4.
The Prize

It still hurt, but getting around was getting easier. Buffy was really warm and a little damp from the shower. Her clothes stuck to her skin as she moved. This is gonna go one of two ways. Chilly air cut through the steam when she opened the bathroom door. It felt good. She took a deep breath, followed by a hobbled step. When she worked up the nerve to look up, she found that Willow appeared happy. I sure didn't expect it to be this way. The smile on Willow's face faded, giving way to a pout as Buffy limped toward her. That was fine too. Neither reaction was sullen. It was a crapshoot. I stalled as long as I could, but it's not like I had a choice either. I had to leave. And to leave, I had to dress, so…

As Buffy drew nearer, Willow moved out of the way, slipping around behind the chair. Buffy picked up the blanket. She intended to fold it, but was immediately robbed when she tried. She stood, patiently allowing Willow time to finish. Once the blanket was folded and draped over the back of the chair, Buffy sat down and Willow helped her to put her leg up and replace the icepack. I spent so much time wishing she'd given me another choice; I'm not even sure how to act now.

Guess I'm just glad she didn't. I think maybe I get it. There has to be something kind of cathartic about finally making it here, even if I'm me and not her. The other me, I mean.

The tray of food Willow had brought sat next to Buffy on the table between the two chairs. Buffy was starved and the soup smelled good, but she pulled a grape from the bunch and popped it into her mouth instead. Will's way too bent on brushing my hair. I need to just let her.

Crisp, squishy, slippery, gushy sweetness filled her mouth when she bit down. The fragrance of the leave-in conditioner Willow was massaging through her hair made the grape seem even sweeter. It was the best grape ever. She chewed it up and reached for another. There's nothing worse than an incomplete catharsis. Boy, that even sounds unpleasant.

It's weird. For me, the last lingering traces of doubt went away when I saw what was in that bag. It was exactly the same stuff my Will packed for me…packed exactly the same way, in the same bag. It was uncanny. I may not know why I'm here, but I know I belong.

Buffy put the grape in her mouth and burst it with her tongue. More sweet, juicy goodness followed. She made a faint, happy groaning sound as she chewed. My Will said we needed stuff to remind us of our past. Buffy looked down at the maroon and gold 'Sunnydale High School' logo on the shirt she wore. Only she would think that I'd need this to remind me of—

Buffy grinned. I'm not even sure what.

Snyder?

A laugh almost got away. She choked it down. Her hand went to her mouth as one cough became many. Her body bowed. Willow clutched her shoulder, trying to hold her still. Each jerking movement became slightly more excruciating than the last. Finding the funny in anything was high on Buffy's list of things to avoid when she finally stilled. Her chest burned. Tears filled her eyes. Her throat tickled and her nose was runny.

Oh, good god! Dead all these years and the little creep's still making my life miserable.

Willow disappeared into the bathroom. The concerned, inquisitive look she gave Buffy as she emerged wasn't unexpected. Buffy pulled two tissues from the box Willow offered her. She dried her eyes and blew her nose, then reluctantly gave the dirty tissues over to Willow's waiting hand.

The pain-induced haze cleared from Buffy's mind as Willow returned to the bathroom. She ticked off a few of the many reasons she didn't miss high school one bit. What's not to miss? There were repeated, sometimes not-so-exaggerated predictions of my death. Those were fun. Evil teachers. Evil students. The homicidal cafeteria lady. There were even evil janitors. Not many people there weren't evil…or didn't dabble in evil. There was a whole lot of dabbling going on. Even Giles dabbled…or some of his previous dabbling came up.

Ah, those were the good old days. Consider me officially reminded.

Buffy pulled another grape from the bunch, rolling it around her mouth for a moment before popping it and chewing it up. Cool juices soothed her throat. She took a drink of her soda, hoping to continue that theme.

Willow reappeared from washing her hands with a towel draped over her shoulder. "You gonna be okay?" she asked, making eye contact as she crossed the room.

Buffy smiled. "Oh, yeah, just great," she said. Scratchiness in her throat made her voice raspy. She cleared it. And that's the trouble with sarcasm. Somehow it never goes over well if your audience cares at all, or even a lot. "I'll be fine. I swear," she said through a sigh.

The grumpy, worried look Willow was giving her didn't go away, per se. She just let Buffy off the hook by stepping around behind her.

So yeah…reminders. Pretty much all the reminder I needed came with me. She's sort of in this room, playing with my hair. I like it when she plays with my hair.

