Shiny.

Yeah, I'm fond of that one.

Awesome song, Lee. I think, if I can acquire the episodes, I'm going to try. That doesn't mean you should stop trying to find someone who knows what they're doing to do it, just that I think it's a perfect song for her.

That would be cool, Deena.

I'm glad I'm not the only person for whom that song screams "FAITH"

I've got the lyrics; Greg's bringing me the DVDs from the library (though that will take a while), and then who knows? I may not be too embarrassed to post it somewhere someone can watch it.

And today I realized on my walk in the morning that Franz Ferdinand's "The Fallen" would make a kick-ass Wolfram & Hart vid.

a thought I had

Xander spent nearly an hour tracking Spike through the halls of the new Watcher's Building. He wasn't in his room, he wasn't loitering on the loading dock smoking with the Malaysian crew, he wasn't lurking near the Watcher interns freaking them out, he wasn't in any of the corners of the library. He wasn't even under any of the library tables--and don't ask why Xander thought to look.

He finally found Spike on the roof, of all places, tucked up in the easterly shadow of a chimney. Xander started to make some smart remark, until he noticed Spike's position. The vampire's knees were pulled up tight, his arms wrapped around them, and his head was tucked down as far as only someone who didn't breathe could get it.

Xander hesitated. Not even when Spike had his uncomfortable fits of Angel grieving did he look this . . . down.

"Spike?" he said softy.

Spike pulled in impossibly tighter. "G'way."

"Uh . . . it's me. I'm alone."

"I know. G'way."

After a moment, Xander went to the sunny side of the chimney and sat down. To a California-bred man late come from the endlessness of Africa, English sun didn't hold any discomfort.

"Said go away," came from the other side of the chimney.

"I'm not bothering you, Spike. You do your brooding and I'll do mine."

Minutes went by.

"What's your problem?"

Xander hunched his shoulders. "Nothing you need to worry about."

"Human gits."

"So what's up with you, oh immortal one?"

There was something like a sniff from the other side of the chimney. "Nothin'."

Xander stared off over the rolling Windsor countryside, thinking about the Great Barrier Reef. "We fight gods and evil and monsters, and we forget that simple Mother Nature is just as dangerous. Going about your business, doing what you do, then ten seconds later, gone."

"Should be the sheep that die," Spike said. Xander wasn't sure if he was supposed to hear the soft words, but his ears had gotten keener. "Too many sheep. Not enough men."

Memories from the Basement of Doom came back to him. "I remember that episode where Bindi was born."

"Terri bein' pissed he brought the camera crew along."

"'He named you after the dog.'"

A snort of laughter that changed into a growl. "Idiot git. Shoulda been et a long time ago. No reason to be sad he got taken out. I was always rootin' for the crocs anyway."

Xander didn't comment on big bad vampires being sad about TV wildlife people. He just sat and watched the sun go down, sniffing occasionally, and he didn't comment when half a handkerchief came sailing around the chimney and landed in his lap.

I'll miss you, Steve Irwin

Oh, connie, you've got me sniffling too.

I hate to sniffle alone.

Very nice, connie. Your Spike and Xander are always such a delight to read, and I thought your approach to Irwin's death was perfect.

(btw, I'm intrigued by your tag, but I can only translate a word or two. What does it mean?)

I think I can puzzle out the first sentence and the first half of the second up to the comma. After that, I'm lost.