That Seasonal Spirit by Pat Kelly

Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: BtVS and all related characters and locales are Joss'and FOX's. VM and all related characters and locales are Rob Thomas'and Warner Bros. Not mine. Just borrowing.
Distribution: The Mystic Muse http://mysticmuse.net
Just ask.
Feedback: Thank you.
Spoilers: Takes place during the BtVS S4 ep, "Pangs" (for now). Also spoils the first, mystery arc of VM S3. You have been warned ominous tone. Sequel to: Freshman Movin' Out, Seniors Movin' In
Author's Notes: The Faith and Weevil scene in Chapter Three was co-written with VixenRaign. Thanks, Vix!

Pairing: Buffy/Other
Summary: Even college attending slayers and P.I.'s take a break for the holidays.

"I have no clue how to fix this." Buffy said as she stood in his kitchen, checking the stove while he peeled the vegetables for her Thanksgiving dinner.

"The stuffing? Or our spirit warrior's desire to murder innocent people?" He asked, having trouble managing three conversations at once.

Native American, spirit warriors. That's what she got for coming home for the holiday. After the semester she had, this was stress she didn't need, but it was her idea to get away. Because there was no place like Hell.

"No, me and Veronica." She looked at him like she couldn't understand why she'd be talking about anything else. "I hate feeling bad cause I saved someone I love from a rapist's Renfield." She sighed. "Do you have a ricer?"

"You don't have a ricer? What do you mean?" She refused to believe this; it didn't make any kind of sense. "How could someone not have a ricer?

The once watcher rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Well, do you have one at home?"

The expected semester of fun had been cut short after Mac's roommate, Parker – who turned out to be a really sweet girl – was raped. Buffy hadn't ever experienced Veronica's dogged side up close before; at least not day in and day out. She'd had warning about the scary, tunnel vision while on a case, but still. Her girlfriend pursued with little thought to who she might hurt or antagonize along the way.

For the first time, even though she'd be standing right next to her, Buffy felt that Veronica left her behind. They fought as a result, dredging flaws…which was another, unpleasant first. That wasn't them. Wasn't them at all.

And then, a couple weeks ago, she'd interrupted Moe, Wallace's R.A. (a.k.a. the Renfield), in the parking lot. He'd drugged Veronica and begun shaving her head. After preventing his escape and bouncing a car door off his face, Buffy called the Sherriff's Department. When he regained consciousness in his cell, Moe gave up campus bookie, Mercer Hayes, as the rapist. Logan previously vouched for the scumbag, too. Aaron Echolls'son? Not happy.

It was over now, so they should've found their way back to normal. But so far? Nothing. Nineteen years they'd been friends, and for a year and a half almost, a couple. This not speaking wasn't good.

"I take it you're asking my advice?" Giles inquired, running his hands under the sink, having finished his assigned task.

"Maybe. Unofficially." Buffy said in a small voice. "Yeah." Sighed again. "We should've stayed in the clink; we were happy there."

Off came the glasses at his incredulous stare. Her innocent, "Didn't I tell you?" face, stared back. There was silence as he wiped his glasses with the towel that'd been over his shoulder. "Sorry, couldn't hear a blasted thing just now…strange, that." Then he dried his hands, and the glasses went back on. "From what little I know of her, Veronica seems a very intelligent, resourceful, and determined girl. And you've mentioned more than once how she can sometimes treat her…cases, as-as highly personal. Which, for her own peace of mind, she feels compelled to see through to the end. No matter what the potential consequences."

Buffy nodded. "Swear it's like a mission sometimes." She half-smirked, next. "Only, m'pretty sure my version was significantly less wordy and British-sounding." Then the slow frown came as she realized, "Stepped on her gumshoes, didn't I?" She'd caught the bad guy Veronica had her sights on, and didn't allow her the satisfaction of collaring him. Damn. "But, that's not what I was trying to do!" She yelled at…um, herself. "My whole thinking? 'Bastard hurt girlfriend, Buffy kill bastard.' Any mystery-solving was unintentional. It so isn't my area."

"I'd be careful not to make light of such thinking around Faith." He advised, seriously.

"Who's making light? Being completely heavy, here." His expression was patriarchal and admonishing, "I know, Giles. Okay?" Buffy couldn't believe he thought she was that dumb. "How's she been? Watcher-perspective."

"Very much committed to training and patrolling." Giles said, still somewhat amazed by the turnaround. He was appreciative, too – training Faith kept him from feeling useless. "She doesn't say it, but I believe she thinks she has to redeem herself by living up to your example."

"She knows I turned my vampire, ex-boyfriend back into a mass-murderer, right?" Buffy asked rhetorically, and it just kind of inevitably hung there as they remembered the victim that had struck closest to home: Jenny Calendar. "Uh, so how much do you not like me for de-committing? Been exercising daily, though. Oh, and there have been a few vamps in Neptune since I started matriculating. I think they followed me. Like evil puppies." She deduced. "But they're giving somebody asthma within two seconds of me introducing Mr. Pointy. Promise. Can still slay with the best of 'em."

"You're concentrating on university, Buffy. There's nothing wrong with that." He laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "You deserve to experience life beyond the trappings of your calling, and I want you to take full advantage." Smile. "Of-of course, in situations like the one with this, ah – 'Hus,'you called him? – we're quite glad to have you home."

Her eyebrow quirked. "That seguing was almost close to seamless." And she really was planning on focusing on the vengeful, ghost guy who made her feel just the tiniest bit like a guilty, white oppressor, but…"God, the stuffing! Mom was supposed to write down the recipe before they left for Aunt Darlene's." She panicked, moving over to the counter to rifle through the recipe book, and after several moments, shook her head. "But it can't be just that. I mean, we fought before I ever…"

"You and your mother?" He'd been in this conversation long enough to at least know she wasn't ever going to cover his topic of choice.

Was that a headache he felt? "Might I suggest talking to her instead of me? If I possessed the ability to mend your relationship, I would. If only so your attentions were less divided." He said, pointedly. "Being that I can't, however, I'm afraid it's a task that must fall to you and she alone."

They were clearly very stubborn, and therefore, very alike, and he was staying out of it.

Buffy's eyes went wide. "You think it needs mending?" It couldn't be that bad. "Believe me, I wanna be chatty. Have to be. And if she's still…coming, it's gonna happen." She reminded herself to stay positive. "Where else could she go? Her dad's with my mom, Parker's having Thanksgiving with Mac's family, Wallace is at his dad's in Chicago, Piz drove home, and Logan's…" Well, she didn't know what he was doing. "…hopefully not an option." Veronica had to come.

"I'm sure she'll be here soon." After a moment, he cleared his throat. "Now, about –" Unfortunately for him, the doorbell rang. As she ran to the door, he sarcastically commented to himself, "Right. Because he'll kindly wait until after supper before slaughtering us all."

When Buffy opened the door, Willow was standing there holding a large stack of books, atop which sat a bag of peas. The slayer deflated at the fact that it wasn't who she wanted it to be. Under any other circumstances, the redhead would've been hurt by the reaction.

"Tell me I'm missing somethin'." Weevil requested, driving his car down Sunnydale's main street. "Cause this place? Hell's fundillo?" He wasn't buying it. "All these wasps around, I'm gonna get stung before I ever gotta watch my neck."

"Boca, actually." Veronica corrected, leaving her thoughts to do so. "Where the 'airplane'should've landed for a wee Weevil. And if it ever did hafta change course? Hope it was warm, and had a dang fine pilot." She cracked, turning her head to smirk at him. "But c'mon, every burg's got their underbelly. Wait'll Mister 'Gas Ball'takes his nightly siesta." Pointed up and out the windshield. "Come tomorrow, you may just wanna ditch the 'Dale and go lather up in a more familiar brand of seedy."

Weevil slowed for a stop sign. "Been a while since you had a boca on your fundillo, huh?"

It worsened from there, until Veronica escaped from the fight, needing to be elsewhere. Because that's what she did when someone cut too close. Even with Buffy, it seemed. She and Buffy got angry. At each other. Hurtful words and ugly truths were bandied about. Such a surreal, unnatural experience. For weeks now, they'd avoided contact. The last time they clashed was when Buffy made them lose the two-legged race on Field Day in fourth grade, tripping just prior to the finish.

