I love a rested muse. Xander going after Joyce and Buffy

"Evenin', folks," he said as he walked into the kitchen. "Everybody's on board, we're just waiting on the Slayer and her mom."

Buffy looked sternly at her mother. "I've got all your stuff packed, mom. Time to go."

Joyce sighed. "Buffy, be sensible--"

Xander went to her side. "Is there anything I can carry for you, Mrs. Summers? Maybe I can give you a hand getting out to the bus?" His smile was polite but firm.

Buffy gaped at him, then grinned. Joyce stared at him. "Xander, you're not suggesting--"

"No, really, no trouble at all. I'd be delighted to give you all the help you need getting out there."

There was a flash of the old "I'm the Mom of the Slayer and I took an axe to Spike once and I can take you on, mister" spirit in her eyes. "You wouldn't dare."

"With the greatest of respect and consideration, I beg your pardon, Mrs. Summers, but, yes, I would." And he was trying very hard not to grin.

Joyce looked at Buffy. "Are you just going to sit there and let him . . . loom over me like this?"

"Mom, you always said that people should only pick on people their own size. He's bigger than me."

Xander wallowed in happy machismo for a moment. "Mrs. Summers, I'd be happy to just lend you a balancing arm, but, one way or another, you're coming along."

Joyce stared at the kitchen counter for several second, biting her lip and blinking rapidly. "All right," she said gruffly. She reached for a napkin and blew her nose. "Not nice to gang up on a helpless middled-aged lady."

"No, ma'am," Buffy agreed, fighting a teary grin of her own.

Joyce glared at the walker in the corner. "We'd best take that thing, I suppose."

Buffy hopped off the stool, went to the walker, and folded it neatly, tucking it under one arm. "I'll go get the bags and meet you on the bus."

Xander waited patiently till Joyce had herself under control, then held out an arm for her to balance on as she got to her feet. "What lights do you need turned off and should I make sure the stove's not on or anything?"

"You've done this family trip thing before, I see."

"Once," he said briefly. "It was memorable. But is there anything you need to take care of before we go?"

"Um, yes. Could you help me upstairs, please?"

After that interlude, Xander escorted her around the house, making sure everything was secured for an absence of several days. All doors were locked, all kitchen appliances were off, all lights were off or on timers. As they headed out the front door, Joyce paused and looked at Xander seriously. "Would you really have made me go?"

"Yes, ma'am, I would."

"Why?"

Xander glanced at the bus to make sure everyone was occupied. "Because I am not going to see that look of crazy worry on Buffy's face again if there's anything at all I can do about it." He smiled at Joyce. "Sorry."

She patted his arm. "You are a very nice man, Xander Harris. Let's go."

But just as they reached the bus, there was a sudden exodus from the vehicle, led by Dawn. "Me first! I have a key! Which is only appropriate." She ran past Xander and Joyce towards the house.

"Excuse me?" Joyce said, turning to watch.

Xander looked at the bus. Giles sat in the driver's seat, leaning on the wheel and very slowly beating his head against it. "What is it?"

Buffy bounced down the steps. "Willow asked if everyone had gone before we left and none of us had and we'll be right back."

Anya followed. "We won't be long." She kissed Xander's cheek in passing.

"We all do remember that we are on the run for our lives, don't we?" came an aggrieved voice from the driver's seat.

"I can't run on a full bladder, Giles," Willow said as she led Tara down the steps. "Be right back."

Spike trailed the exodus down the steps. "No," Xander said, "you cannot be headed back into the house."

"Don't be stupid," Spike sneered. "Need a hand, love?" he asked Joyce.

"I have one, but thank you." She looked at the bus steps, though, and frowned.

"Right," Spike nodded. "Harris, hop on and catch."

"Excuse me?" Joyce protested. Xander shrugged and ran up the steps.

"Mind your head," Spike grinned, then he carefully put his hands on Joyce's waist and lifted her up the steps. Xander caught her flailing hands and helped steady her as she got her footing on the bus floor. Spike followed up the steps. "Right, then. Get the 'Wait Til The Last Minute' girls back on board, and we're out of here."

