Chapter 14: What's My Line Part 4
Drusilla was actually feeling better now.
She smiled as she took a small bottle of holy water from an old, velvet-lined box.
She spoke dreamily as she moved about her room.
She was recalling another time, a long-ago time . . .
And she was savoring the memories.
"My mother ate lemons," Drusilla murmured. "Raw."
The room was soft with candlelight. Angel lay at the foot of the bed, his hands bound to the bedposts, his bare chest exposed.
He watched as Drusilla drifted over to him. As she knelt before him on the rug.
She ran her hands slowly along his chest. The heat they'd once shared was still there—scorching and intense—fanned even hotter by all those lost, lonely centuries between them.
Drusilla felt it seeping into her fingertips, into the most secret places of her heart.
And now she took her time playing with it . . .
Just to watch him squirm.
"She said she loved the way they made her mouth tingle," Drusilla went on quietly.
She lifted the bottle of holy water. She dribbled a bit on his chest. The liquid hissed as it burned into
Angel's skin. His jaw clenched in pain, but he didn't cry out.
Drusilla smiled at him, her ravaged mind drifting. "Little Anne, her favorite was custard, brandied pears . . ."
Again, she tilted the bottle. More holy water poured out and Angel writhed in silent torment. Part of him welcomed this misery—knew he deserved it—and part of him longed to beg for release. For this was a torment not only of torture, but also of remorse, for what he had done to her.
"Dru—" he moaned, but she sternly cut him off.
"Shhhhh."
He turned his head away. For one brief instant he could see her through a flowing haze of time—that innocent Drusilla of long-ago gazing up at him with wide, beautiful, trusting eyes. And he remembered the adoration he'd seen there, the fear and confusion, and then, when it was finally done, only the emptiness he'd left her.
Angel choked on the bitter taste of the past.
Drusilla waited till he'd grown still.
"And pomegranates," she whispered. "They used to make her face and fingers all red—"
And still she tilted the bottle over his chest, and still she watched the holy water trickle out.
Angel closed his eyes and ground his teeth together. This time he nearly cried out.
"Remember little fingers?" Drusilla taunted him. "Little hands? Do you?"
Her voice had grown hard and cold. She was waiting for his answer.
"If I could," Angel gasped, "I—"
"Bite your tongue," Drusilla snapped at him. "They used to eat. Cake. And eggs. And honey." She paused, her voice changing to sweetness. "Until you came and ripped their throats out—"
Another dose of water. Angel's hands knotted into fists. He arched his back, trying to twist away.
But gazing down upon his face, Drusilla suddenly saw something she'd never seen there before.
The sorrow. Regret. The endless pain of remembering . . .
Her face began to soften. For a brief instant she looked completely vulnerable, genuinely lost.
"You remember?" she asked him gently.
Angel managed a nod. "Yes."
"You remember that kind of hungry?"
"Yes."
Drusilla smiled. "You used to feed me."
She wasn't talking about food now, and Angel knew it. Uncomfortably, he looked away.
"You think you don't have it in you now," Drusilla purred, leaning close to him. "But you do. I can feel it."
Without warning she doused him with holy water.
Angel threw back his head and screamed in unbearable agony.
"I can almost taste it," Drusilla whispered.
And she slowly licked her lips.
0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0
There was still so much to be done.
Night had fallen beneath a full moon, and somewhere in Sunnydale a macabre ritual was about to take place.
"There are forty-three churches in Sunnydale?" Giles watched over Willow's shoulder as she scrolled through the computer. "That seems a bit excessive."
"It's the extra evil vibe from the Hellmouth," Willow explained. "Makes people pray harder."
"Check and see if any of them are closed or abandoned," said Chloe.
Willow obligingly did so.
Giles carried a large book over to where Xander and Cordelia were sitting, he couldn't help noticing how tense they both looked. Their chairs were pulled together side by side at the table, yet they seemed to be deliberately avoiding eye contact. Both sat ramrod straight. As they diligently searched through a volume of demon pictures, Giles could only wonder at their odd behavior.
