Elena, thank you so much for your comments. It's good to know that a fic works the way in which it's intended. I'm especially relieved to hear that I got Xander's character right. If I have time, I'll post the thing to the lists this evening.

Deb, I love the idea of Darla wandering through Florence in the evening. 'Tis yummy and sensual.

connie, I look forward to seeing more of Ethan and Giles. I especially liked Ethan's reaction to the news of Annabelle's death.

Anne, do you have other not-slashed Xander? And, if you do, can you direct me to where I could read it?

You impugn my honour at your own risk, sirrah. Must I demand satisfaction?

Um, will you be satisfied with more Ethan and Giles as they relate their adventures? And possibly some V!Giles when I get home?

Nay, I would ne'er impugn the honor of one so noble, so stalwart, so steadfast in pursuing their chosen goal of helping the weary sufferers find relief.

Anne, do you have other not-slashed Xander? And, if you do, can you direct me to where I could read it?

Alas, I only have two Jossverse stories to my credit. Most of my stuff is in anime fandoms. I do have a companion piece to the Xander one in the works, however.

more.

--

The voice, from just behind her right shoulder, is hoarse and a bit too knowing. She turns her head.

The man at her side is dusky, black-haired and black-eyed. He looks like an Etruscan effigy come to life, a golem, an animation. She lets her eyes imprint him, and decides she likes what she sees.

"Gorgeous," she drawls, and smiles. He smiles back, and the blood in her belly seems to thicken, coagulate. He's quintessentially Italian, muscled yet lean, curly hair and the profile of a gladiator. "What's your name?"

"Ah, you are an American. My name - does it matter?" He jumps from Italian to English without missing a beat. "If you need to know, tell me your name first."

"No, I don't think I'll do that." She reaches out one slender hand and rests it against his belly. Like many Italian men, he's of average height, and they're eye to eye as she slips the hand under his shirt, the tip of her index finger resting in the shallow depression of his navel. "It probably doesn't matter, but a girl has her pride. You're very pretty, but you have bad manners. I asked you first."

"Lorenzo." His voice has changed, becoming huskier. He grasps the exploring hand in one of his own, and slips it between his thighs. "If I am rude, I am sorry. Your name?"

"Darla." She leaves her fingers where Lorenzo has put them, and squeezes lightly, locking his eyes to her own. She sees them glaze, then intensify, as he expands under her touch. "Do you live here in Florence?"

The crowd ebbs and flows around them, the tide of the starlit piazza in human wavelets.

"No - I am a visitor here." His eyes have a deep purple tint to them, the significator of desire, the olive oil patina of black enhanced with the colour of wine. He's outgrown her hand, and her own knees are trembling. "In the morning, I leave Florence."

That's what you think. "I have a villa, in the hills. It's only about twenty kilometres from here." She hesitates, and as she does so, he reaches out and tweaks her right nipple, lightly. Words spill from her in a rush. "Do you have a car? We could go there now."

easier than saving to disk, just put it here

The two men sat parboiling in peace for several minutes. Giles let his eyes close and his head fall back against the rim of the tub. He heard Ethan, across from him, give that low, hedonistic grunt that said he was settling in for a long wallow in bliss. Giles' mind wandered off on that sound to memories of good beer, better music, hot days in cheap flats with anemic fans in the open windows trying to pull cooler air in from the streets outside. How strange to think of London in the summer as being hot after having experienced summers in California ...

He winced as memories returned.

"Stop it," Ethan muttered. "I can hear your blood pressure rising."

"This is shameful. I cannot take the time to wallow in a hot tub while the others--"

"While the others search for what comforts and solace they can find in between crises. I've met your children, Rupert, they're not sitting in corners bemoaning their fate."

Giles felt a knot in his stomach. "They've changed. We've all changed. There is no time for pleasures, we have a war to fight."

"During a war is when pleasures become even more important--or why the hell else bother fighting?"

"So that the innocents who know nothing of the war can continue with their innocent pleasures."

"Not all pleasures are innocent, my dear Ripper. And in difficult times they're frequently a good idea. Is not the deciding vote with the body? And is the body always ill-advised?"

Giles sat up. "It always disturbs me when you start quoting poetry, Ethan."

"It's a perfectly respectable English poet. It's not like I'm trotting out the Rimbaud or the Beaudelaire." Sighing, Ethan sat up as well. "Well, if you're not going to take a perfectly good chance to loll around happily, tell me what's happened? How in Janus' name did they get a Turok-Han, and what did they do with it?"

Giles closed his eyes again as he told the tale. "I can't stay away long. I'll need to pick up--oh, what was her name?"

"Chao-Ahn," Ethan told him. "In Shanghai, according to those files you gave me. Unfortunately, she's another one who hadn't been contacted, so she won't know anything of what we're talking about."

"Oh, dear."

"What?"

"Talking."

"You're making far less sense than usual, Rupert. Is it sleep deprivation or what?"

"They speak Mandarin in Shanghai, don't they?"

"Yes, they--" A more-evil-than-usual grin appeared on Ethan's face. "Still? You still haven't learned Mandarin? Of all the languages you know, you've never bothered to pick up one spoken by hundreds of millions of people?"

"I'm awake enough to drown you, and I imagine this place doesn't quibble about disposing of bodies. I take it that you in your unnatural and more than likely reprehensible dealings around the world have picked up Mandarin."

"Of course." The grin became absolutely diabolical. "Don't worry, Rupert dear, I'll look after you and translate everything you need to know once we get there."

"And that's another point. I rather left it to you to figure out how we're getting into Mainland China during a time of world unrest, and now I'm feeling very anxious about that. So tell me, Ethan. How are we getting to Shanghai?"

"I don't suppose you'd just accept a cheerful 'Trust me, Rupert', would you?"

"Not on my last day on earth with the hounds of hell nipping at my heels."

Ethan sighed dramatically. "Yes, the honeymoon is definitely over. All right, first we go to Hong Kong--"

"Shanghai's closer."

"British citizens are common in Hong Kong, plus there's a direct train to Shanghai."

"We'll need visas."

"Yes, visas are required," Ethan agreed blandly.

"No. Ethan, no. We're not sneaking across borders, there's no need."

"You take all the fun out of things, Rupert."

"This is serious business, Ethan, this is not Rayne and Giles on the Road to Shanghai."

"Of course not. You're far sexier than Bing Crosby, and I would object very strenuously to being compared to Bob Hope. Though I imagine Midori would look lovely in a sarong a la Dorothy Lamour."

connie! I love you! And Ethan. Oh, and Ethan.

Can I trouble you people for American words for 'knickers' and 'cheeky monkey'? And possibly something a Californian would say instead of 'I reckon', please? All in the name of better fic writing.

Am, panties for knickers. What's the context for "I reckon"?

Also, context for cheeky monkey would help as well.

knickers = boxers? panties? underwear?

cheeky monkey = silly goose, or something.

I reckon = I guess

what they said. What are your contexts?