Weevil tended to be absent from Field Day. Yet thankfully, he chose not to be absent from Buffy's Thanksgiving dinner. It was him who pressured Veronica into sucking it up, under the excuse that he needed a navigator. He was also the friend Buffy was referring to her going after. Yeah, criminal past, but he would never steal something from her. Especially not something that meant as much to her as Lilly's necklace. Except she apparently couldn't help it.

Her first inclination was always to suspect, even if she was finding out that Hearst – though it had its share of unsavory characters, wasn't nearly as bad as Neptune High. Not wanting to be caught unaware, she entered college prepared for battle; Hearst wasn't her first choice, and because she went there by default (and because it was under Neptune's umbrella), she'd been battling unnecessarily, which only made her life more difficult. Buffy was right about "Veronica Mars."

Since Mercer had been locked away, "Veronica" was let out again. It was going to take work to make her stay. First, she had forgiveness to beg, because she planned to actually lean on the girl she loved from then onward – while having to look the girl in the eye. Wasn't the same as getting comfort from across a cell tower. No more saying it, then forgetting to follow through, because that wasn't what people who loved one another did. But they did occasionally fight. People not in love? Didn't bother. Or so she'd read.

All she knew, was she didn't much like separation. Waking up solo didn't hold the same appeal it used to. Really, the most concise way to put it, was that these weeks without Buffy's company were quite shitty.

Weevil slowed the car to a stop in front of Giles'apartment complex. "Figure I should get in the habit, so…I'm sorry, Weevil."

"Gonna make me cry, V." Then he grinned his acceptance at her, and opened his door. "You go in, act like a moron? Hope you got the cash for a Greyhound."

As he got out, she sarcastically responded, "Wow, I feel inspired. Somebody oughta tell Tony Robbins to watch his back."

The fourth time Buffy opened Giles' front door, Weevil waited on the other side. She smiled, however, it would've been larger had she seen someone else with him. They hugged. "Glad you made it. Were my directions followable?"

"Town ain't that big, Hazel Eyes." He said back to her, ending the hug. "And you owe me one."

Buffy's brow creased as he walked by her into the house, but then she saw that Veronica had been behind him. Inside the butterflies were thrilled, and outside, it was a very uncertain few moments. Veronica, as always was the case in these types of situations, braved speaking first.

Beat. "Thanks a lot, Xander! Way to make Chlamydia look like the 'Bunion' of STDs!" She yelled inside, then to Buffy she said, "Wanna take a break?"

"Uh huh." Buffy answered, hurrying outside and shutting the door behind her. "Willow and Giles are driving me nuts." Veronica's eyebrows rose in question. "Guess that needs explaining."

"Glad we settled that question." Veronica spoke with relieved confidence, as she lay beside Buffy in her girlfriend's bed.

Buffy agreed, trying to return her heart rate to normal levels. "I think I finally get the whole, 'make up sex' craze, now."

They'd walked their way to her house, Buffy saying she needed to find a ricer. Topics of conversation included: how it was such a shame Dean O'Dell committed suicide over learning of his wife's affair with Veronica's Criminology professor, the frightening, deepening relationship between Keith and Joyce, and the trials and tribulations surrounding Buffy's dinner plans.

It wasn't that they were playing it safe, it was just that they didn't know how to begin. Both wanted to make sure "it" was still there between them – the bonds of friendship, "The Look"…so they didn't force anything. Whatever happened, happened, was the guiding philosophy.

When they got inside the house, Veronica faux-marveled (as she did every time she stepped into the Summers' foyer), at the fact that her girlfriend's home had multiple floors and didn't share walls with a chronically unemployed birthday clown, and a shut-in named Rusty. Something about that must have turned Buffy on, because, next thing? The couple was doing some serious looking and re-bonding.

"Did we?" Veronica asked as she rolled on her side underneath the sheet to face the other blonde, honestly curious. "Make up? Cause I was planning to try this new-fangled concept…um, 'apologizing' or whatever?" A hint of "Valley Girl" crept into her voice, then took it over. "It sounds so hard; I think it's like, Canadian. It wouldn't even matter, except my advisor's being a total 'Edie' about how I need a foreign language credit. Hello! I already know all this Spanish – I've been to Cancun like, immersing myself in culture, how many times? But he completely didn't care."

That right there? Why Buffy missed Veronica. She – and them together – was fun. Though she was having flashbacks of Harmony Kendall, and that was scary. She thought it wise to soldier on.

"You aren't apologizing before me." Buffy smiled, stating it as fact, and naturally, Veronica saw this as a challenge, A silent, battle of wills commenced, until the slayer abruptly kissed the lips in front of her, just long enough to throw their owner off her game. "I'm sorry." The sly grin happened without her conscious knowledge. Truly. "See? Wouldn't fib."

"Well played." Veronica admitted, respectfully. Then, her smile? Both warm and regretting. "And no…you wouldn't." That was called, "trust." Probably unconditional. "Fighting? With you? Brand new experience, didn't much care for it. But I know we're going to – simple law of averages when two people are haulin'it long." If there was one thing you couldn't label Veronica as, it was "naïve." "Our first one should've never been about that, though. It's like going from zero to whiplash in two seconds." She kissed her this time. "I'm sorry, too."

"Yeah, there should've been talking. Before the bubbling over ever happened." The slayer said, and what they wouldn't give for a Delorean. "But I guess I didn't wanna get in your way. I mean, you've been honing your inner-'Agatha' for years; it's what you do. Me? Rarely sleuth-y. So I just…" She made a motion like she was dragging a zipper over her lips. "…till the bubbling over."

"And I'm no Pink Ranger." Veronica simultaneously teased while admitting to adopting a similar policy. "So my word hole…" She demonstrated by pressing under Buffy's chin, and closing her mouth. "…just as clamped."

Buffy's look said that remark wouldn't be forgotten, but for now she stayed on point. "I seriously never saw a downside. But then –"

"– we got ticked off. Go fig." Veronica smirked at the dumbness of their choice, whose consequence seemed so obvious in hindsight. "Remember the day after Parker was raped? In between telling Lamb I was there at the time, and setting my red-eyed sights on endangering the guilty party's cockatoo?"

The eve before, Willow, Mac, Buffy and Veronica had tickets to a midnight movie, which Mac had left in her room. Thinking Parker was inside just having sex, Veronica volunteered to brave possible awkwardness and fetch; she did so as quickly as she could. Then following their outing, Mac offered to let Willow crash, so an inebriated and frisky couple could go get biblical.

"I remember my girlfriend feeling like crap, and me forgetting I had class to attend because of; I wasn't gonna let the guilt avalanche. Know how deep it can get." Buffy said in answer.

"You didn't; for a while there, I forgot I had a compulsion to give into. Was happy right where I was." Veronica started to explain. "Shutting you out was a choice fueled not by issues of trust, but by the likely possibility of sidetracking if I let you in, and being okay with that." It was kind of complimentary, but it had still hurt. "Somebody had to collar Mercer, and as usual, it wasn't gonna be the po-po."

"I'm sorry it wasn't you." Buffy looked like she sought penance. "I collared by accident."

Veronica was befuddled. "You saved my hair, maybe even my life…Mercer and Moe are Tiffany's love bucket…no more girls are waking up like Parker had to…" The slayer was just as befuddled, having thought differently. "How big does 'Gen-Pop'think my ego is?" Buffy pretended to cough, and looked away. "Well, shiv."

"I was angry at myself." Veronica sighed. "Don't like it when an Oolong-downing man slave, probably dubbed 'Screech'in high school, gets the drop on me. Every 'Saved By the Bell'rerun? Triggers flashbacks." She rolled over on top of her girlfriend. "If I had been mad at you, hypothetically, it was because I'd promised Parker…then didn't personally deliver the silver platter. But like I said…" This time with lips and tongue. "More than willing to 'make up'as hard as you want – yunno, if you aren't convinced."

Never had Buffy been so tempted to lie. However, Veronica's cell phone loudly spared her from having to. Of course, it also prevented the chatting from reaching a natural conclusion; they hadn't even gotten to her yet. Later, hopefully.

Veronica nodded. "Ah. Yes. How quickly it all falls into place." She reluctantly rolled off of her girlfriend and got to her feet. "C'mon." Buffy started to reach for the folded blanket sitting at the end of the bed. Veronica held her hands up. "Whoa, whoa, whoa – why would I cover myself in a blanket, when I can cover myself in you?" As she smirked, it kept ringing. "Hurry…what if it's my dad?"