"We got demons," Xander told him. "We got monsters. But no Bug Dude or Police Lady."
Giles handed over the book he was holding. "You should have better luck with this. There's a section devoted entirely to the Order of Taraka."
Xander began leafing through the pages.
In Giles's office, Kendra was gazing quizzically out at the others. Then she glanced over at Dawn, Faith and Buffy, who were in the process of checking and rechecking their weapons.
"And those two," Kendra said, indicating Xander and Cordelia. "They also know you two are Slayers?"
Buffy kept her attention on her battle gear. "Yup."
"Did anyone explain to you what 'secret identity' means?" Kendra challenged, lifting an eyebrow.
"Nope." Dawn said. "Must be in the Handbook. Right after the chapter on personality removal."
Kendra ignored her. She picked up a crossbow and inspected it closely.
"Careful with that thing," Faith warned. She had learned the hard way about the tricky trigger.
"Please. I am an expert in all weapons—"
Without warning the crossbow went off in Kendra's hand, firing an arrow straight into Giles's lamp, which toppled. Startled, Kendra tried to recover herself.
"Is everything all right?" Giles called.
"It's okay," Buffy called back. "Kendra killed the bad lamp."
Kendra shot her a look. "Sorry. This trigger mechanism is different." She paused, then added in a more conciliatory tone, "Perhaps when this is over, you can show me how to work it."
"When this is over, I'm thinking of pineapple pizza and teen videofest—possibly something from the Ringwald oeuvre," said Buffy.
"I'm not allowed to watch television," Kendra told her. "My Watcher says it promotes intellectual laziness."
Faith laughed. "And he says it like that's a bad thing?"
They turned as Xander yelled to Chloe and Giles. "Here we go," Xander said excitedly, pointing to his book. "I am the Bug Man, coo-coo coo-chu."
It was indeed an ancient drawing of the creature now known as Mr. Pfister. Round-faced, meek, not even very scary looking. But a magnified detail of the drawing showed every squiggle of his wormy composition.
Xander made a face. He ran a finger down the page and added, "Okay. Okay. He can only be killed when he's in his disassembled state."
Cordelia looked up at him. He leaned over, addressing her as if she were a three-year-old.
"Disassembled," he pronounced each syllable slowly. "That means when he's broken down into all his buggy parts—"
Cordelia snatched the book from him. "I know what it means, dork-head."
"Dork-head?" Xander tried to grab the book back. "You slash me with your words."
Their tension was almost palpable. Chloe, Willow and Giles stared at them, and then at each other, completely in the dark.
Kendra looked over at Buffy. "Your lives are very different than mine."
"You mean the part where we occasionally have one?" Buffy asked. "Yeah, I guess it is."
"The things you three do and have," Kendra tried to explain, "I was taught distract from my calling—friends, school, even family."
"What do you mean—even family?" Faith wondered.
Kendra moved slowly about the room, her face grave. "My parents—they sent me to my Watcher when I was very young."
"How young?" Buffy asked.
"I don't remember them, actually. I've seen pictures, but that's how seriously the calling is taken by my people. My mother and father gave me to my Watcher because they believed that they were doing the right thing for me—and for the world." Kendra paused. "You see?"
"Oh, that must have been nice," said Faith remembering the abuse she had received at the hands of her parents. "Wish mine had done that."
Dawn placed a comforting hand on her lover.
"Emotions are weakness, Faith," Kendra said, though not unkindly. "You shouldn't entertain them."
"What?" said Buffy. "Kendra, our emotions give us power. They're total assets. Right, Dawn, Faith?"
"Right," agreed Faith and Dawn.
"Maybe," Kendra replied dubiously. "For you three. But I prefer to keep an even mind." She picked up a dagger and began to polish it.
Buffy shrugged. "Huh. I guess that explains it."
Kendra glanced up quickly. "Explains what?"
"When you, me and Dawn were fighting." Buffy shrugged again. "You're amazing. Your technique. It's flawless. Better than ours—"
"I know."
Buffy bristled, but managed to keep her cool. "Still," she sighed, "We would have kicked your butt in the end. And you know why? No imagination."
