Stupid hitting enter twice thing.

He hadn't felt like that with Willow. With Willow it had been like a car crash, where everything seems to be in slow motion, but in reality it's going so fast there's no time to stop. Except maybe with Willow it was the opposite, they went so slow that it felt like superspeed.

This is great, askye. Perfect.

Thanks Hec.

That is a lovely line.

Skye and P.M.... read your alley-way moments and they were terrific, both. Believe me when I say I understand how stubborn some characters can be.

I would really like it if, say, Connor and Wesley would stop with the talking for a minute.

And I'd like it very much if Gunn could break free enough of his Fred love to take Lilah up on her offer.

I can't believe I'm writing Gunn/Lilah.

Finished another one, finally. Nothing porny, though.

Watching Our Decay

Bed now. Passing out from exhaustion and cold.

I love that. Love it.

New fic! Getcher new fic here!

Three days after her visit from Giles, Joyce Summers went home. Xander drove the Land Rover, as Buffy was bouncing a little too much for reliable command of a vehicle.

She hung over the back of her seat to talk to her mother in the rear. "And we've moved your bed down to the dining room for now, until you can handle the stairs. Don't worry, we packed everything up real careful. And there are nice heavy curtains on all the windows, so you'll have privacy.

Joyce only blinked at her daughter. "That's very nice, dear."

Xander glanced at her in the rearview mirror. "That's what happens when you've got a Slayer for a daughter. She sees a problem, she slays it."

"Obviously." Joyce looked over at Dawn, who sat next to her mother clutching the bags of personal effects and prescription drugs. "How are you, sweetie?"

"I'm fine," she shrugged.

Joyce raised her arm carefully and put it around Dawn. "I know you are. My brave baby." Dawn burrowed in tight, hiding her face from the others. Buffy blinked several times, then took the hand Joyce held out to her.

Xander kept his eyes on the road, letting the Summers women have some privacy. Weird, though, his allergies didn't usually show up till high summer, but here he was all sniffley in the spring.

"Here we are," he announced, turning onto Revello. "La Casa Grande de La Senora y Las Senoritas Summers."

Joyce looked out nervously, remembering the modifications. "Xander, I thought you were putting in a ramp."

He beamed with pardonable pride. "Yep, from the front walk up to the porch."

"But I don't see it."

Buffy bounced out of the car and ran to the back to get the wheelchair. "He did such a great job, Mom! He moved some of the bushes, put the ramp in at a 90-degree angle, then it turns to go up to the porch. You can hardly tell there wasn't a gap in the railing before."

"But--I was expecting ..."

Xander held Dawn's door for her as she hopped out. "Some plywood nailed any old how to the front steps? Not from the Xander Harris Construction Company."

Joyce looked at him sternly. "It must have cost a fortune."

"A fortune? A fortune? You have no idea how sloppy construction accounting can be. A few dozen yards of concrete, hardly enough lumber to qualify as scrap . . ."

"Xander ..."

"Honestly, Mrs. Summers, the foreman at the site happened to mention that lost and damaged materials made a great tax write-off, and if said damaged materials disappeared instead of taking up space in the dumpster, he saved money. And he was very helpful with the design when I said I was working on a wheelchair ramp."

"I'm fairly sure that comes under the heading of kickbacks or bribes."

"Probably," he grinned.

Buffy appeared at her mother's side with the wheelchair. Joyce glared at it. "I know the walker's back there. I can manage that."

"You can manage that on level floors . Ramps, by definition, are not level.." She shook the chair pointedly. "Come on, hop on out." A fleeting look of panic went over her face. "Um, if you're up to it, of course--"

"It's all right, honey." In no way did Joyce regret being home mostly under her own power, but her daughters looked older than their years. Even without the Slayer complications, having to take care of an invalid mother was something they shouldn't have to deal with so young. "The chair will be fine." She climbed carefully out of the car and sat in the chair.

"And it's not like you're going to need it that long, right?" Dawn said. "You're going to be walking in no time."

Joyce took Dawn's hand as Buffy pushed her up the walk. "If I keep up with my physical therapy, probably so."