But whatever, it was sweet. A little misguided, but definitely sweet. I have the same shirt in the bottom of one of my drawers at home. Running around in it the day after Sunnydale became an innie was fun, but Will just doesn't think in those terms. I haven't worn it since—for obvious reasons—but I keep it to remind me. The clothes were wrapped around two more items—better items: Mr. Gordo and a picture of me, Mom and Dawn.

I hope Dawn's okay. Impulsively, she asked, "Would you answer me one thing?" Her voice still sounded horrible. She cleared her throat again and took another drink.

Willow dried her hands. "Sure. Anything," she replied as she leaned forward to hang the towel over the left arm of Buffy's chair.

Reality hit Buffy seconds later. She was in the middle of freeing another grape from the bunch. Oh, jeez. What if Dawn's—? The realization was so stark, so ugly that her hand even trembled. This place is awful. I'm a…and she's—she's my closest living— Buffy ate the grape to check a despondent sigh, barely tasting it as she flexed her fingers to control the shaking. I don't want to know if she's—

Well, it's too late now. I can't exactly say 'never mind,' so… "Where's Dawn?"

It was a good sign that Willow didn't tense. She picked up the brush before she replied, "She's at Berkley." Buffy breathed a soft sigh of relief as Willow gushed, "I'm so proud of her. With everything that happened, she kept up her grades, did well enough to earn a scholarship and get accepted to a really good school."

That's my Will…reveling in the academic happy.

Buffy scooted around to sit angled in her chair when Willow touched her back. It made it easier for Willow to get at her hair, but it put Buffy a little farther from the food. As she leaned forward to reach for another grape, Willow mumbled, "I haven't seen her in over a year." It was easier to just take the whole bunch. They rested cold and wet in Buffy's hand. She pulled another one loose and ate it. Water seeped between her fingers, dripping onto her lap. She switched the grapes to her left hand, reached around herself to pat the right one dry on the towel.

Willow collected her hair in hand and began to brush out the ends. "I sent her to stay with my aunt after that morning—" she said, stammering "—the one I told you about with the incident on the patio. Xander took her to Phoenix the same day. I was afraid for her—what, with the examples we had of—it just seemed like—it was the right thing to do. I was surprised she went without—"

In the silence that followed, Buffy whispered, "But you stayed?" That doesn't make much sense. Will would be among the first to go if I was going to play the This is Your Life special elimination round that some vamps get so hung up on.

"Yeah, I had to try to help," Willow replied dispassionately.

That wasn't so much a question. Or I didn't mean for it to be. Buffy sighed. But since you decided to weigh in… "Of course you did." She couldn't have sounded less amused if she'd tried. And it's a miracle you're still alive.

The conditioner made the brush pull a little too much to be pleasant. Waiting for a pause, she leaned forward to put the grapes back. She dried her hands on the towel before moving on to her next question. "So, how'd you end up here?" It was an old question. As she pointed that out, "You never really answered me," it occurred to her how badly it had gone the last time she asked. I guess it can't really turn out much worse. Maybe. Hopefully. We'll see.

Buffy closed her eyes and focused on the sound of Willow's voice, "Giles called Wesley to let him know that Angel was gone." It trembled a little. Not because Willow was upset, though the sound was disquietingly similar. She was doing that 'choppy' thing with the brush, trying to remove all of the tangles.

"I don't know why we came here. Everything about the conversation they had said that it was a really bad idea. Wesley didn't seem surprised when Giles told him about Angel. He was curious if we had a place to stay. He brought it up. He offered and we—" She swallowed. "We played right in. I think Wesley was trying to warn us the only way he could."

Uh-boy. Well, this doesn't sound good.

"Giles thought it was just Wesley being Wesley. He said Wesley had a 'temperamental disposition.' I tried to tell him that maybe there was cause. If you ask me, demons and lawyers and demonic lawyers are all valid reasons to be edgy, but Giles didn't want to hear that. We were all pretty devastated by your death. I think he was trying to find some sense of normalcy."