Kendra frowned. She was polishing the knife a little more intensely now. "Really?" her tone was level. "You think so?"
"Yep," agreed Dawn. "You're good. But power alone isn't enough. A great fighter goes with the flow. She knows how to improvise."
Buffy leaned back, surveying Kendra with interest. "Don't get us wrong, you have potential—"
"Potential?" Furious, Kendra put the knife down. She marched over to Buffy and leaned into her face. "I could wipe the floor with the two of you right now."
Dawn smiled. "You sure about that?" she asked. She opened a portal behind her and stepped backwards into it.
As the portal closed Kendra stared at where Dawn had been shocked. "Where did she go?"
"Behind you," a voice whispered in Kendra's ear.
Kendra spun and saw Dawn standing in the doorway to the office.
At that moment Xander walked past Dawn and grabbed a book from Giles's desk. Kendra instantly froze, her eyes shyly aimed at the floor.
"'Scuze me, ladies," Xander said smoothly. He looked at Kendra. "Nice knife."
As Xander left, Buffy regarded the tongue-tied Kendra with sympathy. "I'm guessing dating isn't big with your Watcher."
"I am not permitted to speak with boys," Kendra admitted.
Buffy couldn't help but smile. "Unless you're pummeling them, right?" And then her eyes widened with a sudden thought. "Wait a minute."
Dawn instantly saw where Buffy's mind was going. "Willy. He could tell us where they took Angel."
0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0
Angel was reeling from the pain.
As Drusilla knelt before him, one knee wedged between his long legs, he could see the dreaded bottle of holy water in her hand. She dangled it over him teasingly.
"Say uncle . . ."
Weakly, he looked away from her.
"Oh, that's right." A sly smile curled the corners of her lips. "You killed my uncle."
She splashed him again, delighting in his cries of pain. Spike entered the room behind her, his eyes fixed at once on their compromising positions. He wasn't pleased.
"That's it then," Spike said firmly. "Off to the church."
Drusilla looked up at him, all childlike innocence. She held out her bottle of holy water.
"It makes pretty colors," she smiled.
She got up to kiss him, but Spike scarcely seemed to notice. Right now, he was interested in only one thing, and more than eager to get it over with.
He moved to untie Angel. Angel had seen Spike coming into the room—he'd seen the quick flash of jealousy and betrayal on Spike's face. And now a plan began to form, a plan that would ultimately bring about his release.
Angel took a shuddering breath. He'd have to wait for just the right moment.
"I'll see him die soon enough," Spike went on, untying Angel's hands. "I've never been much for the pre-show."
This was Angel's chance. Without hesitation, he took it.
"Too bad," he mumbled to Spike. "That's what Drusilla likes best, as I recall."
Spike froze. He straightened very slowly. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Angel looked over at Drusilla, his tone leering. "Ask her," he nodded. "She knows what I mean."
Drusilla did know what he meant.
She couldn't help but smile at the memory.
"Well?" Spike demanded, turning to face her.
Drusilla shook her finger at Angel. She gave a playful growl. "Shhhhhhh. Bad dog."
"You should let me talk, Dru," Angel taunted, grimacing through his pain. "Sounds like your boy could use some pointers." He shifted a sidelong glance at Spike. "She likes to be teased—"
"Keep your hole shut!" Spike yelled.
He'd had enough, more than enough. No need to be reminded of Angel and Dru's past together. He yanked Angel up by the throat and slammed him against a bedpost.
Angel could hardly stand, and he was in no condition to fight. Yet stubbornly he kept on, gasping out the words.
"Take care of her, Spike. The way she touched me just now, I can tell when she's not satisfied—"
"I said shut up!" Spike shouted.
"Or maybe you two just don't have the fire that we did—"
"That's enough!"
Spike's hand tightened around Angel's neck. His other hand reached for a standing candelabra, smashing it into pieces, fashioning one of them as a stake.
Swiftly Spike drew back his arm. Angel could see the stake clutched there in Spike's hand, and he steeled himself bravely, a mere heartbeat away from death . . .
