The creature froze, then began to hiss quickly, bouncing a little

Connie, if there's a damned Gollum in this, you die bloody.

I'm just saying.

Buffy blinked. "Is he--he's laughing at us!"

Xander cocked his head, then put his hands up, fingers curled into claws, and growled back. The creature jumped, then ran away squeaking.

"Xander, you scared him! Meany!" She punched him in the arm.

"Ow! Well, he tried to scare us. Or she, or it."

"No, I think he was a him. At least, I think those were little him parts I saw, since he wasn't wearing anything." She saw the way Xander was looking at her, as if deeply interested in her observational habits of the genders of demons, and she smacked him again. "Come on."

"Ow. Slayer bully."

There were trails in the rocks behind the convent, but anything less nimble than a goat or a deer would kill itself trying to navigate them. The wall continued unbroken around the entire convent, with a barn on one side with two placid cows and a sleeping horse. The only windows were small and high up on the wall.

"The place was designed defensively, I'll say that for it," Xander said, knocking on the rock-hard adobe.

"I thought you didn't remember any of that soldier stuff anymore."

He shrugged. "I don't have the instincts, really, but a lot of the theory is still there. And I do read things other than comic books, sometimes. Giles hooked me up with this Sun Tzu guy, fascinating stuff. I wonder if there's a way to get up on top of the walls."

Buffy grinned as she followed him into the courtyard. It was always fun--and maybe more than just a little intriguing--watching Xander being Competent Guy.

Wooden stairs led up to a walkway near the top of the front wall. The parapet came up to Xander's waist, and he crouched down to peer over thoughtfully. He stood up, nodding. "I can work with this." He saw the way Buffy was smiling at him. "What?"

"Nothing. It's just--you're cute when you're being all smart and capable and stuff."

"Well, better too late than not at all, I guess. Anything else you want to take a look at?"

She blinked, feeling just a little put down. "Uh, the church, I guess. Might as well be thorough." He gestured for her to lead the way.

As they crossed the courtyard, they saw movement in the shadows of the doorway. Buffy put a hand on Xander's arm. "It's the little guy from the graveyard. Don't scare him."

"OK, but if he eats your face, don't blame me."

Buffy walked slowly towards the doorway, waiting for the little demon to stick his head out again. One big green eye in a scaley head peeked around. She immediately crouched down. "Hi, there, little guy. We won't hurt you." She reached a hand out. The creature eased his whole head out of hiding, watching her. "Yeah, hi. Do you understand me?"

Xander shook his head. "I saw 'Jurassic Park,' it's always the cute little ones. He's gonna eat you."

"Hush, you. Never mind him, little guy, he's a big meanie." She started to straighten, and the creature squeaked and ducked back inside. "Oh, hey, wait, I'm sorry."

"Meanie," Xander said.

With a rustle of long skirts, Sister Agnes came to the doorway, the little creature hiding behind a fold of cloth he clutched to himself. "What scarey people did you see, Baynar--oh, silly boy. These are friends, they aren't going to hurt you." She picked up the scared little demon and carried him out. "This is Buffy and this is Xander."

"I'm sorry we scared him," Buffy said. "Baynar is his name?"

"Yes, it is." Sister Agnes patted Baynar's back as he hid his face in her shoulder. "He's a Minoto. He's here with some of his clan. He doesn't speak very good English, and he hasn't seen any humans except the sisters and me. It's all right, Baynar, they're not going to hurt you. Buffy, Xander, come a little closer, let him smell you."

Buffy went up first, speaking quietly and holding out her hand. Baynar looked around suspiciously, then stuck his head out and sniffed at her hand. He cringed back a little when she reached up to touch him, but he didn't hide. Buffy grinned, then stuck her tongue out at Xander. "He likes me."

Xander sneered back. "Girls always smell nice. It's just a trick to make men turn their backs on you." He turned to Baynar. "Hey, little dude. Don't bite, OK?" He held up his hand, fingers tucked away in the best approaching-a-wary-dog procedure. Baynar sniffed, then looked suspiciously at Xander. He growled quietly. Xander grrr-ed back. Baynar blinked, cocked his head, then growled again, adding a little claw swipe. Fighting a grin, Xander growled right back. Baynar hissed and bounced a little, then gave a bigger growl. Xander waved both hands at him, fingers clawed. Baynar hissed some more.

"Uh, Xander?" Buffy asked. "What are you doing?"

"You just stay out of this. We're monstering. Gonna prove who's scarier, him or me." Baynar gave a really good growl, showing teeth. Xander pretended to cringe, then growled back. Baynar nearly bounced himself out of Sister Agnes' arms.

Buffy shook her head at the nun. "It must be a guy thing."

"I think so." Chuckling, Sister Agnes put Baynar down. "Go find your mother, nino. She'll need help putting the tools away." The little demon ran for the gate, but not before growling one more time at Xander.

Buffy nudged him. "Don't let Anya catch you being good with kids. It'll make her start thinking things again."

He just gave her an enigmatic little smile and headed into the church. Buffy started to demand an explanation, but respect for the premises kept her to a little huff of frustration.

Two small windows and a modest bank of candles provided the only light in the church. Xander and Buffy stood for a moment, letting their eyes adjust. Sunbeams from the windows fell on the crucifix above the altar at the far end of the room. In front of the altar stood Joyce, leaning on her walker as she gazed up at the carved figure.

Buffy moved forward. "Mom? I thought you'd be resting."

Joyce shook her head absently. "Too stiff, I needed to move around. Isn't it beautiful? Most of the paint and gilding have faded, but it's a gorgeous piece of work. I think it must have been carved in Spain. It might even be the original."

