I can't remember if I posted any of this next section of V!Giles, so here's all I've got so far. It's kind of a "show your hand, you wimp, and keep writing" kind of thing.

Past midnight on Revello Drive, all the respectable people were asleep. Not surprisingly, the Summers house was brightiy lit. Really, it was something of a wonder that the neighbors hadn't gotten up a petition for the Slayer and her family to pull up stakes and move elsewhere.

Spike wished for a cigarette as he did another circuit around the house. He was supposed to be in stealth mode, and a glowing cigarette tip would give away his position. Inside the house, Red was setting wards and considering magical options. It kept her mind off her girl lying confused and lost in hospital, at least. Spike wished he had something to distract his mind. Ripper and the Slayer had been gone for almost two hours, and Spike disliked the idea of that pair being together without some sort of buffer between them.

He hopped the neighbor's backyard fence and scouted the area for signs of enemy activity. Nothing moving but himself and a couple of intelligent dogs cowering in their kennels away from the darker predator prowling through their territory. No time for games, though. He headed back to the house.

The argument inside was audible to vampire ears out on the walk. Joyce was taking exception to the idea of leaving. Spike let himself in, smiling a little at the confirmation of his invitation.

"I agree," Joyce was saying in the kitchen. "Taking Dawn away is a good idea. But I would just slow you down."

"Mom," Dawn said a little hysterically, "we're not going to leave you. Not where Glory can find you."

"She's right, Mrs. Summers," Willow added. "It has to be all of us."

"I don't know," Joyce started.

"I do," Spike cut her off as he stepped into the kitchen. "No one gets left behind. I'll carry you out to the car and strap you in myself if I have to."

Joyce glared at him. "You're not being sensible."

"No, we're not." He looked at Willow. "Any word from the Slayer?"

"Not yet. But Xander and Anya will be here soon."

Dawn looked around, counting people. "There won't be room for everybody."

"I'm assuming that's where Slayer and Ripper have gone," Spike said, fishing out his cigarettes. "Finding bigger transport."

Dawn yanked the cigarette package out of his hand. "You can't smoke in here! We've got a recovering woman in here."

"Oh, yeah, right, sorry." He grimaced at the self-satisfied nod Dawn gave him. Every now and then he was hit with these twinges of 'I'm a vampire, dammit, why am I nursemaiding this bunch of meals on feet?'

The knock on the door distracted all of them. Spike glanced at Willow, who nodded, then he headed to the front of the house. Xander and Anya waited on the front porch. Spike opened the door, glanced up and down the street, then gestured them in.

Xander hesitated, glaring. "And why the hell are you on door duty? Where is everybody?"

"Slayer left me here to watch Niblet and her mum," Spike answered with a smirk. "Everybody's in the dining room--except for Slayer and Ripper. They headed off a couple of hours ago."

Anya blinked. "Together?"

Spike shrugged, then looked over at Xander's car, parked on the street. "How reliable is that piece of junk?"

Xander bristled. "It is not a--well, maybe it is. But it gets me to work and back every day. Why?"

"Road trip, whelp, and we've got too many people for Joyce's vehicle."

"I hope I've got a job when I come back," Xander sighed.

"When?" Spike said softly. Xander glared at him but didn't have a good answer.

Anya stared down the street. "What in the world is that?"

An old school bus rolled down Revello Drive with its lights off and coasted to a stop in front of the Summers house. The door creaked open and Buffy hopped out. Giles sat in the driver's seat.

"Good, you're here," Buffy said to Xander and Anya when she reached the porch. "We can leave as soon as everybody's ready."

"Leave for where?" Xander asked.

"And for how long?" Anya added. "How long am I going to have to leave the store closed?"

"I don't know," Buffy said. "As for where--I don't know. Giles says he knows a place."

"Giles," Xander repeated. "And we're trusting Giles now because ...?"

"Because he's what we've got," she snapped. "Have you two got everything you'll need for a couple of days?" Anya gestured at the duffle bags at their feet, and Buffy nodded. "Let's get started packing, then." She turned towards the door but pulled up at finding Spike behind her.