"Spike, no!" Drusilla cried.
And then Spike stopped.
For a long silent moment, he glared at Angel.
And then, slowly, he smiled.
"Right," Spike mumbled. "Right, you almost got me."
He put the stake down. He tried to compose himself.
"Aren't you a 'throw himself to the lions' sort of sap these days?" he laughed. And then he roared like a beast into Angel's anguished face. "Well, the lions are on to you, baby. If I kill you now, you go quick and Dru hasn't got a chance. And if Dru dies, your little Rebecca of Sunnyhell Farm and all her mates are spared her coming-out party."
Drusilla nudged him gently, her eyes glowing with anticipation.
"Spike, the moon is rising. It's time."
She melted against him as he wrapped a protective arm about her.
"Too bad, Angelus," Spike said smugly. "Looks like you go the hard way—along with the rest of this miserable town."
0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0
Buffy slammed Willy into the bar while Dawn and Faith watched and Kendra paced restlessly nearby.
"Honest!" Willy insisted. "I don't know where Angel is!"
"How about this ritual tonight?" Buffy said sharply. "What have you heard?"
"Nothing. It's all hush hush—"
Kendra was growing more impatient. "Just hit him, Buffy."
"She likes to hit," Dawn told the bartender.
"You know," Willy held up a tentative hand, "maybe I did hear something about this ritual. Yeah, it's coming back to me. But I'd—I'd have to take you there."
Buffy let him drop to the floor. She started dragging him toward the exit. "Let's go."
Kendra hesitated "First, we must return to the Watchers."
"No," said Faith. "What we need is you and I to head back to Chloe and Giles for reinforcements. Buffy and Dawn can do recon till we get there."
"Faith's right," agreed Dawn.
Without another word, Buffy grabbed Willy by the scruff of the neck and shoved him ahead of her and Dawn out the door.
Buffy and Dawn followed Willy through a maze of dark streets. They were in the oldest section of town now, a veritable graveyard of condemned buildings, forgotten neighborhoods, and deserted shops. Leading them several more blocks, Willy suddenly stopped in front of an old abandoned church. He looked back at the sisters, then led them inside.
Dawn and Buffy found themselves in a shadowy vestibule. Their footsteps echoed hollowly across the floor, and their breathing whispered harshly into the shadows.
Willy guided them forward toward a thick bank of shadows in the corner.
"Here you go," Willy said. "Don't ever say your friend Willy don't come through in a pinch."
Dawn and Buffy were right on his heels. They weren't expecting the shadows to part, wasn't expecting the four strange figures who suddenly materialized from the darkness.
Xander's Mr. Pfister, the Police Lady, two of Spike's henchmen . . .
Before the sisters could react, they surrounded them.
Willy turned to one of the vampires with an oily grin. "Here you go," he said. "Don't ever say your friend Willy don't come through in a pinch."
0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0
The ritual was nearing its peak.
Torchlight flickered through the church, reflecting eerily off grimy stained-glass windows. Shadows crouched in silent benediction across the floor. And as Spike swung the censer, breathing in its mystical smoke, he read grandly from the decoded manuscript.
"Eligor, I name thee," Spike intoned. His ghoulish vampire face was transfixed, enraptured with the evil of the spell. "Bringer of war, poisoners, pariahs, grand obscenity!"
Angel and Drusilla stood before him. In the center of the high altar they stood swaying, face to face, tied tightly together by leather straps. Drusilla was gowned in regal black. Tilting her head, she gazed up into Angel's face, her expression wild and dreamily expectant.
"Eligor, wretched master of decay, bring your black medicine. Come restore your most impious, murderous child."
With black-gloved hands, Spike lifted the relic. He pulled at the base of the cross, unsheathing a hidden dagger. Stepping up to the altar, he bestowed a malevolent smile on the couple.
He grabbed Angel's hand, which was bound to Drusilla's. He lifted both hands into the air, and his voice grew louder now, trembling with unrestrained passion.
"From the blood of the sire she is risen! From the blood of the sire shall she rise again!"