"Finally," Giles muttered. "It's just as well Willow brought Tara, this has taken much longer than I expected." He glanced at the sky. "It'll be dawn in a few hours."

Spike patted him on the shoulder. "That's why we painted those windows in back."

Xander looked out the windows. "Hey, they're coming back, that was quick."

"A female record," Giles muttered, but he fired up the engine. "All aboard, ladies. Xander, Spike, sit down, please."

Everyone piled on, and Dawn dropped next to Joyce on the front seat. "And we turned off the bathroom light," she said, "and the door's locked and everything secure."

"Thank you, dear."

Buffy was the last to board. She paused on the step and looked around the neighborhood. For all the field trip foolishness, she hadn't forgotten that they were, as Giles said, on the run for their lives. She didn't see anyone watching, but that meant little. So long as they were free and on the move, they were safe.

She climbed on board and pushed the handle that closed the door. "I guess we're ready," she told Giles.

"Finally." He put the bus in gear and pulled away from the curb.

Buffy looked over everyone. Willow and Tara shared a seat, and Tara was laying down with her head in Willow's lap. Xander was in the seat right behind Anya and hanging over her seat back, watching everything. Spike had taken the spot right behind Joyce and Dawn for now, and he was scanning everyone as well. He caught Buffy watching him and nodded briefly before continuing his observations.

Sighing she dropped into the front seat right behind Giles. "It's too late to worry about whether this is the right thing to do, right?"

"I'm afraid so, Buffy. But for what it's worth, I think this is the wisest strategy."

"Where are we going?"

"North for now, then east. I know a place in the hills several hours away. Get some sleep while you can, Spike and I will keep watch."

"Sleep, sure."

"Try, at least."

"Fine, fine. By the way, you should turn the headlights on. I don't want to explain all of us to the cops."

"Oh, yes, right, I forgot."

She stayed where she was, hanging over the railing behind him and watching the road as they ran away.

Here's my Flashfic---unfortunatly I tried too much for 1000 words (well less than, in this case) and it still needs work but I ran out of time....

When Faith showed up unexpectedly at Wesley’s door, looking strangely vulnerable, her attitude and swagger worn thin. They left off the small talk and Faith cut to the chase.

"Be my Watcher."

The request stunned him. She refused to explain herself at first, choosing instead to talk about Buffy and the First Evil they'd defeated.

"She was the general, everyone following her. B had to make all the decisions, not that she wanted to. Those girls died, the potentials. Hurt, dying. And Xander..." Faith looked away, unable to finish.

"Everyone looking to her for answers. She’s got to decide who lives and who dies. You think I can do that? Be a general, plan an attack. Hell, B had a hard enough time letting them fight, sending those girls off to their deaths.” Faith shook her head, like she was trying to erase memories. “No one told me shit about Slayers being killed. Or that Buffy died again. Or that Willow tried to end the world. Everyone forgets about the extra Slayer. 'Cause B is the real deal, the original. They don't even remember why I'm doing my time."

He was impatient, there didn’t seem to be reason for this and she looked so unlike Faith. “Do you have a point?”

“Getting there. B died twice. Except there’s just me and her when there should be three. You wonder why that is?”

"There should be three?" Wesley echoed. The story had been going from A to Z and Faith had jumped the track to 3.14.

She moved around his living room restlessly. “It’s the first thing they tell you, well maybe the second…when one Slayer dies another is called. You should know that.”

Realization struck Wesley. “The line goes through you.”

A triumphant look crossed Faith’s face. “Yeah. That’s why I need you, to set things right.” For one horrified moment he thought Faith wanted him to kill Buffy, and then she asked, “You remember why I went to prison? You think anyone except Angel remembers?”

“You went to pay your debt.” Faith was idly toying with books on the shelves.