Buffy looked only briefly at the agonized face of the tortured Christ. "It's very--realistic." She saw movement from the corner of her eye and glanced over to see Xander bowing a knee briefly and crossing himself. He looked a little sheepish but more challenging when he saw her watching.

"Mom cared more when I was a kid," he said briefly. "It sticks with you. Couldn't hurt."

"Nope, couldn't hurt."

Joyce hadn't noticed anything. She made her way over to a side altar, exclaiming at various carvings and statues. "And here's the Virgin, not quite so old, a very nice example of a primitive style. Not very skilled, but they cared a great deal when they made it. Oh, and this--" She stopped in front of the candles. "This must be St. Eugene."

The figure in the monk's robes was obviously inhuman, this time. The hood was thrown back, revealing a head with curling ram's horns and long ears. Even with the fangs peeking out, the smile was benevolent. The upper set of arms were held out in welcome, and the lower set held an ornate chalice in outstretched hands. The chalice itself was made of gold and full of water.

Sister Agnes reappeared. "Yes, this is St. Eugene. His chalice is said to have the ability to show the future, but the real chalice is in France. This is just a copy. The old records claim miraculous powers for this cup, but I haven't seen any." Her smile showed no disappointment in the fact.

"What kind of demon was he?" Buffy asked carefully.

"A Wilnith demon. I don't think the Holy See recognizes him anymore, but we have always been well served by him." Sister Agnes looked over the candles, picking out spent wicks and guttered candle ends.

Joyce looked around again. "So lovely. I'd like to sit here and just look for a while, but I think I need to lay down for a bit." She smiled at Buffy. "And you needn't say I told you so."

"Wouldn't dream of it. Need any help?"

"Just your company."

Xander gazed up at the demonic but gentle face of St. Eugene. "I think I'll stay put here a bit. If you don't need me for anything."

"Nope," Buffy shrugged. "We'll call you if we need you."

He nodded, then found a seat on one of the narrow pews.

"Is he Catholic?" Joyce asked quietly as she and Buffy headed for the doors.

"I don't know. I should know these things about my friends--shouldn't I?"

"I wouldn't worry about it, sweetheart. It probably just never came up."

It disturbed Buffy, though, that she didn't know something so basic about Xander. It hinted at hidden depths, and the strange things that might live there.

Ah, better than sex, sometimes, a good writing jag.

It's good stuff, connie. As normal: more! Please, more!

Kat, lovely, lovely piece of writing. Also, thanks for the Spanish help. It's just for a couple of lines, but I think it's something that's important to get right.

connie, I am in love with this story. The whole hidden-depths thing with Xander is heartbreaking. The monastery sounds wonderful and oh so peaceful, which just makes me all the more worried about what's going to happen next.

Joyce needs to lie--not lay--down. Sorry, one of my personal tics.

But, but...monstering..! Ach, my heartstrings. Oh, oh.

OK, I'm about to post the first fanfic I've written since 1995 or so, so obviously my first Buffy fic ever. Also, only the second sex scene I've ever written, fanfic or otherwise. It's a finale interlude, my take on what might've happened between Buffy and Spike after that fade to black when they're staring at each other across the basement. It's wee. A tiny little baby ficlet.

The Slayer doesn’t fear death. She knows it too well by now, and knows with a certainty the most devoutly religious would envy that there’s something beyond it. And she’s pretty sure that, rocky as the past two years have been, she hasn’t done anything in them that would wear out her welcome in the heaven she knew. So, death? Not so scary. But she doesn’t crave it, either. She’s fallen back in love with the world, and all its daily little carnal joys—heaven as she knew it was incorporeal, and if she dies tomorrow she’s going to be homesick for chocolate, the sun warming her skin, all the songs that pull her to her feet and make her dance, the feel of a man’s body naked against hers, that sort of thing.

So she loses herself in the moment, as if it were the last time she’d ever experience a pure, simple physical joy, because for all she knows, it is. They’re quiet, and slow, and gentle with each other tonight, which they’ve never been before. But they’re different now, better, and she knows without quite being able to put it into words that what they’re giving each other is a gift of wholeness and strength. That if one of them dies tomorrow, the other will remember with compassion, grace, and yes, even love. That they’ve learned to make the passion that’s always been between them a blessing and not a curse.

She comes for the first time, with a soft cry, and opens her eyes to look down into his face. He gazes up at her with that rapt expression of wonder and awe she usually finds so unsettling. Tonight it seems right. It’s not just for her; it’s for them and the wonder of this moment stolen from the shadow of death. She eases down atop him, kisses his lips, his forehead, the planes of his cheekbones, and doesn’t know if the salt she tastes comes from his tears or hers.

By unspoken consent, they roll and reverse positions. They hold still for a long moment, solemn, and watch each other’s faces. She loves the way his pale skin and pale hair reflect back every little bit of light in the dim basement, and she runs her hands over her shoulders and down his back. She wants to memorize what he feels like. If death makes a third and final claim on her tomorrow and she goes back to that bodiless heaven, or if he’s the one to fall—either way, it’s important that she remember.

Then he begins to thrust, and she matches his rhythm. They stay serious at first, but she notices a smile teasing at the corner of his mouth. It’s infectious, and soon they’re laughing at each other, laughing at themselves, and there’s a kind of sacredness and benediction in that, too. No greater gift in the world than simple joy. And after that it’s just sex, good sex, and she abandons herself to the pure pleasure of it as they come almost at the same moment.

She wishes they’d taken it even slower. “One more time?” she asks, though her body betrays her and the words come out through a yawn.

He kisses her brow, and settles her against him, spoon-fashion. “In the morning, love,” he promises.

They sleep.

Aww! Susan, I like.

(About to post my own take on the missing scene, but shall leave it for a separate post) I love the bit about being homesick for chocolate if she dies.