"Oh." It sank. "You argue a strong case. Blanket?" She got handed the fabric, wrapped herself in it, and booked it for her pants. When she came back in, she held phone in one hand, and various garments in the other. After tossing them at Buffy, she covered the phone and said to her, "Good call." Then she spoke to Keith again. "Yeah, no, we…Why didn't we hear the phone? Uh, do you think potatoes mash themselves? You wouldn't believe how loud Giles' mixer is."

#Didn't mean to interrupt, honey. Just thought I'd check in, see if you were imprisoned.#

"Only by each other's hearts, Pa," She said in a melodramatic, Southern accent, "only by each other's hearts."

When Buffy heard "mashed potatoes," after getting past Veronica's odd choice for a euphemism, she remembered it was Thanksgiving. And that without her, there'd be no Thanksgiving dinner. Panicking, she searched through the clothing, and intended to set a "speed-dressing" record.

"Be careful how you close that lyric." Veronica paled, and covered the phone again, speaking low through gritted teeth. "They're going to the chapel!"

Buffy froze, bra still unclasped in the back and leg up in the air, that she still had to put in her pants. She hopped to keep her balance. "What chapel?"

"Local." Veronica said to Buffy, and the rest was hazy. "And for some reason, your uncle's a Stain'd fan."

"Exactly." All the sudden, Veronica beckoned her over and Buffy hopped her way there. The phone was angled so she could hear her mother laughing in the background. Cruel. "You know what we just were? Naked. Lacking clothes. Together."

"Were there actually mashed potatoes? We'd tell you, but, nobody uses their imaginations today. And that's sad." A click sounded on the other end.

"Hey! They don't get to hang up!" Buffy complained, feeling cheated. Then her "Thanksgiving ADD" came back with a vengeance. "Clothes. Dinner. Evil spirit. Gotta rework schedule. Gotta be moving."

Veronica knew when not to argue. Except…"What about the B.O.? I mean, don't get me wrong. We definitely oughta think about puttin''the schmooze'on whichever skanky Admin has the most 'clout'with her tenth floor boss. Clout that could be used to get our surprisingly fragrant musks waxed into a high-priced candle." Where did she come up with this stuff? "Still –"

"Giles has a shower." Buffy responded, to which her girlfriend's eyebrows rose. "With room for self-cleaning only."

"Yeah, you better head over." Veronica suggested, slipping her shirt over her head. "But my inner-Agatha and I have to be onboard the Orient Express by six." Judging by the "Don't even try it" look, there was no way she was getting out of helping. "How you can still deny being the butch one, with a straight face – she adds for the heckler in the back – is constantly beyond even my well-honed, deductive skills."

"Never know, maybe that'll be the next mystery you crack." Buffy said with a smile, now dressed enough to venture from her bedroom. "I'm going to get the ricer and find our shoes." But not before kissing some more. "Well, my shoes, your boots. Meet you downstairs?"

Veronica stood there a moment, smiling at the empty doorway. She'd never cop to it, but it was okay if some mysteries stayed un-cracked. Though she would see her gripes addressed before the night was out. "What the frak is a ricer, anyway?" She yelled down.

It was around 1:15 in the afternoon when Weevil answered yet another knock on Giles'front door. Standing huddled in a brown, wool blanket outside, was a sickly-looking Spike. Each man sized the other. Weevil looked up at the hot sun, then at the pale face surrounded by dark fabric, and did some simple math. Arms went across his chest – he looked like the intimidating, gang leader he used to be.

"Who the bloody hell're you?" The malnourished, Brit vampire asked, not expecting this at all. "The Watcher hire himself a maid, did he?"

"Yo, Buffy!" Weevil's expression hardened as he called inside. "You expecting more company?"

"Slayer's home?" Spike perked up. "Short, blond, high horse? Doesn't just play at the 'hero'gig between pokes? Because we're old friends, her and me."

Spike didn't like the way this was going. "Okay, right…caught 'The Big Bad' in a stretch, I admit it." He uttered nervously. "But, try to kill a girl enough times…line starts t'blur, really." No reaction. "C'mon, Cheech! I'm parboiling out here."

Weevil got a "light bulb" look on his face. "Damn, I almost forgot. 'Masterpiece Theater'in there? He, uh, won't shut up about all this dust," He moved his hands, palms down, in a circular motion, "piled in front of his place. Wants it cleared off. And, sounds like the maid's job to me."

"You wanna get a good look, you gotta back off a couple steps." Weevil suggested, and when Spike glanced briefly back, he reached his hand out. "You're standing in it, 'White Wedding.'"

"How stupid do you think I…" Then Spike realized the Mexican had a grip on the blanket. One currently stronger than his. "…am? Oh, bollocks."

Weevil yanked the blanket from the vampire's grip and body. "Stupid enough." By the time Spike had finished screaming and bursting into flame, Giles was next to Weevil in the doorway. "I don't sweep for free," He was clocked out at Hearst until Saturday, "but, there was a broom in my hand all the sudden? Might consider it."

But the Englishmen was already distracted by a glint he saw in the ash. He knelt down and carefully took it between his thumb and forefinger. "A microchip?"

Weevil wasn't nearly as impressed as Giles seemed. "If that's supposed to be sun-block, thing needs work."

"Hmm?" Giles stood back up, and was still looking at the chip as he turned back inside. "Oh. Indeed…yes." He slapped his houseguest on the back in a congratulatory manner. "Cheers for killing Spike."

When he shut the door, Buffy taking his words personal, he wasn't aware that Angel was watching from across the street, smiling just a little bit at his reflection-less rearview mirror.

Veronica walked downstairs, hair still damp from her shower, passing Willow at the bottom, who was on her laptop. Then she looked over at the couch where Xander had been laid out since arriving, afflicted with mystically-induced syphilis, smallpox, a sprinkle of malaria…any and all diseases that Hus' Chumash tribe were exposed to centuries ago. Anya, ex-vengeance demon and his current girlfriend, sat at his side.

"Look, see those rashes on your palms? You're in the second stage now." Anya said, trying to do the "fake positive" tone, but not exactly selling it at all. "Don't worry, as long as Buffy or Faith kills the possibly justified Indian before the last stage? You'll stop looking so pasty and unattractive. Practically right away. An-and the virility and stamina'll also come back to your penis, so you'll be able to give me all the orgasms I've had to miss today."

Everyone, Veronica saw – from Weevil and Faith, crowding around the research desk to play Uno, per Buffy's sister's obvious insistence, to Buffy herself, slaving over a hot stove – recoiled like they'd been slapped with a fish. Well, not Dawn. The girl had apparently been trained to cover her ears whenever Anya started to speak. Something that would be a wise lesson for all to learn.

"Oh, your organs'll start to fail." Anya said quickly and easily, more focused on the second question. "But he riddled my boyfriend with inconvenient diseases…so obviously he has to die." She smiled at him, and he smiled weakly back through the paling even more. "Still, vengeance can be necessary and fulfilling. Your ancestors were covered in maggots hundreds of years ago…how else is he supposed to exact it?"

"Okay, twisty logic at its twistiest. But how bout canoeing right past the exacting to, hey, a little growth and reflection? Or at least dial the death-causing down a notch. There's plenty-a-shin to kick, underwear to atomically wedgie…and what's wrong with a hurts-donut, huh? That old, classic enemy of the easily wool-eyed. Like me." He offered, preferring less fatal alternatives. "I get that it was your job –"

"It was a lot more than that, Xander." Her mood shifted immediately, he was angry. "It's what I was. I owe my entire existence to vengeance." She stated, unashamed, then stood from the couch. "And you'll never accept how much it means to me, will you? Your beady eyes are giving you away."

She turned and stormed out of the apartment. Veronica was the only one really listening, knowing a thing or two about vengeance herself. And if it could turn her into –

"Anya, wait!" Xander shakily got to his feet and wobbled after her out the door.

"See? I'm not as bad as some, 'Not Sorry I Was Evil For a Thousand Years, But Look! I'm All Better Now' people." Willow piped up, speaking to Giles.

"I don't recall ever saying that you wished harm upon anyone, Willow." Giles said, exasperatedly.

"Nope, me either." She agreed. "But ooh, remember how voices have tones?" Hers turned accusing, eyes not moving from her screen.

