Oh Deb, that must be so hard for you. My father has a disease called familial cerebellur (sp?) ataxia which has slowly eaten away at his motor skills. It was tough enough watching him go through that since he's always been really active, and he had much more time time to get used to it than it sounds like you've had.

I'm still toned, but it's a battle. I'm 49 in a couple of months and the metabolism doesn't do what it did.

Here's Nic, so I can shove a burger down his throat, take my meds, and fall down.

Night, sweeties. bestest dreams.

night Deb, thank you again.

deb, nice Darla writing. I never get her right.

I'm working on the Klinger mpreg-- it's too good an idea to be missed-- but Fay's thing about Xander/Andrew is also appealing, so I'm splitting the energy. Not always a good plan. Plus the little bits of MASH stuff that keep eating me.

Deena, may I read the finished story too, please? I'd like to see it again.

Remind me about the Xander/Andrew? Please?

We've been discussing it in the Bitch thread. I think I've got Am writing it! Yeah! Go me!

I am so far behind in Bitches. 800 posts and counting.

wrod. I've just resigned myself to being Skippy McSkimmerson. The Xander/Andrew conversation is here .

Um. You've most likely forgotten that I was playing around with Dru a while ago? Well, I have a little more, but it's very rough and ready. Thoughts would be appreciated:

* * *

Watching the witch was Drusilla's new hobby. Some nights she forgot, or lost interest, and wandered off to plait some pretty girl's intestines, or to listen to a new student band at The Bronze. Most nights, however, she watched the witch. She had to be careful, because the Slayer was there, and the Slayer was good. Better than good. Better than ever, in fact, and that was saying something. And there was her Spike too, to consider; successfully keeping her presence secret from her sweetheart made Drusilla bounce with smug glee and hug herself with delight at her own cleverness. And it made her heart ache unexpectedly too, especially when she saw him staring after the Slayer like some moon calf with milk in his veins. He should have been able to feel his Drusilla watching him from the shadows; she had learned a lot from Daddy, but Spike had always known her best of all and he should have known she was there. But his head was full of metal and his heart was full of this vulgar little girl, and it seemed he had no memory of her scent.

Drusilla despised inconstancy.

But she rather liked the witch, with her chemically coloured hair and her power and her need. She was burning like a bonfire and all around her were tiny lives like birthday cake candles, weak little lights that a stray breeze would whisk away. Yet somehow all the other mortals seemed oblivious to the maelstrom of magic and anger and wanting in their midst. The other witch had an inkling, but not even she had grasped how much strength the Slayer's friend possessed. Drusilla could see right away what the problem was, and she had just the thing to cure Willow's worries in a trice. The nasty soul was getting in the way, muddying the waters and making little Willow weep. She still thought she wanted to be good, although she wasn't very good at being good. She didn't understand what she could be.

Drusilla was going to have to show her, like a good mother should.

* * *

The books smelled like dead words and bored children. Drusilla trailed all ten pale and lazy fingertips over their huddled spines as she walked between the stacks towards the witch.

"I know you're there," said Willow without turning. Dru paused. "Come one step closer and the chair-leg goes through your heart." Dru cocked her head on one side and then swivelled around on her satin shod toes. A wooden chair was hanging just behind her.

"That's not very friendly," Drusilla said reproachfully. "It's carpets that fly, silly. Not chairs."

"Drusilla?" Willow turned around at that. Dru was a little surprised by how old the girl looked. They stared at one another. "What are you - no. No, actually, not so much with the caring." Her voice took on a hard edge. "You've kissed and made up with Spike? You're part of a travelling vampire circus? You're the new Sunnydale Avon lady? Whatever. I'm too tired for this. Just leave me alone or I'll dust you." Willow was shaking infinitesimally, and her eyes were bloodshot and shadowed. Behind her, Dru heard the chair touch down gently on the floor. "Just go away." Drusilla smiled, and an irritated expression flitted across Willow's face. "Look, missy, I've got a pencil and I'm not afraid to use it." A sharp pencil pinwheeled through the air to illustrate the point and hovered obediently over the witch's head. "You don't know what you're messing with. Leave me alone."

"You've been crying," announced Drusilla solemnly. "The Slayer made you cry. She doesn't trust you any more."

"Shut UP."

The pencil was suddenly poised against the front of Drusilla's dress.

"You're so beautiful," Drusilla observed dreamily, disregarding the slender piece of wood. Her eyes caught Willow's and wouldn't let them go. "I never noticed it before, but you're all grown up. And so powerful! It's shining out of you, like you're made of stained glass - so pretty! It was always there, underneath. I remember you. Your head was always full of words and numbers, whirling like autumn leaves on a windy day. Pretty colours. But now!" She hugged herself and shivered. "Now the power pours out of you in waves. So beautiful. Too beautiful. They're all afraid of you now, my sweet, since you hurt The Slayer's little key."

"I'm warning you," said Willow without conviction. She couldn't pull her gaze away.

"That's kind." Drusilla's fingers closed idly around the pencil and it fell unresistingly into her hand. She stepped forward once, then twice, and a third step took her right up to her quarry. "That's very kind." She brushed a stray strand of hair out of Willow's face, and Willow let her. "But it's hard being kind, sometimes. They want you to be nice all the time, don't they? And weak. They want you to be…ordinary." Willow gave a little swallowed gasp that was almost a sob. It wasn't a pretty sound. "But you aren't ordinary, Little Miss Muffet." She bounced slightly on her toes, like a small child with a delicious secret, and bent closer. And Willow, her eyes still locked on Drusilla's, let her. "You are brimming with power, fizzing with power, bristling with power. Fire in your veins, little girl. They're all scared, even your girl. Even Tara." Dru nodded sadly. She dropped her voice to a whisper. "She loved you. She just didn't love you enough." Willow made another choked sound and Dru patted her shoulder and brushed the curve of one hot cheek with the back of her hand. "They will always leave you, you know. But I wouldn't leave you. I would love you for ever and ever and always. We could have such fun, you and I."

"I don't want…" protested Willow brokenly, but her voice trailed away.

"Oh, but you do. And you can't help it, can you? You promised the

"I don't want…" protested Willow brokenly, but her voice trailed away.

"Oh, but you do. And you can't help it, can you? You promised them you wouldn't use magic, and here you are with chairs and pencils flying through the air." Drusilla leaned a little closer and pressed a kiss onto Willow's forehead. "It's who you are. You're above their silly rules. They don't understand you, sweeting." She pressed a kiss onto Willow's cheek and felt the blood rushing up to the surface. She could taste the tears drying on Willow's skin. "But I understand. I see what's in your heart, and it doesn't frighten me. I could adore you, my pretty witch. I could show you such things..." And Willow found Drusilla's mouth, and kissed her right back.