Spike bend down the backs of two of the bus' bench seats, making uneven but adequate sleeping surfaces.

Bent?

Also - oh, my dear, I do so love you. Your Xander is my Xander. The one that no-one else seems to see. The one who lives in my heart.

Xander frowned. "Why the hell are you quoting 'Wrath of Khan' at me?"

This is fucking perfect.

And now I'm all teary.

And impatient.

Let's not forget the impatient.

Ah, damn, typos that are real words and slip past the spellcheck. feh.

That's why you have us, my dear. So, please, write more faster as the muse provides.

You know, it's just like being paid to write, only with annoying customer interruptions.

The thing with being the Slayer, you were given all these heightened senses and endurance to help you fight the monsters. The fact that these senses were useful in sneaking into the house without your mother noticing or sneaking out of training while your Watcher was still lecturing about how previous Slayers showed ever so much more respect for the process than you was apparently not considered worth mentioning. The ability to go without sleep, though, was also very useful.

Buffy slipped into the seat behind Giles and leaned on the railing. Tiredness nibbled on the edges of her consciousness, but it was more like the possibility that she might want another double-fudge brownie as opposed to the need for a mochacchino before class.

"You should sleep," Giles said as he steered the bus into the passing lane around a heavily laden flatbed semi truck. "The rest of them are out."

From this angle, she could see the interior of the bus from the driver's mirror. Willow and Tara were still curled up next to each other, looking awfully sweet together. Across the aisle, Dawn and her mother snored faintly in harmony. Xander was slumped low in his seat, though he twitched more than a person who was asleep should do. She glanced over her shoulder in time to see Spike, in the seat behind Xander, turning to look out the window with a very poorly managed attempt at innocence. She waited till he looked her way, then she frowned at him. With a smirk, Spike settled down in his own seat and closed his eyes.

"I'm not that sleepy," she said, turning around to stare out the windshield. She faintly saw the outline of the driver's seat in the glass. The empty driver's seat.

"Even the Slayer needs sleep."

"I hit the snooze button on my alarm clock four times this morning, I got lots." She frowned. "This morning? Or yesterday morning?"

"We are quite on the wrong side of midnight for it to be anything but yesterday morning. This morning is the event that will happen in a few more hours."

"We'll need to trade drivers soon, then."

"The sky has barely turned color, I'm fine for quite a while yet."

Buffy looked to the east, where the mountains would be if there were more light. "How hard is it going to be to find where we're going?"

Giles sighed. "Not that easy. I hope Xander can read a map."

"We can all help navigate."

"Yes, getting hopelessly lost will make it harder for Glory to find us, I imagine. If we don't know where we ourselves are, no one else should be able to, either."

Buffy smacked him in the arm automatically. "We're not that bad." She scooted over so she could see the side of his face and, yes, he was grinning. "Meanie."

She was silent for a long time, until Giles swung over into the lane for an offramp. "Los Padres National Forest" was on the sign that flashed by.

"Camping," she observed. "Yay."

"City girl."

"And proud of it, Mr. Tweed." She reviewed what little California geography she remembered from boring classes. Family vacations--when they'd occurred--had involved hotels and beaches and shopping, not woods and mountains and insects. She got a blank about anything regarding Los Padres except "trees--mountains--don't bother".

They exited the freeway and got onto a four-lane highway headed east. Sporting goods stores and outfitters gathered among the usual roadside collection of fast food and gas.

"A couple of more hours," Giles said, "and I'll find a place where we can pull over and stretch our legs and whatnot."

"Whatnot. Another word for potty break?"

"If you will."

She turned around to study the interior of the bus again. All the sleepers will still sleeping. From somewhere--possibly while rummaging through baggage--Spike had found a CD player and headphones. He was nodding his head along with some upbeat rhythm, occasionally mouthing the words.

"You're fidgeting," Giles said.

"Not good at just sitting and doing nothing, you know that." She turned again to look out the windshield. Traffic was beginning to appear, people headed off on their commutes, early-morning deliveries. People with a world they felt safe in, a world that maybe only had one day of existence left to it. Her stomach noted as she realized how fragile it all was. All that stood between those innocent people out there was one vampire Slayer and her busload of weary fighters, her friends and family. And allies.

"The Watchers' Council," she said.

Giles jumped a little. "What about them?"

"What do you think they know about Glory that they would have told us about if we hadn't thrown them out?"

He was silent a moment. "Not as much as they wanted us to believe, I would imagine, nor as useful. History, most likely, stray tales from dimensional travelers, possibly some writings from the monks who created Dawn or from the Knights of Byzantium."

"And you don't think that would help?"

"From what I've gathered about the Knights, their writings seem to boil down to 'Glory evil, smash key.' Those monks were no better. 'Run, hide, it's Her.'"

"Then we didn't do the wrong thing by turning the Council away?"

Giles hesitated for quite a while. "I--don't completely trust my recollection of that meeting. The main impression that I have is that if they were willing to put a price tag on information to save the world, then what else do they believe they can make deals on? First your cooperation, then your obedience, then your soul. And then your life. We did not make a mistake."