With one swift movement, Spike plunged in the dagger. The blade sliced completely through both their hands, binding them with a rush of blood and a supernatural force that flowed powerfully, frighteningly between them.
Angel let out a tortured scream. Drusilla writhed in exquisite agony, savoring her wound.
Joyfully, Spike clapped his hands, watching the magic sparkle and lance the air around them.
"Right then!" he announced. "Now we let them come to a simmering boil, then remove to a low flame—"
He whirled around as the doors behind him crashed open. To his dismay he could see Willy coming toward him and Dawn and Buffy being dragged, surrounded on all sides by his evil minions. Spike stared at them in appalled silence.
"It's payday, pal," Willy swaggered up. "I got your Slayers."
Spike snapped out of his shock. He advanced on Willy, seething. "Are you tripping? You bring them here—now?"
While the two of them argued, Dawn and Buffy frantically searched the shadows. Dawn was the first to spot Angel. "Buffy," she whispered.
Angel was so far gone; he didn't even know the sisters were there.
"You said you wanted them—" Willy began, but Spike cut him off.
"In the ground, pinhead! I wanted them dead!"
Willy was getting nervous. "Now—now that's not what I heard. Word was, there was a bounty on her, dead or alive—"
"You heard wrong, Willy."
"Angel," Buffy whispered.
In the momentary lull, Spike heard her. He followed the direction of her gaze.
"Yeah," Spike's voice dripped with false sympathy, "it bugs me, too, seeing them like that. Another five minutes and Angel will be dead though, so I forbear."
He paused for a moment. His face was mocking.
"But don't feel too bad for Angel. He's got something you two don't have."
"What?" Buffy asked.
"Five minutes. Patrice?"
Immediately the policewoman raised her gun to Buffy's head. Buffy steeled herself for the blast, but the explosion she heard came suddenly, unexpectedly, from another part of the room.
The church doors burst open, one flying from its hinges as Kendra did a handspring across the floor.
Before anyone could react, she smashed into the policewoman and knocked her down, dislodging the gun so it skidded away.
"Who the hell is that?" Spike demanded.
As his henchmen glanced around in confusion, Dawn and Buffy shook them off.
"It's your lucky day, Spike," Dawn said.
Kendra attacked him from behind. "Three Slayers!"
Her punch sent Spike spinning toward Buffy.
"No waiting." Buffy punched him harder, spinning him toward Dawn.
Dawn moved in for a blow, but he ducked, distracting her with fisticuffs as the policewoman headed for Buffy. Stilettos popped out from the sleeves of her uniform, gleaming wickedly in the torchlight.
The other vampires closed in.
As they made a grab for Dawn, Buffy and Kendra, one of them pitched forward with an arrow in his back.
Behind him stood Giles, crossbow in hand, flanked by Faith, Willow and Xander who were armed.
Xander let out a yell. "Hey, larva boy!"
Mr. Pfister turned around. He fixed Xander with a bland smile.
"That's right," Xander taunted. "I'm talking to you—you big cootie."
As Mr. Pfister started toward him, Xander raced for the foyer and shut the heavy oak door.
Immediately Mr. Pfister shed his human form and collapsed into a squirming mass of worms.
Xander and Cordelia were ready.
As the worms began streaming under the portal, Cordelia jumped up to admire her handiwork. She'd spread a thick layer of liquid adhesive across the floor, and the worms stuck fast.
"Welcome, my pretties," Xander gave a mad cackle. "Mwa haa haa!"
Immediately he began stomping. Cordelia hesitated, then began stomping, too—gingerly at first, but finally with unabashed enthusiasm.
"Die!" Cordelia shouted, stomping her cross-trainers into the adhesive. "Die! Die!"
Xander gazed down at the squishy floor. "I think he did, Cordy."
They could hear the fierce sounds of battle coming from the other side of the door.
They stomped harder.
Not far from the altar Dawn was holding her own against Spike. After several crippling blows he had her on the defensive, while Kendra and Buffy were busy with Police Lady.
Glancing over at her sister, Buffy said. "I am going to help Dawn."