"Can I help?"

Buffy concentrated on turning the chair onto the ramp without jarring Joyce. "She might need someone who can catch her if she loses her balance. I don't think you're that strong, Dawnie."

"I will need someone to help me keep my balance, someone to lean on," Joyce added quickly, seeing Dawn's face close up. "And someone to be stern when I don't want to do the exercises."

"I can be stern," Buffy protested.

"Yeah, right," Dawn muttered. She pouted dramatically. "Dawn, do the dishes, Dawn, do the laundry. I think I need a fairy godmother to get me out of the cinders."

Buffy stopped pushing to glare. "I am not an ugly stepsister!"

"Well, it's not like you're my real--"

Xander, who had been bringing up the rear and pretending not to listen, reached around to put a finger on Dawn's lips. "Ixnay on the e-kay, OK?"

She stared at him. "Huh?"

"Oh, come on, Buff, you never taught the Dawnster pig Latin? Neglecting your sister's education, here."

Dawn pouted. "Considering my education came from--"

"The California Public School System," Xander cut in, "I'm not surprised you've got big gaps in your knowledge." He raised an eyebrow at her, waiting for her to catch up.

She stared at him for several moments longer, then her eyes went big. "Oh. Oh, yeah, education in the public schools, severely lacking." She looked around the empty street and all the innocent houses. "But why make a big deal of it?" she whispered. "There's nobody here."

Buffy looked grim as she likewise scanned the street. "Nobody we can see, anyway. Good catch, Xander."

He shrugged and tugged at an imaginary hat. "Just doing my job, ma'am."

Buffy resumed pushing the wheelchair. "I'm sorry, Mom. I was hoping not to worry you about all that."

"Too late." She looked at the break in the rail where the ramp met the porch. There were decorative posts on the corners and the paint matched perfectly on the railing that came down the edges of the ramp. "Xander, this is lovely. It looks like it's always been here." Bushes to either side of the ramp disguised it from the street.

Xander blushed. "Not much else I can do, but I can build things." He slipped past the wheelchair and went to the front door. "And I can open doors."

Joyce reached out to squeeze his hand. "Thank you. Buffy, wait a moment. I want to look around." She didn't say anything out loud, but she'd doubted if she'd ever see her home again. The grass had been cut, but the girls had let the edging go. Something to look forward to, getting the lawn back into shape. "Buffy, what happened to the hedge over there?"

"Um, over where, Mom?"

"Over there, it looks like something went through it. And there's a hole in the grass."

Buffy stared at Xander, who looked utterly at a loss. "Um, well ..."

"There was a wreck a couple of weeks ago," Dawn said. "This guy on a motorcycle came through the hedge and ended up over there."

"Oh, my word, was anyone hurt?" Joyce gasped.

"I don't know, Willow said I was a ghoul for trying to see."

"We couldn't decide if we should fix it ourselves or wait for you," Buffy added.

"Well, I didn't like that border anyway."

As Buffy maneuvered the chair to go through the door, she leaned towards Dawn. "Nice save," she whispered.

"It's those mystic key powers, you know."

"For fibs?"

Dawn smiled innocently.

Joyce gasped when they entered the living room. A banner reading "Welcome Home, Mom" hung on the wall, with Willow and Tara waiting beneath. There were even balloons.

"Oh, girls--and Xander--you shouldn't have."

Buffy leaned down to hug her. "Sorry, we're really glad to have you home."

Pizza was ordered and ice cream was eaten, all the food that hospitals frowned upon. Joyce wandered around the rooms, reassuring herself that all was well. She smiled at a poster board schedule in the kitchen for things like laundry and dishes and bathroom cleaning. A side section was labeled "Number of Times Dawn's Done Buffy's Work."

She reached for the ballpoint pen hanging from a piece of twine tied to a thumb tack next to the schedule, but she couldn't get her fingers coordinated enough to hold the pen properly. "Damn," she muttered.

Tara brought in a pile of plates from the living room. "Is there something I can get for you, Mrs. Summers?"

"No, no, dear, I was just trying to write something, but . . ." She sighed and gestured with her useless hand.