She nodded. "It's just--I'd hate to think I hadn't done everything I could."

"It isn't in you."

"Huh?"

"I don't believe you are capable of not doing everything in your power to stop a threat."

From the angle of hi

rassenfrassen cut off last three lines

From the angle of his head, he was looking at her in the mirror. But when she looked up to smile back at him, the mirror was empty. He brought his head back down quickly and focused silently on the road.

All the sleepers will still sleeping.

Were still sleeping.

Her stomach noted as she realized how fragile it all was.

knotted. (edit - ironic that I spell the correction incorrectly)

I'm loving the Giles and Buffy interaction (and it's awful that I can't bring myself to write that as Giles/Buffy... t shudder )

Really, it's a lovely bit of respect and camraderie(sp?). And I like how introspective and sensible Buffy is being. Much better than Spiral.

connie, I love you. Really enjoying the Buffy and Giles, and the Buffy and Xander, and the ... all of it. coughMORENOW!cough

write, write, write

Glorificus stood on the sidewalk in front of the Summers house and studied it thoughtfully in the darkness just before dawn. "Well, if you *like* Arts & Crafts I suppose it's OK. But I think my closet is bigger." She waved her hands, and her minions scurried forward. "Make sure nobody leaves, guys, OK? We're finishing this thing tonight."

The lock only lasted a couple of seconds. The small robed figures poured into the house and spread out, searching for the occupants. Glory sauntered in through the front door.

"And the decor, really, would just a little bit of sparkly and velvet have killed them?" She settled herself on the couch and waited happily for the shouts of outrage to begin from the occupants of the house. And waited. Busy footsteps going back and forth upstairs was all the sound she heard. "Um, guys? Where are my victims? I expect some cowering mortals in front of me, tout suite."

Dreg came down the stairs slowly. "I'm sorry, most holy, but the house is empty. There's no one here. I think they must have left quickly, there are clothes laying all about."

"Left?" Glory jumped to her feet. "Left? How dare they run away!" She stomped upstairs to do her own investigation. She looked into all the bedrooms and peered into the closets. "Frump," she muttered, turning away from Joyce's clothes. "All right, now this is annoying. Where the heck did they go?"

"The car is still in the driveway, delectableness," another minion volunteered. "The mother has been ill. Someone must have helped them."

She waved Dreg over. "Send somebody over to the boy and Anyanka's place, see if they're there. And check to see where the red-headed witch is."

"At once, most holy."

She checked the other bedrooms again, looking at the disarranged belongings. The minions poked around, looking for any clues as to where everyone had gone. Glory was looking through Buffy's make-up drawer and sniffing the various perfumes when Dreg came running in, carrying a notebook.

"Most holy, most holy, look at this!"

"Does it tell me where they've gone or who the Key is?" she asked petulantly.

Dreg bounced. "Yes, it does."

Glory stared at him, then yanked the notebook out of his hands.

"'Journal of Dawn Summers,'" she read. "'I'm so sick of it all being my fault. Running, hiding, hurting, crying, it's all my fault. They were probably happy before I got here. Some big evil would show up, Buffy would kick its butt, then they'd go party. Mom wasn't sick, Giles wasn't a vampire--'" Glory glared at Dreg. "Why am I reading the self-centered whinings of a teenaged girl?"

"Keep going, Glorificus, you'll see."

She sighed. "'If I thought it would do any good, I'd give myself to Glory and be done with it. Tara got hurt because Glory thought she was me. I don't want to see that anymore, other people hurt because I'm . . . the damned . . .'" Glory looked up, smiling. "'Key.'" She leaned down and hugged Dreg until he gasped in pain and breathlessness. "Dreg, I could kiss you, except, yuck. It's her, that little girl is the Key!"

"But how?" Dreg wheezed.

" I don't know how! I don't care! We catch her, we'll squeeze it out of her--gently though. It's tomorrow morning she needs to bleed. And even if she isn't the Key, we'll grab her and torture her until the Slayer coughs up the real one."

She paused and looked around the room again, frowning at the signs of quick departure.

"Perhaps the neighbors know where they've gone?" Dreg said. "We shall bring them to you that you may interrogate them."

Glory perked up at the thought, then shook her head. "There might be a quicker way, but hold that thought. Where are the Knights?"

"The Knights, splendid and pretty one?"

"The Knights! Gregor and the boys! I haven't seen hide nor hair of them for the past few days. We find the Knights, I bet we find the Key. And we'd better find her first. Round 'em up and let's go, there's nothing here."

Dreg scurried out to collect the others. On her way to the door, Glory spotted a pair of Buffy's strappy high-heeled sandals on the floor. "Oh, pretty. And just my color." When she compared them to her feet, however, the shoes were too small. "Hmph. Probably her little sister's anyway. Little girl shoes." She dropped them, kicked them under the bet, and followed Dreg.

Yay! More fic! I like Glory looking at Buffy's shoes. Just one thing: should 'delectableness' be 'your delectableness'? I seem to recall the minion's names for her mostly being 'your somethingness'.

I'll make sure he's flogged for over-familiarity.