The good thing about that 'choppy' thing was that it was quick, relatively painless and done right it wasn't even that hard on your hair. Buffy tolerated it for all those reasons and soon enough it was done. Willow brushed long, even strokes through Buffy hair as she said, "Later on, when the lawyers showed up, Giles got to feel really silly. I don't think he wanted to believe that a former member of the distinguished Watchers Council would be so naïve as to sign on with the advocates of Evil Incorporated. And by refusing to believe…"

Buffy used a lull in brushing to go for the cup of yogurt that had been tempting her. I'm still starving. She removed the top, leaving it on the tray and grabbing a spoon. When she leaned back, Willow drew a part down the center of her head with her index finger and started sectioning off the right side to French braid. The light tension and the feel of Willow's fingers on her scalp set Buffy at ease. As she relaxed, settling in to eat her yogurt, Willow said, "Giles told us it'd only be for a few days, that we needed time to regroup. We've been 'regrouping' for nearly a year and a half now."

Between bites Buffy asked, "So what'd they do? I mean, how'd they make you stay?"

Willow reached the nape of Buffy's neck, pinched the hair tight and paused. "We were given a choice that wasn't much of a choice, but that's not really important," she replied, securing the braid with a few bobby pins.

Fair enough. We should both be entitled to hold a few things back.

Skipping ahead, Willow said, "What's important is that you understand that the Angel here isn't Angel. When Wolfram and Hart brought him back, they missed a part. They still call him 'Mr. Angel.' I'm not even sure why. He's Angelus." She sectioned off and the other side and began to braid. "I've tried everything I can think to do to make that right. He's just too well protected."

Buffy finished off her yogurt, put the spoon in the cup and held it casually in her right hand. She hoped that Willow would say something else, but she didn't. Her last question was as answered as it was going to get, so she asked another, "So do Angel and—umm…do they run together? I mean, you'd think, right?"

"They hate each other," Willow replied, pinning the second braid.

Well, that was a little less information than I was hoping for. Though, I've had worse news. Together they'd be a total nightmare. Guess I should try again. "Why?"

"I'm not exactly sure," Willow replied. "I mean, demons aren't really know for their loyalty, I guess, and—well—"

"Well, what?" Buffy pressed. I should just take the hint.

Willow didn't answer. She pulled the braid she was working on free. That and a grumble made her seem grumpy.

Yeah, I'm gonna to regret this. I know I will. The reasonable conclusion to that 'well' isn't exactly reasonable, or pleasant, or—

The spoon chattered against the side of the yogurt cup. Buffy focused, making it stop. She took a deep breath and asked, "So, do I—?" Dammit!

Willow was playing with her hair again, not that Buffy particularly cared or noticed. Y'know, I've been dancing around saying 'your Buffy' for what feels like forever now 'cause I'm pretty sure Will would turn that into me somehow blaming her for what's happened—in her head at least—but this 'I' stuff isn't cutting it either. I need to find something to call what's-her-face before this gets any stupider. 'She who hangs out in cemeteries because she actually likes them'? 'My anemic half'? 'Separate but Evil'? 'Evil and Opposite'? 'The Soap Opera Cliché'?

I dunno, but we should seriously look into getting her a stick-on goatee.

And I should seriously stop. I should be secure in the knowledge that it really is every bit as bad as I think it is. I should give up and just assume the worst. Will doesn't deserve to be put through—

Willow stopped fussing, grumbled and pulled the bobby pins out. Combing her fingers through Buffy's hair to remove all of the braids, she said, "Please, just ask. All this pussy-footing around isn't helping." She picked up the brush and started over.

Buffy racked her brain trying to come up with a suitable substitute question. Something that sounds the same. Or sort of the same. Oh, c'mon. I have to ask something. I can't just—

Whatever. Y'know, one of these days I'm going to grow a brain…and it'll have common sense and everything. Buffy rolled her eyes and gave in. "I mean, does the other me—" Shit! This is just dumb! "—my evil twin—" the vicious, soulless bitch who wears my face in this world "—does vampire-me feed on people?" That's overly simple, but it works. I should just stick with simple. That's really what I'm—

Oh! How 'bout 'Jabberwocky'? The monster behind the mirror. That's just cool. I like it. Except it's anything but—

Yeah.

Once Buffy's hair was brushed out, Willow gave up. She stepped around the chair and sat down on the floor beside the stool. "I don't know what to call her either," she said, drawing her knees to her chest. She briefly met Buffy's eyes. Her expression was a complete one-eighty from where they'd started. She hid her face by resting her forehead against her knee and mumbled, "My greatest failure."

Determined to cut Willow off before things got any worse, Buffy said her name.

"I let my friend down. Someone I promised I'd never—"

She tried again, "Will, please, it's not your—"

"Of all the shortsighted, lame-brained, half-witted, stupid, stupid, stupid…"

'Kay, so…a familiar pattern may be emerging. Buffy shouted, "Oh, would you stop? This isn't your fault!"