Also, she may have been a little on edge because a few weeks ago a band came to play at the Pit, called "Shy." And that band had a female lead singer, who turned out to be a werewolf. From what Veronica understood after the fact, fur went a-flyin'between her and Oz, leaving Willow to catch the post-moon, post-coital. Then there was the part where the bitch's throat got torn out, and he left town.

"Look, plain and simple? We don't bring the fight to neutral ground, it's comin'close to home. So anybody got an idea how to take Geronimo down before he floats his red ass over here and we're all friggin'scalped?" Faith inquired of the room, and then spoke again as Willow re-objected. "Sorry, pullin'rank. Held out long as I could." After picking a card from the stack, she poked Dawn in the stomach, who finally took her hands off her ears. "You're up, Big D. And if you turn another Wild, I call foul."

"Buffy, Faith says I'm cheating!" Dawn called, thinking she was going to have aid, and sticking her tongue out prematurely.

Faith stuck her tongue out at the young brunette in smug retaliation. When she saw Veronica walking by with a smirk, she had to comment, "It too much to hope that B's sheets smell as fresh as you? Know I got 'em on loan, but…cut a super-chick a break."

"Asking the wrong person. For me, 'hoping'is as much of a dark, dead-end alley as believing in Eskimos." Veronica replied in a moment of near seriousness, followed by a guilty grin. "But, and I'll need to verify with my super-chick, a window maaay have been cracked." She added, looking thoughtful. "Hmm. Almost sounds like you haven't been that 'lucky'lately. Which, given your many…well, let's just call 'em, 'charms'– Weevil's impressionable, after all – I'm having trouble swallowing."

Weevil grinned himself, taking a card after Dawn's turn. "Wait," He laid down the five he just drew, "so you weren't takin'09ers into the bathroom to work on that?"

"Some nameless amateurs at the art of photoshopping," She coughed, "Yearbook staff," then proceeded, "circulate a few flyers into the Mill, and suddenly I'm giving 'Bowl Jobs'during m'down time. Poorly-cropped though they were." She sighed. "Why? Because I might have suggested, offhandedly, that such tomes all be burned, thus setting free the spirits of all dead trees within, who're trapped in Hell."

"Freeing spirits bad." Buffy said from in the kitchen. "You get that now, right?"

"Bright side? If memory serves, I already buried that hatchet pretty freaking deep." Willow looked up to glare. "It's not like they're still on my list or anything."

"I know you guys are talking about sex stuff." Dawn said, rolling her eyes at their attempts to be sly about it. "Or, uh, you were."

Everyone stopped. Faith, Veronica and Weevil were expecting to get their asses kicked, and were looking at one another like they were just waiting for the bus to show up. So they could be the first one to throw the other two under it. No honor among the morally flexible.

"I very much wish I could say she's the only one who does." Giles broke the silence. "Faith, Eli, go to the Dean's home." He instructed, taking the gauntlet thrown down by the slayer before they all got sidetracked again. "So far, Hus' victims have been figures of some authority, or, in one form or another, connected to the underground mission that contained him." It was discovered beneath land designated for UC Sunnydale's new Cultural Center. "Making the Dean a likely target."

Weevil had worn similar "Fall in Line or Regret It" looks to the one Giles wore now, and recognizing that, he chose not to tempt fate. The man wasn't the British stereotype he appeared to be. Faith had obviously learned this before.

"About time." She obediently jumped up, jetting for the exit. "You wanted 'Twilight Zone,'Navarro? I'll show ya the hotspots on the way. We get lucky, maybe you'll see my charm in action."

"Try and find Xander as well?" Giles asked as Faith opened the door. "He really shouldn't be walking around in his condition. We'll keep looking for a solution."

"If I catch what Potsie's got…" Weevil said in vague warning, as they walked out.

"What, Anya?" Faith asked, which got a low chuckle out of him. "I don't get it either, man." Then she closed the door behind them.

Faith took in her surroundings – the classic car with its custom paint, the plush leather interior and upholstery – and couldn't hold in a chuckle.

"What?" The Mexican asked, glancing over from the driver's seat, one hand on the wheel.

The slayer pulled herself up a little higher in the seat and shrugged, leaning an arm out her open window. "Nuthin'." She began, her tone playful. "Just figured your ride'd have a couple less wheels underneath." She grinned. "Wouldn'ta worked for Tink though, I guess. She ain't the type to sit 'bitch' that long."

"You either." He smirked, looking her up and down quickly, then eyes went back on the road. "Yeah, you'd look right at home with some chrome hummin' between your legs…yunno, either that, or a two-hundred pound, mullet-wearing madre calls herself 'Ernie.'"

"Ohh! You went there on me, Navarro?" Faith groaned, laughing, trying to block her grin with a fist in front of her mouth. "Hey, you think you could hook a girl up? Outta nowhere, after a hard slay? I get these wicked 'bean' cravings. Grade-A, fresh off the vine…"

"Tell the truth – you just wanna trade 'em for a cow, don't you? Hear they can really boost business at the trailer park." He threw back. "Ain't my fault outfit says what it says."

"Bygones, man." She held her hands up in surrender, speaking half-seriously. "But jus'to set the record, if I was offered a spin around some curves? Wouldn't turn it down, but first straightaway, and I'm gettin' off. Can't feel the road when you gotta worry about steerin', you know?"

Weevil pressed his foot down on the pedal briefly, just enough to rev the engine, and winked. Then the car fell silent for a few moments as the former, gang leader turned towards the campus area of town.

Faith's attention shifted to the cross hanging from the rearview. "That for the vamps, or d'you actually, uh…?" She asked, pointing.

"Have faith?" He questioned back, leading her to roll her eyes at his deliberate word choice. "Saw the brown, right?"

"Means yeah…whole life. And that anyone who tries to steal my baby, Fang or not, is gonna hafta answer for it, one way or another." He watched her watching the cross. If he didn't know better, he'd think she was just as afraid of it as the undead. Though for a different reason. One he was no stranger to himself. "How long you been doin'it?"

"Goin'on two years – summer the Pixie Twins found their 'Rainbow Connection'? S'when I got myself drafted." Now she did grin. "But, wasn't exactly deployed all official." Her eyes dropped to her lap as the grin disappeared. "My watcher, she uh, got killed. I ran. Wound up here." She looked expectantly at him.

"First one that turned personal." She replied while looking out the window again. "'Cept you missed the point." The point was that she had run to start, when she never should have. She was a Slayer.

"Point's always gotta be the end." He glanced at the cross again. "Or else me and the Hefe upstairs won't get along too well."

Following another, silent stretch, Faith began to return the question to him. "What was your – ?"

"Human or demon?" So that was it. She knew he'd been in jail, but now she also knew why that look in his eyes was familiar. "I don't regret what I did; it needed to happen. Still gotta live with it, though." Pause. "And that story? Stays with Weevil."

He pulled the car up to the curb, and turned off the ignition. They were at the Dean's home. He knew the look in her eyes, too. Her sin wasn't premeditated. "Nope. Cause my guess? Line of duty."

She had to give the Mexican credit; he was a perceptive son of a bitch. "Giles says that makes it, I dunno, more…"

"Forgiveable?" He filled in. "Look, I've known about vampires ever since Buffy got called up…she ever tell you about that gym?"

"Me and my boys? We were there. Who do you think got her the gas?" He continued. "Anyway, I see one, think I can get the upper-hand, I'll do my part. Only times in my life I know I'm in the right. But I'm freelance – I can walk away." The two of them couldn't, and besides, the Powers-That-Be probably wouldn't want him full-time anyway. He knew he wasn't a good man. "You're in a war. There's gonna be people, wrong place, wrong time, who don't deserve to go out like that. Just the way it is.

"I was in your place? I wouldn't worry 'bout trying to balance the scales for anybody but myself. Make peace with it, show up for work, and at the end, chips'll fall wherever they're gonna fall."

"Trust me – it isn't." They both looked out the window at the Dean's lighted porch, and imagined the law-abiding, morally uncomplicated, loving family inside probably full from a big meal. "Speaking of the job…"

"Uh, any ideas?" Faith asked, just realizing she hadn't thought of a way to broach the subject of a killer Indian spirit with the man.

"I'm just here to try my luck." He said it with a straight face as they reached the front door. "You're the hero."

"That's what they tell me." She smirked, still not quite convinced as she rang the bell. "And, you might wanna think it over. Coulda sworn gettin' your luck on was a sin."