“Paying my debt to society when it’s not them I owe. My debt is to Buffy, Xander, Angel,” her eyes cut straight to Wesley, “you. Never going to pay that back sitting in jail. Never going to get repaid. Doesn’t do anyone any good. Buffy’s never going to have a life, she’ll die one day. I’ll be locked up tight, growing old, and who’s going to make sure the next Slayer’ll be called? There’s no Council to hire the job out.”

Wesley flinched but Faith didn’t sound bitter.

“I want to put things right. I can’t say anything to make it right or make up for the fact I enjoyed what I did.” She looked pointedly at him and smiled; now she looked like the Faith he remembered from before. “I enjoyed everything. Every cut, every whimper, not just while I did it. I used to dream about you, wake up all hot and sweaty, wet from thinking about the cuts and your blood, the way you looked all tied up.”

Wesley let the silence stretch between them. “I had nightmares. I hated you, for a very long time. Then I would remember what you looked like in the alley, yelling at Angel that you were evil, begging him to believe you. I don’t believe you enjoyed your dreams.” It had taken him this long to catch up to her train of thought, but Wesley thought he'd finally figured out what Faith wanted. He had to hear her say the words, to make it real. “How do you plan to put things right?”

The question seemed to unravel her control. Her attitude frayed at the edges, leaving her looking young and determined with her posturing. “One life for two. My life for theirs, Buffy and whoever comes after. Think it’s a fair trade? Buffy gets to be normal and the other gets to be special. Isn’t that what everyone wants?” She pushed him, moved him against the wall, he could feel her body hot against his. “Everyone wants B to have her life, be the good girl.”

Too many people had tried to goad him into anything for this to work, so he asked her softly, “What do you want?”

She looked as if she’d been undone. “Just once, for once, I want to do the right thing, have it be the right thing.” Words he could have spoken, her dark eyes looking into his, cutting through him. She pushed him into the wall, her hands against his chest.

“This is the right thing.” A question and a reassurance.

Wesley pushed Faith's hands away, flexed his wrist and sent the sheathed knife between her ribs, through her heart. Her head snapped up; she looked shocked and grateful. Wesley held her as his hands slicked with her blood and her eyes grew dim.

The water swirled down the drain, pink-tinged against the white porcelain as Wesley washed his hands again. Looking up, he caught his reflection in mirror and saw a lifetime of good intentions shot to hell. He wondered if this was one more misstep, or if this time he got it right. He shut off the tap and walked back to the living room. Faith lay on the couch; it wasn't possible for him to pretend she was asleep; her clothes were already stiffening with blood. He knelt beside the couch and brushed her tangled hair from her face. He kept at it until her hair was free of tangles; there was nothing he could do about her clothes. The only thing left was to call Angel. He closed her eyes and told her again, “It was the right thing.”

If it wasn't, he’d shoulder the blame. He was her Watcher.

That's twisted, askye. Very Wes and Faith.

Thanks! I think I'm going to let it rest and then expand it so everyone's motivations aren't so rushed.

Alison, love this:

Think it’s a fair trade? Buffy gets to be normal and the other gets to be special. Isn’t that what everyone wants?”

but this?

sent the sheathed knife between her ribs

I think you need to get the sheath off it first.

Very twisted indeed.

connie, loving your Xander. Couple of tee-niney nitpicks.

Tara was laying [lying] down with her head in Willow's lap.

Xander was in the seat (right) behind Anya and hanging over her seat back, watching everything. Spike had taken the spot (right) behind Joyce and Dawn for now

I'd suggest choosing one "right," especially since Buffy says "right?" in the next sentence.

Right.

Hey, it was nearly 2 AM when I finally agreed that it had gone far enough to stop and I should get to bed.

Lurvely. I said tee-niney. Wee things not really worthy of mention, given the overall glow of yumminess given off by the whole piece.

Truly, the characters are each right, and right there. As usual with your stuff, connie, I "see" the characters as I read, and hear the lines in their voices.

connie, that's wonderful stuff.

Beverly, thanks, I pretty much wrote that part around midnight and was trying to indicate he was using a hidden wrist knife thing. That's one reason I want to rewrite the story.