Willow flinched and looked up. That was it. The straw that broke the camel's back. "Don't you see?" she ranted. "I should've seen what would happen. It was Angel. I should've known what that would do to you. All that was needed was a vamp with a soul. I can do that. Any old vamp would do. I should've found one. All I had to do was shove a soul in, tie him up and chuck him in the hole."

Buffy bit her lip. I'm not gonna smile. I refuse. This is painful for her. Smiling would be bad. Not a smirk. Not a giggle. Not a—

"What's wrong?" Willow asked.

Nada.

"Nothing," Buffy said through a sigh. "Look. I don't think you could've seen that coming. It not like that amulet came with an instruction manual. We didn't know what would happen either." She shrugged. "Anyway, what good does it do to blame? Is there a point? It seems pretty pointless to me unless your point is to find a reason to sulk." Now there's a truly familiar theme. "If that is your point, then 'bravo.' Good job. Keep it up. Don't let me stop you."

Buffy's tirade reduced Willow to a limp, sullen mess. Her shoulders sagged. She hung her head. It was like she deflated. "Yeah," she admitted. "You're right. I guess it is pretty stupid."

Yeah, it's not stupid. It's human. I shouldn't feel bad about this, but it feels like I'm bullying her. Thing is, if this Will's anything like my Will—and I think we've more than established that she is—she needs this. She needs to hear that she didn't do anything wrong. She needs to be convinced of that by someone who cares.

I'm just a little surprised that no one else stepped up before me, but I guess they didn't. If they had, she wouldn't be nearly so touchy. Or maybe I'm just missing something.

Buffy said, "Besides, the last vamp I staked looked a little like—" She paused to come up with a good example. I don't even remember the last vamp I staked. It's been forever. But that's so not the point. She needs to see how silly this is, so… "Oh, remember that lame old show, the one with Penny Marshall where she always had a big L monogrammed on her blouse?" Yeah, that'll work. The little guy reminds me of Willy the Snitch.

From behind the veil of hair Willow supplied, "Laverne and Shirley?"

"Yeah, that's it," Buffy replied. She always did like these old shows. "So, who were the scary, dweeby neighbor guys?" I'm not loving lying to her—even the teeny white ones suck—but playing a goofy guessing game is about the perfect way to bring her back around.

A little of the slump faded. Willow rested her chin on her knee. Her brow crinkled. "Lenny and Squiggy," she said.

And I get to play to my strengths. Act clueless. It's so rarely an act, she'll never suspect.

It was a bit of a struggle for Buffy keep her expression neutral. She wanted to smile. "Uh-huh," she replied. "So who was the dumpy one?" Doesn't matter which one she picks. They were both pretty hopeless.

Willow replied, "Squiggy."

"Yeah, the vamp had that same 'hair high in saturated fat' sort of look," Buffy replied, embellishing her performance with a touch of recognition. "Now can you imagine someone that weasely making with the big, noble sacrifice? Angel said the one who wore that amulet had to be a champion. Not just some lame vamp, chocked full of soul and chucked in a hole."

Willow knew she'd been trumped. It was written all over her face. It's pretty sad when she gets out-logicked by someone like me.

"I get that you feel guilty," Buffy said, meeting her eyes. "I think I may even get why, but isn't playing 'hindsight roulette' a little counterproductive?" After allowing Willow a few moments to chew that over, she held her hand out hopefully. "It's okay, Will," she said. "We'll figure it out. I promise."

Willow didn't move until Buffy added, "Please," then she rose to her knees and shuffled the foot-and-a-half it took to close the distance between them. When they hugged, the icepack on Buffy's knee fell to the floor. She wasn't sorry to see it go. Her teeth were practically chattering.

The hug felt nice again in spite of the weirdness. Willow's fuzzy housecoat was soft and warm, though she herself was awfully nervous. The awkwardness was just starting to wear off when she whispered, "But, Buffy, you don't know what I did."

"I can guess," Buffy replied as she caressed Willow's back to calm her. "Knowing you, it was probably something perfectly human—because being human is a total crime." She let go, leaning back to look Willow in the eye. "You're too hard on yourself." She allowed some of the unease to come through in her smile. "Like I'm one to talk."

Willow sat back on her heels, rested her hands in her lap and looked down. "To answer your vampire-you question: not really, but yeah, sort of."