"I got her," said Kendra.
The remaining vampire took a swing at Giles, knocking the crossbow from his hands. As the two of them started wrestling, Willow jumped on the vampire's back.
Buffy hurled Spike into the wall. As Willy tried to escape that way, Spike reached out and grabbed him.
"Where are you going?"
Willy's mind raced. "There's a way in which this isn't my fault."
"They tricked you," Spike guessed.
"They were duplicitous!" Willy agreed, outraged.
"Well," Spike soothed him, "I'll only kill you just this once."
But then he saw Buffy and Dawn.
They had climbed up onto the altar and Buffy was clasping the handle of the knife. Buffy was trying desperately to pull it from Angel's and Drusilla's hands.
Spike headed for Buffy but was tackled by Dawn. The two of them crashed to the floor.
Seeing his chance, Willy bolted. He ran past Giles and Willow, who were finishing off a victim of their own.
"Hold him steady!" Willow insisted. As Giles obligingly held the struggling vampire, Willow drove a stake through its heart. The vampire promptly exploded all over Giles. Willow hastily wiped the dust off Giles's clothes.
Willy heard the vampire scream as he died, but he kept on running. He nearly collided with Xander and Cordelia as they raced in to join the others.
Beneath the organ loft, Kendra and the policewoman were still at it, full force. As Kendra once more managed to sidestep the knives, Police Lady shoved her, sending her back into a wooden beam. Kendra scrambled up again quickly. A fine sifting of dust settled down on her shoulders, and she glanced up at the loft. She could see now that the beam was supporting the entire organ loft, and that the whole thing was wobbling dangerously.
In that split second of distraction, Police Lady lunged. She sliced Kendra's arm, drawing blood.
Kendra stared down at the sleeve of her shirt.
"That's my favorite shirt," she said angrily. Then, thinking a moment, "That's my only shirt!"
She came at Police Lady in a hail of blows, finally knocking her under the organ loft at the back.
Up on the altar, Spike had managed to get in a good, hard punch at last. While Dawn regrouped, he looked around at what was happening. He was clearly outnumbered.
Buffy finally managed to pull the dagger out of Angel's and Drusilla's hand just as Spike knocked her aside. He grabbed the knife out of her hand and then cut the bonds and caught Drusilla as Angel fell to the floor.
"Sorry, dear, we got to go." Spike swept Drusilla into his arms. "Hope that was enough . . ."
Seizing a torch by the altar, he hurled it at the others. The torch missed but fell to the floor, landing on a pile of old curtains. The pile instantly burst into flames.
He had to get Dru out. Moving swiftly, Spike carried her to the rear of the church, back behind the fire and toward the organ loft.
Furiously Buffy sprang to her feet, grabbing the censer and swinging it over her head, round and round.
"Buffy!" said Dawn just as Buffy threw the censer as hard as she could, clear across the room. "He has to live!"
It slammed into the back of Spike's head.
Stumbling forward, he hit the beam beneath the organ loft. A long, low groan vibrated through the air.
And then the loft crashed down, burying Spike and Drusilla beneath it.
"If he is still destined to live then he will make it out of here," said Buffy. "Otherwise one less threat that we have to worry about."
Dawn and Buffy turned back to the altar. As the others watched through the thickening smoke, they knelt beside Angel and hoisted him up.
"Let's get him out," Dawn said.
Together they supported Angel and headed for the door. The fire blazed behind them, growing in intensity, creeping slowly toward the rubble of the organ loft.
November 27, 1997 - Thursday
As Willow entered the school lounge the next day, she spotted Oz at the snack machine. His arm was in a sling, and as he saw her come in, his face instantly brightened.
"Oh. Hey," Oz greeted her. He took a box from the machine and held it out to her. "Animal Cracker?"
"No, thanks," Willow smiled. "How's your arm?"
"Suddenly painless."
"You can still play guitar okay?"
Oz shrugged. "Not well, but not worse."
They started walking down the hall. Oz was having trouble getting his box of Animal Crackers open.
Willow was trying to decide how to say what she wanted to say. "You know," she took the plunge. "I never really thanked you."