"So how'd your little trip with Ripper go?" Spike asked.

"We got a vehicle, it went. Are Mom and Dawn ready to go?"

"Your mum is saying we should leave her because she'll only slow us down."

"Damn it," Buffy muttered, and she headed into the house.

Spike met Xander's eyes and raised an eyebrow. Xander nodded and followed Buffy into the house. Spike headed towards the bus.

Anya looked back and forth in disbelief. "I'm not carrying these!" she yelled, gesturing at the duffle bags.

Giles climbed down from the bus and leaned against the side. "Are they still running around and arguing with each other?" he asked Spike.

"Pretty much." Spike looked at the bus. "Nice vehicle. Lots of windows. No enclosed spaces to hide from the sun."

"I've got cans of black spray paint, we can cover some of the windows."

"And where are we going? Slayer said you know a place. What kind of place?"

Giles smiled a little. "A safe place. You'll have to trust me."

Spike started to snarl, but noise at the house attracted his attention. Xander was carrying his and Anya's bags to the bus.

"Buffy's packing and ignoring all argument

"Buffy's packing and ignoring all arguments," he said. "I think her mom may have finally admitted that there's no stopping the Slayer." He looked over the bus. "Field trip flashbacks, yig."

"At least there are no hyenas, this time," Giles said.

Xander did not smile back. "No, but we've got two vampires. I'm afraid my vote's with the hyenas."

"Can you drive this?" Giles asked, ignoring Xander's hostility. "Come daybreak, Spike and I won't be able to drive."

Glancing in at the driver's seat, Xander nodded. "I can manage it. You two going to be hiding under the seats?"

"Not likely," Spike said. He nudged Giles. "Show me these paint cans. Might as well do that now."

not bloody likely!

Wow, connie, you've got everyone's voices so well. I'm really impressed.

POST MORE! I WANT THE NEXT PART! DO NOT KEEP TEASING ME!

Fay, that's brilliant. And I'm slightly disturbed-- the next thing that was going to happen in my fic was Andrew needing the bath room. Brainsharing much?

connie, I love you.

POST MORE! I WANT THE NEXT PART! DO NOT KEEP TEASING ME!

Also I think this.

FAY!

I just rewatched Conversations with Dead People, and I found some truly andrewlicious quotes and had to share them for purposes of further Andrew storying -- not that you'd re-use them, but maybe they'd spark some ideas. They're probably not quite complete. I don't write as fast as I used to, but the gist is definitely there.

Andrew: I hated Mexico. Everybody spoke Mexico.
Jonathan: You could have gotten around that. You learned Klingon in two and a half weeks.
Andrew: That's different. It had much clearer transitive and intransitive verbs.

I missed a lot of it the first time around, so I didn't realize that Andrew was luring Jonathan through the school by telling him they'd impress Buffy, etc. "and maybe we'll get to hang at her house." Then J's so cool line called back to Andrew after they've separated: "You think they'll really let us join their gang?" and A just looks at him for a moment and then shrugs - look and shrug seeming to add up to no, but let's hope anyway.

More Andrew: "I feel like we're in Hellraiser. I hate Pinhead."

After Jonathan talks about how much he misses high school:

A: They don't want to talk to you. None of the people you mentioned, not one of them cares about you.
J: Well I still care about them. That's why I'm here.

sob

I miss Jonathon!

Sunday 100 drabble.

"Salt"

He can taste his blood mixed with rain water mixed with sweat. It streams down his face, stinging his eyes and invading his mouth (like her tongue like the glass like betrayal). Hands, stiff and half numb, half raw with pain, tighten around the hilt of the knife.

Cradled. Weeping. Alive.

His ears are still ringing from the blows, buzzing with the rising of his pulse. He cannot hear her sobs over the din in his head, yet he can feel Angel's touch on her hair, on her shoulders, in his gut like a punch.

He lets the knife fall.

Jesus, Plei.

Fabulous. I actually *tasted* salt, reading that.

That's very nice.