"Okay, the serial number's registered to a government contractor. For sure." Willow said, feeling validated as she got off the phone. She'd looked at the chip under the microscope and was able to make out digits. Then she asked Mac to do some cross-hacking (who by the way, had finished her dinner hours ago). "But that's all we could get without the FBI bursting in, mad and door-bashy."

"The government?" Giles mulled that over. "Well, that would explain the, ah, the persons in black camouflage Faith has repeatedly spotted around town." He said, glad to have one puzzle solved. "Though that we know nothing of their larger intentions…" Regardless of the concern in his voice, he smiled gratefully. "Still, well done. Both of you."

The redhead smiled at the praise, and then it vanished within seconds, when she remembered she was still mad at him. "You're welcome. B-but…I don't need your approval. No sir." Gave a firm nod. "Perfectly hunky-dory, and so not insecure."

As she closed up her laptop and packed it away so she didn't have to look at him, he sighed again.

"Are you sure you guys – ?" Buffy said nervously from the couch, looking over at Veronica and her sister setting the table. Without her.

"She looks sane…" The off-duty P.I. said as she laid down plates and Dawn placed the utensils, "…but then, so did Mel. And I think we all remember that black day in cinematic history." She said with faux-sadness in her eyes, shaking her head. "Lethal Weapon 4, anyone?"

"It's like there's these dots? An-and if you connect 'em together, they make a finger-turkey. Kinda like the one I did for my mom when I was nine, but Buffy's name's on it." Dawn said, thinking maybe Veronica couldn't be so bad if she made fun of her sister. "And, um, his eyes are all googley. Because he's wicked crazy."

"Coincidence?" Veronica asked rhetorically. The kid had promise. Jabs were a little undeveloped, but that could be solved with age. "Don't know about you, but I'm gettin' the feeling she doesn't trust us with the good china." There was a deeper implication there, which was hard to miss if you were Buffy, who she now looked at. "Also, friendly reminder? I haven't promised to love in health and sickness yet."

The slayer didn't get it at first, and then it occurred to her who'd been previously occupying the space where she was taking a load off. Or supposed to be. She shot off the sofa and began obsessively trying to wipe the germs off her arms and legs, uttering the noises of someone very grossed out. "You…ew…couldn't have mentioned sooner?"

Buffy pouted, and started to walk over. "I trust you. You know I –" Then one of the high windows by the stairs shattered, and an arrow stuck itself right in the table. "Arrow."

The five of them each looked to the window – Hus was there reloading his bow. "Uh, you can have casinos now!" Buffy informed him, though it had no effect.

Veronica had Dawn by the hand and they ducked down behind the table, urging Buffy to them. Giles and Willow went into the kitchen and adopted similar positions. "This must be why Sunnydale stays conspicuously absent from all state-sanctioned, tourist guides." Veronica weakly joked when Buffy joined them.

Life-threatening situations weren't her forte. She'd gotten herself into a few of them, and possessed a hell of a survival instinct during, but she tended to barely escape with her life. No amount of tazing was going to stop this one in particular, nor Backup-sized dogs. Supernatural sieges were her girlfriend's area. She wouldn't ever debate that.

A second later, Buffy was exposing her arm for aiming at. An arrow embedded itself as a consequence.

"Geez, if that's the definition of 'careful'you've been using?" Veronica's sarcasm was shielding her worry. "Then they probably shouldn't let crack whores teach second grade." She took hold of the shaft, her face softening in sympathy. "Hold still." With a swift and hard yank, she pulled out the arrow, cringing, then snapped it in two. "There. No more phallic irony."

Buffy held her arm, rolled her eyes, and then got back to business. "Giles, how many?"

"Uh, the leader upstairs…two by the living room windows…one through the window by the door." He called over to her, and a couple seconds after he added, "We need help."

"Yeah," She agreed, "too bad we can't wait. I'm gonna try for the weapons again."

"Promise the cool, new hole in your arm won't make friends? Cause they'd just bring on a healthy slew of mistaken impressions. Impressions I'd prefer not to have to debunk in an ER." Veronica requested, already knowing it was something she wasn't going to get. "Or, or…I'll settle for 'Option B.' After Raging Bull's," She drew her hand across her neck, making the universal, accompanying sound, "you come back."

Smile. "Promise." She squeezed her hand. "But, I liked Miss Goldwin. Even if she was a crack whore." Her sister was blushing. "You didn't hear me say that."

Dawn was always watching, but these last, few minutes, she'd watched even more closely than usual. Taking her mind off the violence, she zeroed in on the couple. They weren't gross or mushy about it, but it was there to be seen.

Pretty much an "eyes-only" deal, she saw the girl who couldn't go a sentence without trying to be funny, actually caring about her sister. A lot. And Buffy being a little less annoying and uptight. A little. As well as, you know, caring. Too.

It was sort of nice. Except, she'd die before verbalizing. Hopefully not tonight however, because it would suck to die on an empty, stuffing-less stomach.

Long siege short? They were victorious. Faith, Weevil, Xander and Anya returned much like the cavalry to help beat back the natives who just didn't want to die. While Buffy was inside figuring out that the knife Hus carried could injure him (and making Hus turn himself into a very angry bear), Faith fought her way past the first wave outside. Once inside, Buffy was able to find her.

Recognizing the value of teamwork just then, and realizing she had all of Bear-Hus' attention, she managed to throw Faith the knife. The brunette slayer quickly surmised what she was supposed to do, and stabbed the animal in the back. It roared in pain, but then went quietly, shifting back into the man – who turned to face her – before dissolving into a green mist.

The rest followed, and that was the end of the fighting. Meant it was time to eat. Items of food were being situated on the table, and Buffy was reverently handing Giles the knife with which to carve the turkey. Faith on the other hand, still held the Chumash relic that was Hus' undoing. She stared at it, a faraway look in her eyes.

Because of that, she didn't notice Weevil walk up to her. "Yogi leave a body?" He asked, and when she didn't answer, he figured that was answer enough. "And ya can't kill somethin' that never did. Just cause he could pass himself off, doesn't mean he didn't need putting down." He held out his hand. "Let it go, girl."

Vampires, demons…she took them out no problem. They didn't look human. Yes, vampires could, but by the time she was ready to stake them, their faces were generally bumpy. And she had no problem taking out a rabid animal either, but just like that, he wasn't one. He was a man with an accusing gaze.

Gave her flashbacks to an alley. Screwed with her head. But finally seeing Weevil in front of her, she blinked, and was suddenly back. Dropped the knife into his palm with the faintest of grateful smiles on her lips.

Faith let the smile loose. "You and me both, Pint-Size." She sat as Buffy put some mashed potatoes on her plate. "Nice spread, B. Should be proud."

"You too." Buffy said, noting for the third or fourth time today, that her two sisters – one biological and one not – were good for one another. Logically it didn't follow, but the evidence was right there. Veronica was right. Faith hadn't gotten lucky lately, and something told her it was by choice. "Thanks for the save back there."

"Yes, wonderful timing, Faith." Giles complimented warmly. "It could've gotten much worse. For the value of my property, especially."

Everyone smiled their thanks, even Xander and Anya, who made up at some point during the night, and were this close to scaring the thankee off of sex for good. While Weevil took the seat next to hers, she shied from the gratitude, and just started eating her potatoes.

Down the table, Willow moped. "Did you see me? Two seconds of conflict with an indigenous person, and I turned into General Custer."

"And you know what?" Xander spoke to his girlfriend, tapping her on the arm. "I think my syphilis is clearing right up."

Faith was pouring gravy over Dawn's food when those words caused her to drop the ladle with an audible clang. The teen stuck her finger in her mouth and gagged.

"Nothing against the chef," Weevil began his announcement with a preface, seeing that Veronica was right again, "but, Christmas comes? I'm plannin'to deck my own halls – look for a card."

Buffy couldn't blame him. Christmas was going to happen in Neptune, because she almost didn't pull Thanksgiving off. Yet for the moment, as she claimed her hard-earned seat across from Giles at the head of the table, she contentedly viewed friends and family who were enjoying her meal. She went from person to person until she stopped at the empty chair right next to…hey.

"Angel." Veronica greeted the vampire when he arrived at his car a ways down the block from Giles' apartment. She was sitting on the trunk, smiling.