Oz looked mildly alarmed. "Please don't. I don't do thanks. I get all red and I have to bail. It's not pretty."
"Then forget about—that thing," Willow nodded. She took the box from him, opened it up, and handed it back again. "Especially the part where I kind of owe you my life—"
"Look," Oz interrupted, embarrassed. He pulled a cookie from the box. "Monkey. And he has a little hat. And pants."
Again, Willow smiled, amused by his avoidance tactic.
"Yeah," she said. "I see."
"The monkey is the only cookie animal that gets to wear clothes, you know that?" Oz informed her, and then in the very next breath, "You have the sweetest smile I've ever seen."
Willow was pleasantly startled, but Oz kept talking.
"So, I'm wondering," he gave a slight frown, "do the other cookie animals feel sort of ripped? Like, is the hippo going, man, where are my pants? I have my hippo dignity."
Laughing, the two of them continued down the hall.
Xander was heading down the hallway, too, when he spotted Cordelia. As their eyes made contact, each one turned and headed in the opposite direction. Then Xander stopped. He turned back around and ran to catch up with her.
"We need to talk," Xander said seriously.
Before Cordelia could answer, he hustled her into an empty classroom.
They stood apart from each other—a good distance apart. Both folded their arms.
"Okay," Xander began, "here's the deal. There is no reason for us to run every time we see each other in the halls."
"Right." Cordelia nodded emphatically. "Okay." She thought a moment, then added, "Why shouldn't we run?"
Xander took a deep breath. "What happened. There is a total explanation for it—"
"You're a pervert?"
"Me?" Xander looked shocked. "I seem to recall that I was the jumpee, my friend—"
"As if! You've probably been planning this for months—"
"Right. I hired a Latvian Bug Man to kill Dawn and Buffy so I could kiss you!" Xander's tone was incredulous. "I hate to burst your bubble, but you don't inspire me to spring for dinner at Bucky's Fondue Hut."
"Fine," Cordelia fired back. "Whatever. The point is, don't ever try it again—"
"I didn't try it! Forget the bugs. Just the memory of your lips on mine makes my blood run cold—"
"If you dare breathe a word of this—"
"Like I want anyone to know!"
Cordelia tossed her head. "Then it's erased?"
"Never happened," Xander said firmly.
"Good." Cordelia smirked.
"Good!"
They fell wildly into each other's arms.
Outside Sunnydale High, Dawn, Faith, Buffy and Kendra were walking toward the street.
"Thank you for the shirt," Kendra said. She was wearing one of Dawn's tops, and it fit surprisingly well. "It is very generous of you."
Dawn smiled at her. "You're welcome."
"Now, when you get to the airport—" Buffy started, but Kendra knew the drill.
"I get on the plane with my ticket. And sit in a seat. Not the cargo hold."
Buffy nodded proudly. "Very good."
"That is not traveling undercover," Kendra reminded her.
"Exactly," Faith affirmed. "Relax. You earned it. You sit. You eat the peanuts. You watch the movie…"
"…unless it's about a dog or stars Chevy Chase," added Buffy.
"I'll remember," Kendra said.
They paused at the curb where a taxi was waiting. Faith, Dawn and Buffy gazed long and hard into Kendra's face.
"Thank you," Dawn said at last. "For helping us save Angel."
Kendra looked amused, "I am not telling my Watcher about that. Or about your secret, Dawn."
"Thank you, that means a lot," said Dawn.
"You know you three talk about slaying like it's a job," Kendra said quietly. "It's not. It's who you all are."
"You get that from the Handbook?" Faith wondered.
Kendra shook her head. "From the three of you."
"I guess we can't fight it," Buffy tried to joke. "We're freaks."
"But not the only freaks," Kendra reminded them.
There was an awkward silence. Instinctively Buffy moved to put her arms around Kendra, but the other Slayer stiffened and stepped back.
"I don't hug."
"No," Buffy echoed, embarrassed. "Good. Hate hugs."
They watched Kendra climb into the taxi.
They watched until there was nothing left to see.