was being watched at any point. Yes, I know it was daytime, but still, I wouldn't put it past an obsessed Drusilla to try to figure out some way of 'protecting' me even now. But this store didn't have a basement and didn't connect with any dark alleys, so I think I was safe from prying eyes.

Whatever time we spent not actively discussing the books we'd found/were thinking of buying was spent on Sheila discussing what she was going to Drusilla the next time she saw her and me trying to convince her that it was dumb of her to try and that I'd hate her forever if she got herself killed.

Well, that and trying to figure out the Adversary's mercy rule reference (No, I wasn't dumb enough to call it that to anyone's face; the bet's not over yet, you'll notice). Buffy hadn't known, Sheila didn't, and I hadn't thought to ask Dad or Logan. I hadn't asked Willow, but I wouldn't have expected her to know; one of the few things she'd never struck me as knowing all that much about was sports.

Anyway, that was definitely secondary to the argument over Drusilla. "'sdown to it, manhunter, she hurt you and I want to hurt you, and you can't stop me."

"From wanting to? No. From actually doing it? I'm hoping to. Believe me, considering that I'm used to people having the attitude of 'Veronica Mars' bleeding body? Let's kick it out of the way so we don't trip over it,' having anyone around who's not my Dad whose first reaction is to hurt the person who hurt me? Very much appreciated, believe me. And if this were someone at school – one of the Cordettes, or their male counterparts, or, hell, anyone except Buffy, I'd stand back and tell you to go to town. But this? This is dangerous. I don't know how many times I need to spell it out, or how many people need to."

"I want to do something," she hissed.

"Trust me. You already are. And last night you told me you didn't know what you'd do if something happened to me. Consider that I feel the same way, okay?"

For a second, just a second, the trademark Sheila Kelly evil grin returned. "You getting sentimental on me, manhunter?"

"Absolutely. And that should tell you something."

"It does," she said, putting the book she was looking at back on the shelf. "Okay. I won't hunt her down. But if I run across her, bets're off."

I held up a hand, and she said, "Best you're going to get, manhunter."

I wasn't sure it was enough, but I was pretty sure Sheila was telling the truth.

It would do for now.

X X X X X

We spent a couple of more hours in the afternoon with Sheila practicing her magic. She was trying to master yet another spell, in addition to witchfire, darkness, aim at the target, focus, and phantom punch.

This one was the first one she did that required material components, but they were fairly cheap material components. "Good thing," Sheila said. "'fit needs diamond dust, I'm screwed."

"If you need to do a spell to stop an apocalypse, I think we'll find a way around that," I said. "What're you going to do?"

"You'll see," she said.

"So it's not invisibility. Good to know."

"Too complicated for me," she said. "Might try inaudibility, though."

"What about unsmellability?"

"Already do that one. 'scalled Secret."

We'd driven out to the industrial park, not far from where Rack's place had been. Wasn't there now, though, at least not so far as Sheila could tell. Nor were a lot of other people, it being the weekend. Maybe a dozen cars in one complex, none at all in the one we were going to.

"If this is going to end in a big pile of rubble, I'd just as soon know that now so I can leave without seeing it," I said. I was only half-kidding. Sheila had always said she preferred the physical side of magic, and I really believe that at some point she was going to try to knock a building down. I just hoped that wasn't now, because what I really didn't need right now was an insurance company after me for millions of dollars in property damage.

The Sheila grin came out again. "Naah. 'fI'm gonna demolish a building, manhunter, 'sgonna be one that needs it. This place's ugly, but it's intact. Not going to hurt so much as a brick."

There was a camera in front, so that we parked there wasn't going to be a secret, but there was a wooded area beyond, so if anyone asked, we parked here so we could go for a walk in the woods. Because you know me, Veronica Mars, nature lover. (Note: Sarcasm. Remember, I'm anti-shrub.)

Still, even the most city-loving gal can want to look at some pretty trees every once in a while, so it wasn't ridiculous, at least.

The only cameras were the ones at the front of the building, and straight down on the fire exits, but we weren't going anywhere near those doors. The building had the kind of windows used in modern office complexes: in other words, Buffy would have trouble getting them open, never mind two 'ordinary girls' like Sheila and myself.

So if Sheila wasn't looking to be destructive, and we were not in fact going trolling for mule deer, what were we doing here?

I found out in short order. Sheila took a couple of things that looked like pipe cleaners out of the pouch she'd bought from the magic store, handed me the pouch, and asked me to take a step back.

First, she took of her shoes. Then she said, in what sounded like Italian, "Come un ragno. Come un ragno," and immediately walked to the side of the building.

And didn't stop once she got there.

By the time she was grinning down at me, she had climbed up at least ten feet. "'drather go through," she said. "But if I can't do that, I can at least go over."

"Neat trick!" I called up. "Can you shoot webs?"

"You kidding?" she said. "You know what I'd have to take off to do that?"

"Let's test this," I said. "Come down."

"I ain't trying to shoot webs out of my ass, manhunter," she said, but she did come down, and we climbed the hill beyond the building and she proceeded to climb a tree at the edge of the nearby woods in the same fashion.

It wore off as she was descending, though she managed not to fall. "'sabout five minutes," she said. "Good enough."

"What do you call this one?" Sheila, a la Dungeons & Dragons, named all of her spells.

"Spider climb," she said.

"Good name," I said, and then checked my watch. "Anyway --"

"Yeah," she said. "You gotta go get ready for the Christmas party."

"You got stuff to do?" I said. "That doesn't involve you trying to get yourself killed?"

"Hey, I promised," she said. "I'm not going to lie to you, Veronica."

"All I need to hear," I said.

X X X X X

I got back with plenty of time to shower and change my clothes.

My day off had helped me, some. Enough that I could handle the Echolls Family Christmas, anyway.

"I've got good news, better news, and bad news," Dad said as I walked in, He was dressed in his best suit, with his holster strapped under his suit jacket.

"We just won the Irish Sweepstakes but we have to move to Ireland to collect."

"No," he said. "And what do you have against Ireland?" The voice was teasing; Dad really was in a good mood.

"Nothing; I just don't want to move there on the spur of the moment. Or anywhere, really. So if that's not it, then what?"

"The good news is I was able to determine which woman's going to try to kill Aaron Echolls tonight."

"The better news is you were able to find her a hiding place from which to get the best shot?"

"Sweetie --" Dad said in a mild warning tone.

"But the bad news is that you have to tell Aaron."

"Am I ever going to tell you something and not have you not give me a smartass comment in response?"

"How long have you known me?" The glare remained steady. "Okay. What have you got?"

"The better news is I found proof of Aaron Echolls' do-it-yourself porn studio in his poolhouse, and a couple of drawers full of tapes. I took photos of the setup, but none of the tapes. Only one appears to be missing." The Echolls poolhouse was still the Echolls poolhouse. Unfortunately.

"The one I showed you. The one with Lilly."

"Exactly," he said. "And it doesn't look like he's slowed down all that much, either."

"Are you going to confront him?"

"No. I have a plan there, though it'll have to wait until after tonight. And that's the bad news."

I could tell. "It's the woman you didn't meet."

"Exactly. And she wouldn't answer her phone today, either. Her name is Viola Kerrigan. Aaron doesn't remember her. All I know is that she has dark hair and is in her '20s."

I knew one more thing: Viola Kerrigan was the name of the woman in the original timeline. So if that held, she'd be disguising herself as a waitress.

So I could figure out a way to let Dad know this. Not let Aaron get stabbed, like he did the first time around.

Is it wrong of me that I'm not going to?