"So, I've been dying to ask – are you now or have you ever been Johnny Cash? Maybe in like a 'Dread Pirate Roberts'-type scenario? Because if not, then somebody filched somebody else's gimmick. And you gotta admit, little tacky." When he didn't respond, she tilted her head to the side, attempting to study him.

Then she shrugged, and hopped herself off the vehicle. "Ran my theory past your crack team, and wow, you'll never guess what dirty laundry they practically gave away. I almost felt like Goodwill." She stage-whispered, "Hint – in the wrong hands, it could be considered blackmailable."

Her "I have all the cards," smirk was out to play. "How I figure it? Even those pesky, gypsy curses have fine print somewhere, because, needing to shower-croon Manilow? Unnatural." His cool, mysterious exterior cracked. "And sharp as a razor isn't how Doyle and Cordelia described the experience."

He grumpily stuck his hands in his pockets, and bit the inside of his cheek. "They're both getting fired."

"Follow-up: stalk any ex-girlfriends lately?" Veronica could switch from sarcastically entertaining (if you weren't in her line of fire), to unrelenting, in the snap of a finger.

"I wasn't…" It was quite the puzzler, but here Angel was, a vampire, and he was somehow sighing. Also squirming. "I was protecting her. Doyle had a –"

"– vision. I got the scoop. Very 'Medium.'" She enlightened him. "But see, when you don't tell your ex," There was the second, deliberate use of that word, "you're coming into town to be her pale knight in neutral-colored armor, it kinda feels less like protection, and more like, yeah, stalking. And here we are again, full circle."

He walked around her to get to the car, and inspect the trunk for any scratches or chips in the paint. "I didn't want things to get complicated."

"If the only person you've loved in 243 years realized she was in love with someone else while you were in a Hell dimension, so you got out of her life…" He trailed off a bit, rubbing what he perceived to be a smudge with his thumb, but then faced her and went on as if he hadn't. "…until some, higher power decided you had to go back and see her, how would you handle it?"

"Hmm. First, the time-tested, 'rebound lay.'Would I like myself in the morning? Doubtful, but I'd do it all for the nook…" He narrowed at his eyes at her, and her error flashed neon. Wouldn't be the first time her overconfidence made her step in it. "Ooooh. Yikes. Forgot about that fine print." She rubbed the back of her neck, embarrassed. "While it's true that Cher and 'Carmen' deserve all props for what little, 'gypsy knowledge'I currently possess, I still never would've pegged the nomadic – who can't spend much time inside a shower – as being so stiff." And people thought she was vindictive.

Her dad taught her to never insult a man's sexual deficiencies unless there was a really good reason, and at this point in time, Veronica had none.

"Sorry." She held a beat, and it didn't look like he believed her. "Rewinding, I agree. It sucks. Cosmically. They put ya behind the eight ball, gave you a raw deal…etcetera, etcetera, etcetera." She empathized, she did. "Doesn't get you off the hook for tonight's borderline stereotypical, 'Evil Dead'stalker approach…"

"I'm not evil." He insisted for the third time that evening. He was getting rather annoyed at people jumping to that conclusion. "What's the hook?" He then suspiciously asked.

"Finding out whether vampires can eat solids." She dangled his car keys magically from her hand. "So how bout you just save me the effort and the extra-strength chloroform I'm trying to stockpile for a rainy day, and make this easy on both of us? Wouldn't wanna complicate unnecessarily." She harkened back to his earlier term. "Giles has a bell on standby – let's earn you your wings."

Vampire and detective stared one another down. She had her bag of tricks strapped around her shoulder as usual, but he could have had his keys back before she even opened it. They both knew that. But Veronica, once she accepted a case, never walked away. Especially one that came from her girlfriend.

Earlier, during the walk to the Summers'home, Buffy mentioned how over the past, couple days, it felt like she was being watched. By default, Veronica's investigative instinct thought of Angel, because it was always the ex. One phone call later, plus a canvas of the area while Buffy showered, and she had confirmation.

Angel was going to face the music; there was no avoiding it. Right after she answered her cell. Whose ringing made her jump, thereby ending the stare-down. Was that smugness on his face? She refrained from comment, because she fished the phone out of her back pocket, looked at who was calling, and remembered what she hadn't done.

"Crap." She pressed "Talk" a tad reluctantly, and closed her eyes tight. "Hi, honey. Guess who's coming to dinner?" When her eyes reopened, she took a moment to look smugly back at the undead Irishman. He was locked in.

In all honesty, Angel didn't understand Veronica's attitude towards him. It began last year when he was still living in Sunnydale, and apparently hadn't changed. If anything, he was the one more entitled. She won; he lost. Being with Veronica though, being able to escape the Hellmouth, showed Buffy that life existed outside darkness. Something he couldn't have shown her.

Not to say that Neptune was Mayberry, or that the world Veronica worked in (which exposed humanity's uglier side more often than not) didn't have its own darkness, but you couldn't compare. And when the two were together, they had fun in spite of both towns'flaws. Whereas his and Buffy's relationship wasn't driven by fun – they were drawn to one another's misery, which very rarely did they try pulling each other out of. They just curled up and let it envelop them.

Why wouldn't he get along with the person who knew Buffy better than he ever would, and knew how to make her happy? Oh. Yeah. Those were a pair of good reasons. And maybe any other guy wouldn't, but he wasn't any other guy. Buffy's well being had been paramount to him before they'd even met, and now? Buffy was known to laugh regularly. Thanks to Veronica. He bet it was a great sound.

Veronica hung up. "Willow and Giles sang like canaries. Ratted you out. Then logic seemingly told her, if they knew you were here, I had to know. Two-faced bastard." She hated when logic worked against her. "We-we could wait until the Tryptophan kicks in. It's odd, but I'm suddenly not in any rush to be deep-sixed."

Something she found weird in itself, and her cockeyed look said so. She shook it off, internally debating about actually taking it slow. But that would've worsened the situation. "Damn it. Hitch up your slacks and move those getaway sticks, Lestat." She wasn't going to do the "one step forward, two steps back" thing. Not with Buffy. "We got some esplainin'to do."

As they walked up the block, Angel chose to ignore the literary reference. He was too busy returning to his suspicions. "You weren't out here just to catch me."

"These weren't red a minute ago…" She quipped, showing off her hands. "You're right. I also wanted to haul you in so I'd have front row for the interrogation/ass-kicking." Veronica confessed, all the while making strides. "Hasn't gone exactly according to plan, but everybody's got a dream. Blame it on my less adorable qualities."

He didn't question the validity for a second, but there was more to it. "Why else?"

It wasn't insecurity. Her motive wasn't to get proof that Buffy loved her through the pissed off slayer dusting her once boyfriend. She didn't doubt Buffy's feelings; she didn't think Buffy was going to have an abrupt change of heart and run into his arms. However, she did think –

"I get Buffy. Always have. Being able to meet at eye-level, a deep affinity for mid-90s dance mixes, seething hatred of the word, 'kafuffle'…whatever the cause, the effect is understanding. And with that mutual base comes knowing. Everything from her favorite color, food, and CSI, to why she'll never set foot in a Tarzhey ever again. Yet to every coin, a flipside there be.

"The Slayer? Total, Lynchian enigma. Isn't like I haven't tried to unravel," She stopped, turned to him, and pointed at the section of sidewalk on which she stood, "but still square one. My confidence's been worked over by a lead pipe, and kneecaps? On deck." She swallowed her pride in a deep breath. "Help…I'm outta straws worth grasping. Get me to square two. Please."

Bingo. She thought he knew a part of Buffy she didn't. What else could it have been? Truth was, her guess was as good as his. And it was a guess.

"I fought alongside her, but she wasn't always there. Neither was I. We didn't talk about it much; didn't want to. Took the pressure off."

Believing she was getting the runaround, Veronica began walking again, forcing him to match speed. "I attempted ignorance, didn't take. The bliss was temporary." Veronica enlightened him, seeing the gate to Giles'complex coming up ahead. "If that's what you're offering…"

He put a hand on her arm, and they stopped again just inside the courtyard. "For most people, even vampires, being alone is a choice. For slayers, it isn't that simple. They were created to be alone. They weren't part of the world, and weren't supposed to be. Buffy's different. She's trying to have something the girls who came before didn't grow old enough to know they wanted."