Buffy wanted to ask about the 'sort of.' She either kills people or she doesn't. There's not much 'sort of' to it…unless she tries not to kill people, but accidentally does sometimes. That would be 'sort of,' I think. But then, there's still the 'accident or not, she killed someone.' And that in a nutshell is pretty much the problem.

And that so doesn't matter…mostly because it's stupid…dumber than usual. We're talking about a vamp who leaves buckets of body parts lying around. She's bound to be a total peach.

And because this so isn't about me. How I feel is irrelevant. I don't even live here. Will needs to talk and I need to shut up and let her.

It took awhile, there was much moping and bellybutton gazing, but eventually, Willow did explain, "She pretty much just hunts demons and vamps, but—well, she has a pretty broad definition of 'demon.' I think she thinks that anything that's been touched by a demon is bad too."

Willow didn't share nearly enough for Buffy to get a clear picture. "Okay, I'm not sure I follow," Buffy said in hopes that Willow would want to clear things up, unfortunately she just developed a bad case of the fidgets.

Buffy looked around to find something else to fixate on besides Willow. If I keep this up, she'll only get worse. I've got to find a way to give her some space. The antique mirror above the dressing table that the stool her foot was sitting on went with didn't seem like a bad choice.

That belief lasted just long enough for her to get a good look at herself. It was bad, but she didn't look away. The mirror was as good a thing to look at as anything else. Funny, where I see a huge ick-factor, Will probably sees a miracle. Buffy studied her reflection, building on her first impression—she did look pretty bad—and subsequently trying to remember when the bruise along the left side of her jaw line might've happened. Yeah, no clue.

So what do I know? I've only seen her once and I'm human. Or mostly human. I know I move weird. Will kept after me, telling me to think before I act. I wasn't so much thinking then. Well, I was, but I was more thinking about how getting squashed like a bug wouldn't be fun.

I might not be the finest example of the species, but I have a pulse and I breathe and I smell like a person. And evil me still seemed plenty eager to—

It hit her. She didn't need to ask. The answer had been there the whole time. "Oh jeez, Will," she exclaimed. "You mean she kills slayers?"

"Yes," Willow mumbled.

"Well, that's just disturbing," Buffy replied.

"Not to everyone," Willow said. "I'm sure Angelus finds it amusing. The irony couldn't be much thicker. That's probably why they both made with the big truce. They're like two bullies who each stick to their own side of the playground. And I'm the nerdy girl trapped in the middle. They like to pull my hair, call me names and—"

"Point taken," Buffy replied under her breath.

Willow didn't seem to notice. She was too caught up in mumbling herself. "I helped avert yet another apocalypse by doing something really big and really hard with huge implications. I did it because I believed. I believed in you and what we were fighting for. Only instead of coming out even remotely okay, you were turned into a monster and you used what I did to—"

Buffy cringed each time Willow said 'you.' I know she knows this isn't about me, but I just can't—

Willow looked up to find Buffy watching her. "Oh, I'm sorry. I—" she stammered. "I didn't mean— I don't mean that I think it's you. It's her. The 'you' that's 'you' here. It's just—"

"I get it. I know it's hard," Buffy replied. "You know you didn't make this happen, right? It isn't something you could've predicted or controlled."

It was obvious that Willow disagreed. She sat inventorying carpet fibers as Buffy spoke. The moment she finished, Willow argued, "Isn't it? It was my spell. I made all of those girls into slayers. And I called them here. I put out feelers when we arrived to see if I could locate some of them. That's when it started. They started to trickle in and she started—" Her voice gave out.

Buffy used the break to interject, "But that doesn't make it your fault."

Willow sighed. She sat quietly for several moments. Finally, she mumbled, "You know how cats sometimes leave trophies for their owners? The way she acts reminds me of that. It's like she's proud of what she's doing."

Buffy tried again, "That's awful, Will, but it still isn't your fault."

Willow snapped, "Don't you get it, Buffy? They're all dead, everyone who helped us. It's just me and Xander and Giles. Xander thinks she—the 'you' that's not 'you'—vampire you—spared us because she wants an audience."

Ignoring Willow's glare, Buffy reminded her, "And Kennedy."

"Yes, 'and Kennedy'."

Buffy found both Willow's forgetfulness and the sharpness of her reply puzzling. "You should try to patch things up with her," she suggested. I need to give it one last shot. It'd be so easy for me to fall—

"I'm not sure," Willow said with a subtle shake of her head. "I'm not sure I want to. She's not the same Kenn. Too much has happened."