"A life?" Veronica was angry at the universe on her girlfriend's behalf. "Tonight…did you at least save it?" He didn't say anything, nor did he have to. "Thanks. I owe you one."

"Love her and we're even." Angel said without sentimentality. "If you wanna know what it's like for her, if you wanna help her, ask." She was skeptical. "She trusts you, Veronica. More than she ever trusted me. She's probably wanted to tell you –"

"– but that woulda meant going wherever slaying makes her go, and what if I wasn't ready to travel?" Idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot. "Idiot."

She spent the last, three years asking people she didn't even like, questions they didn't want to answer, but when someone she cared about wanted to be questioned…idiot. Buffy had to hate keeping a part of herself, however unpleasant, hidden from Veronica. Duh.

"You're not an idiot." Buffy said, having seen them out the window, and come out. "Just, impulsive sometimes. Idiotically." She was ready to be mad, but then she saw Veronica there, all not dead. "You are talking about missing my Thanksgiving, right?"

Him the hazel-eyed blonde was mad at. "Hi. Get inside. There's blood in the turkey pan."

Thankful for small, delaying mercies, Angel hurried to the door in a way where he tried to make it appear like he wasn't. Prior to crossing the threshold, he looked at Veronica, quizzical. "'Getaway sticks'?"

"If you're gonna be a private dick, learn the lingo." Veronica shook her head at him. "Amateur." She went up to her girlfriend, sporting "the Face" that had been her father's downfall since age four.

"When I came back you weren't there. Mid-'happy moment,'you weren't there." Buffy out-pouted her. "Then the moment? Not so happy."

That was a trick. "You don't have your tonsils." Like Buffy wouldn't remember the nitrous oxide incident. "But bicuspid lacrosse? Seven."

And the ref blew the whistle…and a long, minute and forty-three seconds later, he called time out, after which they walked hip-to-hip in the direction of the door.

Veronica's response? To slap her ass. "That's my Bertha." Then she noticed Buffy's arm. The arm with the hole. "What're you doing? Why hasn't that been cleaned, disinfected and bandaged already?"

"You don't leave open wounds – stop me if you know this one – open. It's common sense." Veronica ranted, pulling her inside. It wasn't a new rant. "You close them, so your girlfriend can relax, satisfied that you're capable of taking care of yourself in her absence." She was a woman on a mission. For a first-aid kit. "Get your arm up."

Buffy wasn't hearing the end of this. But that was okay. She wasn't sure she wanted to.

Naturally, once the grub tapped out, everyone had excuses to avoid being assigned a task. Xander and Anya went to have the much-discussed sex. Willow rode back to Neptune with Weevil, anxious to resume, first thing in the morning, her top secret project with Mac (that their friends were beginning to doubt even existed). It kept her mind off of Oz, so, whatever worked.

Angel took his licks and skulked back to the city, but not before dropping Faith and Dawn off at home. The thirteen-year-old conked hours ago. Even Giles escaped to his visiting, British girlfriend's hotel. He'd known she was flying in – to save him from the "horribly Puritanical, horribly American holiday."

Which was unfair and incredibly convenient, as it stuck Veronica and Buffy with the aftermath. Not that they minded the solitary togetherness, but they were limiting themselves to the dishes. Any broken windows and/or furniture remained his home-improvement dilemma.

Veronica had dug out his "White Album" LP –"Glass Onion" played. The record would be returned to its rightful spot after the last of the dishes was away, him being none the wiser, but there were some traditions learned from Lianne Mars that she always followed. Having the Beatles on while doing cleaning of any kind, was one of them.

"K, switch." Buffy said, stepping left as Veronica passed behind her and to the right, relinquishing the towel and discreetly cupping chest in a single motion.

The slayer looked over at her, eyebrows up. Veronica rolled up her sleeves, tied her hair back, and was getting ready to tackle the sink when she met the look.

"What?" She asked with an exaggerated, "I don't know what you're problem is, but…" expression. She flexed the fingers on the offending hand. "I told you, I think I have serious nerve damage. I can't predict what it's gonna do." She picked up the sponge, though her eyes went to Buffy's lower half. "Just be thankful you chose form-hugging pants which aren't easily de-zipped. Cause otherwise…" She whistled.

Buffy smiled, and threw her hip into Veronica's. Taking the newly-scrubbed fork twenty seconds later, while she dried, she seemed to concentrate a little too hard.

"If you're trying to bend it with your mind…" Veronica teased. "Some things? Best left to David Blaine."

"Wait," Buffy hadn't even heard, "if the dish ran away with the spoon, where was the fork?"

"Think about it. Even if she volunteered for the good of the rhyme scheme, no way was the cow, at any point, gung ho about her moon-jump." Veronica "explained" to her. "Maybe she needed a little," As she brought her arm up in a jabbing motion, she made a spit noise with her lips for effect, "help."

It all seemed so clear now. Buffy drew in a breath, placing the utensil in the appropriate drawer. "She was ass-forked?"

"It was the moo heard 'round the world." Veronica nodded sagely, grabbing the scrub brush and going to town on the casserole dish. "Hey, always worked on Yosemite Sam." Buffy started giggling. Harder and harder. "I'd kill at the Improv, I know –"

"Um, Gem? Or…Josie." Then, bing. There was the funny. "Ooh, gotcha, Pussycat." She giggled herself. "That should've been a tip off. And we can't forget the Snorks – you liked Casey Kelp a bit too much."

"Two words, Marsipan – 'April O'Neil.'" Buffy didn't want to go there, but she was forced to.

Veronica ignored that, though her eyes widened slightly. She committed herself to that casserole dish, to hide the shame. "We Marses are a frugal clan, but we're frugal with priorities…the prime? Keeping housework as simple, and automated, as possible. So skimp on a dishwasher? Hah. What's Giles'hang up?"

"His phone still has a cord attached. Plus an actual dial." Buffy reminded her, as if that was answer enough. It was.

"And ya wonder why the guards separated us in the showers." Veronica sighed deeply.

"What?" Buffy copied her girlfriend's previous tone. "I think I have that same 'nerve damage'thing…what if it's like an epidemic?"

"Copycat." Veronica stuck her tongue. "Get your own. How bout a nice Asian Flu?" She smirked, but then found herself in a moment. An appreciative, genuinely grateful moment that ended with her hugging her best friend.

"There's so many responses I could give, but just this once, I'm getting out the ten-foot pole and stepping back." Veronica tightened her grip, and spoke again. "I'm asking, okay? We don't have to talk about it now, and maybe you can't explain now anyway, because something tells me it's…a complex topic, but when you're ready, so am I." She broke it off, and tapped the end of Buffy's nose. "The day you scare me, Dumbers, is the day Jimmy Hoffa shows up saying he spent the last thirty years on a desert island talking to a volleyball."

"Buffy…" Veronica dared her to. "Have I ever dealt in anything other than fact?" She took the smile as a "no." "Then why would you question?"

The slayer folded like laundry. "Okay." Pause. "And I will. Explain it. When I know what the hell to say." Veronica took her hand.

"Feel the same way about me and Aggie." The detective identified as much as she could, though she'd already explained her alter ego. "But if you see me going into the red, you're allowed to say something. Don't ever feel like you can't; I want you to. And depending on the situation, it may transform into 'need.'"

Veronica nodded. "'The Never-Ending Story.'" She said, specifically, dropping an anvil. "Was that too subtle?"

"Think I got it." Buffy responded, moving into kiss her. "Haulin'it long. That's us."

What was sort of scary? Was how important this was to both of them. Angel and Buffy were like a melodramatic, Shakespearean romance that was doomed to end before it began. It was easy to get caught up in the idea of it – vampire, slayer, forbidden, intense, powerful…yadda yadda yadda.

With Buffy and Veronica, it was more, down to earth. Whatever that meant. But they made each other feel good, which was a whole different kind of powerful. They didn't want to lose that, so, open books; they were far too invested. Neither female was probably conscious of just how invested, hence the scary if they did.

"If I get to tag along," Kiss, "on more patrols." Veronica replied. "And you did look kinda smokin'in that sun dress."

"Oh god. No more sororities. Marjorie," Buffy spoke the name with distain, "couldn't take a hint. Flirting with my girlfriend while I'm standing right there. I wanted to shove her face through –"

"– a glass onion?" Veronica smirked, shrugging helplessly. "I'm quite the catch." She wasn't being humble whatsoever. "Funny how she lost interest once I got her dying, den mother fired for growing hash." That was still a sore spot, but she tried to smile it off, and kissed Buffy again. Her cell phone rang. "Stay puckered. These?" She pointed to her lips. "Coming right back."