Okay, I'm gonna drop it. Will's a big girl. She's obviously made up her mind. It's just—

This feels like a trap. I'm with someone—someone who looks and smells and feels exactly like the someone in this room—who isn't the right someone. It'd be so much easier for me if the someone in this room was with someone too. I could get that straight in my head—file her under 'the neighbor's wife' and stick her in a covet-free zone—instead of feeling like she needs me and should do something about that. I want to comfort her, but I need to remember how I used to do that back before—'cause with the touches and the not-so open eyes and the familiar Willowy smells—what I think and feel and how I react now could easily lead to slip-ups and blunders and flukes with the kisses and all-too intimate gropes and…

This just stinks.

Though food was the last thing Buffy wanted, she knew she needed to eat. As she picked up the grapes, Willow began to mumble, "It was the same thing every morning for months." Realizing just how bad her timing was, Buffy put the grapes back. "She's not quite like the Bringers were," Willow said, stopping cold. Obviously frustrated, she amended, "Buffy—I mean…my Buffy. They killed whoever they could find, whenever they could find them. She's methodical. She picked one girl off each night, starting with the ones who helped us: Vi and Rona and Shannon and Chao-Ahn… More girls came and died and my Buffy made sure we knew. She made us watch."

I'm not gonna ask. I just hope she isn't speaking literally. That's—

"My spell was a death sentence," Willow said. "It's not like I would've, but Kenn will never let me forget that."

Yeah, that's—

The picture came together. Buffy saw a constant stream of death. Body parts left on the garden patio for Willow to find.

There's no miracle here.

An acrid smell burned Xander's nose. Trying to get away from it, he sat bolt upright. Or that's what he thought until his head lolled forward, striking the Lexan shield that separated the driver and passenger compartments of the taxi. He was actually sitting half on the seat and half on his left heel. His left leg was wedged into the floorboard with his knee jammed against the back of the driver's seat and his heel wedged between his own seat and the door. His ankle was twisted at a funny angle. His right leg extended out, stretched across the passenger compartment. The toe of his right boot was stuck between the shield and the door pillar.

During the few seconds Xander was upright, he took all of that in through blurry, bleary, watering eyes. Before the sharp smell of ammonia made him gag. The door opened. He saw shoes that obviously weren't his own as he fell. His shoes were inside. These shoes were outside standing on the concrete. They moved and some guy yelled, "Hey! Watch it, buddy!"

Xander caught himself with his left arm. Half hanging outside of the cab, he puked his guts up…and judging by the pain, a kidney, part of his liver and his spleen. From the strange squeaking sound that couldn't possibly be coming from him, he decided he'd probably barfed up part of a lung too. In his estimation the entire event must've been a veritable harvest of donor organs.

That impression ended when he opened his eyes. All that was left of the image was a whole lot of pain and the puddle of mostly liquid sick that flowed toward his hand. It smelled like bile and a distillery. He recoiled, pushed off and flopped back into the car.

The guy who owned the shoes he hadn't quite upchucked all over must've shut the door. Xander slumped against it. Glass pressed cool against his face as the driver's door opened. He didn't see who got in. No doubt it was still the guy with the shoes, but Xander couldn't be sure. Too much of his attention was going into making sure that what just happened never happened again.

"So, where ya headed, buddy?" the guy with the shoes asked.

When Xander didn't answer, mostly because he couldn't, the guy said, "Look, I'd love to let you sleep it off. I've got nowhere special to be. One fare or twenty don't make much difference to me. But I gotta figure a blue collar lookin' guy such as yourself is gonna run outta scratch too soon to afford my nightly rate. And I'd hate to upset your momma, so…"

Xander caught the cabbie's meaning and that he was cabbie. He was in a cab. He tried to reply, "Tha Hyperi—" but his voice broke down. And no wonder. It sounded like someone had sanded his throat. Place needs a—it needs uh…bedder, sim-pler— He struggled, "Hy—" and failed again. Hi ho! Hi ho! I'z name sucks! Swallowing, he gave it another go, "Peryun." Hi ho! Perion!

To his mind he'd utterly failed, but the cabbie said, "Okay, I think I got it," chuckling to himself. "The Hyperion Arms over on Arbor?"

"Tha'd be th' place," Xander replied. What a guy! I'm gonna have ta buy th' man a—

"We'll be there in twenty," the cabbie said.

It was all Xander could do to make everything that was still inside stay inside when the cab started to move. "Stop!" he shouted.

As he threw the door open, the cabbie said, "Or not."