It was the morning of the eleventh day of Christmas, otherwise known as December 24^th. Making the twelfth day of Christmas, the 25^th. It was all very nonsensical, but tradition was tradition – too late to change now. Keith Mars awoke, tiredly shuffled out of his bedroom, and found his daughter and her girlfriend in the same vedging positions on the couch that they were in when he went to sleep more than twelve hours ago. And the movie was on its sixth repeat.

"Have you at least power-napped?" He inquired hopefully, taking in their bleary-eyed, adrenaline-fueled countenances.

"Why? Red Bull." Veronica limply gestured to the empty cans of the drink littering the table.

"We'd miss it." Buffy said, not looking away from the TV. "Can't miss. Against rules."

"Ssh. Almost time." Veronica (and Buffy) suddenly became extremely livened and attentive, sitting up and straightening.

The slayer turned up the volume for the most crucial scene of John Hughes' "Christmas Vacation." They listened to the beginning of Chevy Chase's soliloquy with near reverence. "I want him brought from his happy holiday slumber over there on Melody Lane with all the other rich people and I want him brought right here, with a big ribbon on his head, and I want to look him straight in the eye and I want to tell him what a –"

Then they spoke along with his rapid-fire delivery, each taking a word. Buffy started off; it was her turn. "Cheap,"

"Dickless," Buffy watched Keith's reaction out of the corner of her eye, and didn't say it as loud as she might have.

Being in the home stretch, they spoke as one. "Worm-headed sack of monkey shit he is. Hallelujah. Holy shit." And breaths. "Where's the Tylenol?"

"That's what I'm wondering." Keith deadpanned, shaking his head at both of them. "You're very odd children."

"Why don't you take Backup out? Get some air. See the outside world." He suggested.

"And if Homer Simpson's taught us anything," Veronica went forward, nodding in agreement, "it's the value of a perfectly molded ass groove. We can't give them up now."

"It's like a science." Buffy added, then looked over at the dog, who seemed as lazy as they were, on his back up against the chair. "Besides, he's –"

"Wanna go for a walk, boy?" Keith inquired of the canine. Backup was standing immediately, practically bouncing. His male owner walked wordlessly to the door, got the leash that was hanging off to the side on the key rack, and tossed it on his child's lap. "Have fun you two. Try not to get arrested."

"It's all a matter of perception, sweetheart." Came her father's response as he went and opened the fridge. "Is it my fault that mine is always right?"

"Watch the cockiness, Old Man." She warned, standing shakily on her own, two feet. "I won't forg…gah." She collapsed back onto the sofa. "I didn't nap, but my ass is."

Now Buffy nodded, understanding all too well. "That's the price you pay for a groove worth having."

"Allrighty then. I'll bring the 'Nog, smuggled in harmless cans of delicious Frutopia, and you bring the heartwarming TV specials." Veronica said as they walked down the beach, her holding Backup's leash. "Beginning with 70's Claymation and ending with well-mannered, Christmas Poo." That was the third night.

"Will's joining for the Charlie Brown half-hour." Buffy mentioned, hugging herself because of the chill off the sea. "It's like us with the Griswolds. And she still thinks she's rebelling every time she watches."

"Which means Mac's coming too, and they'll huddle around their laptops like monkeys around a monolith." Veronica tried once to snoop, but she was no match for the safeguards of two, computer geniuses who'd expected her to.

"Parker would make five. Five is a group. I don't do groups." Veronica was somewhat baffled. "When did I get friends? Note the emphasis on the 's.'"

"Beats me." Buffy shrugged, clueless. "Doesn't make any sense. You're kind of uber-bitchy."

"With a capitial 'You.'" Veronica threw her free arm around Buffy's neck and drew out a sigh. "Girls night it is. But I can't be held responsible for whatever happens during the obligatory game of 'Truth or Dare.'"

Veronica rubbed her chin. "Can't say I'm familiar with that variation. Are there rules?"

"Okay, I'll cut you loose," Veronica told her dog, "but if you get on a hermit crab's wrong side again, and come a'runnin', don't expect any sympathy." His head just cocked to the side. She undid the leash, and off he went. "Uh oh. We're all alone…whatever could we possibly do now?" Her finger went in the air. "I know!"

Veronica walked casually behind her, and then jumped on her back. "I've always wanted a pony." Buffy did the only thing she could do, and made the proper adjustments so she could hold Veronica steady. "Is it weird that she sorta turns me on?"

Veronica's looked like she'd just eaten an extra-sour, "Sour Patch Kid." "Now I feel unclean…and not at all validated."

"I'm not the one with the fetish; I knew late night HBO was a bad idea." Buffy grinned and began running down the beach.

Days like this, she much preferred Neptune. Especially because Sunnydale's latest hijinks involved voice-stealing, fairytale monsters and a mini-apocalypse. Both incidents Faith handled "superbly"– Giles' word of choice. And that was great. Wonderful. Terrific. Yet…

She felt like she was abandoning it sometimes. Her duty. Despite Faith's and Giles' objections to the contrary, she couldn't help it. But then again, she was technically a bonus. Ever since her death then Kendra's, Faith was the Chosen. It was strange, because she wasn't jealous. Nor was she angry. She didn't know what she was.

Buffy remembered telling Veronica that first date: "When I save everyone and don't feel crushed by responsibility, I love being 'chosen.'"

As much as its negative effects frightened her, she did love the positives. Knowing her actions made a difference, even a small one, it felt good. She rarely got to be that person anymore. By choice, obviously; she wasn't blaming anyone. She was lucky to be able to go to college, to be with her girlfriend…

To be normal. She was grateful to Faith for that. She was. But being occasionally abnormal wasn't so bad. She kind of missed it.

"Whoa nelly." Both blondes heard Backup barking up ahead. "Either he ran afoul of Mr. Krabs, or Timmy fell down a well." Veronica surmised.

Buffy picked up the pace, and they found him sniffing a body at the water's edge. The waves were come in and splash it, and then recede, not caring that they were splashing Santa Claus. Or a reasonable facsimile thereof.

Veronica got down off Buffy's back, and called her dog quickly over. He joined her immediately, and seeing the mismatched socks with holes, the ratty appearance of the trademark, red suit, and the intense, "five o'clock" shadow as they got closer, she thought, "Ho, Ho, Hobo," mirthlessly appropriate.

"Whew. St. Nick liked his Peppermint Schnapps…at least it's seasonal." The detective deduced, re-leashing her dog and pulling out her phone. "I better call the 5-0."

"Good thing there's no kids out yet." Buffy said, crouching down over the body. "Remember the Christmas Eve I freaked until my dad put out the fire in the fireplace because I thought Santa wasn't gonna know, and –"

"– 'Flame On?' Like your cookies that year?" Buffy's eyes narrowed as Veronica said this for the reference as well as the memory, but there was a person on the end of the girl's line. "Wow, 911, and it only took four rings this time. That's a record, isn't it, Sacks?" Frigging Lamb. "If the Sheriff isn't too busy asking S.C. for more Tonka Trucks and a Hot Wheels play-set, you may wanna tell'm the Big Guy's belly shook like a bowlful of booze, and, it's starting to bloat.

"So unless he wants 'Stand By Me' the holiday remake…" She listened to the deputy speak. "Omaha Beach. Off Sunset." She got off the phone, and went to stand behind her girlfriend. "They're on the way. Soon as they get their badges out of the cereal box." She looked down at the body, sadly. "This blows. He couldn'ta gone with the 'drink yourself to death' cliché? Dumpsters don't get no love."

Buffy looked up at her. "I don't think he did." Veronica looked more closely. His neck was exposed. There were bite marks. "Merry Christmas."

Maybe she didn't deserve to be a hero. She let a vampire kill Santa Claus. In Neptune. On Christmas Eve. How come this felt like the first, ominous dot in what would become a long line of bad?

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Between Seacrest and Ravello
That Seasonal Spirit

by Pat Kelly

Copyright © 2007

pat2082@verizon.net

Between Seacrest and Ravello That Seasonal Spirit

by Pat Kelly

Copyright © 2007

pat2082@verizon.net

Between Seacrest and Ravello
That Seasonal Spirit