Perkins, I want to see it - I'm not holding out for a better offer, or anything. I'm just too physically iffy right now to risk sitting anyplace for two plus hours where I can't get up and move screaming legs and feet if needed.

Oh Dear Deb. I've been skimming lately, so I knew things were bad, but I didn't know they were that bad. You'll tell us if you're not up to the BBQ, right?

Oh, the BBQ is fine, sweetie. I can sprawl out in a chaise lounge, excuse myself, run in place - but in a theatre, where everyone's paid to be there and people standing up and hobbling around is frowned on? Not really an option.

I am totally looking forward to Saturday.

OK, so it's relatively late at night. Must be time to post fic. Finally, the next V!Giles bit that's been hanging fire on me the past couple of days. . . (soon to be on my website, too)

when last we saw our heros, General Gregor was inside the convent, threatening all and sundry (cue the booing and hissing at the villain)

Willow finally got all her brain cells lined up. Gregor and two goons in the courtyard holding crossbows on everyone but especially on Joyce. Tara and Bayard were hiding in the shelter of Sister Agnes. Spike kept trying to step in front of Joyce, snarling at the Knights, but Joyce's hand on his arm was holding him back.

And Xander . . . She didn't know this Xander face. The soldier look had been weirdly attractive, and she thought the hyena was the most scary Xander could be. But this one--his eyes were focused unwaveringly on Gregor. His trigger finger hung a millimeter from the trigger, vibrating faintly. She didn't know he could be like this, all bound-up violence waiting, waiting for the moment to turn it loose. The faint light from the lamp in the courtyard caught on his face, on the stubble he hadn't bothered with in a couple of days. His pulse vibrated under the skin of his throat, and if he was breathing, she couldn't tell. If she whispered his name, tried to reach through the unemotional warrior to her gentle Xander, she didn't think he'd even hear her.

"Fuck it," she growled under her breath. "Disintegrate," she snapped at the crossbows of Gregor's henchmen. The bows fell apart into their component pieces, and the bolts leaped into the air with the release of energy. Spike jumped in front of Joyce, but the bolts came nowhere near. Willow peeked over the wall. "*Scindo*," she said to all the bow strings over there, and she grinned at the twang and clatter of wood and steel.

Xander jumped but managed to get the rifle barrel away from people and his finger away from the trigger. "Geez, Will, warn a guy."

"Sorry." She smiled at him, but he wasn't looking at her. He checked over the wall to see what the soldiers outside were doing--aside from swearing--then he came back into his shooting crouch as he scanned the courtyard for more trouble. She noticed his eyes stopped for just half a second on the man he'd . . . then went back to Gregor and his men.

Spike was smiling more broadly now that the stake firing weapons were out of commission. Joyce was actively holding on to his arm. The soldiers to either side of Gregor drew their swords.

Sister Agnes stepped forward. "General, please, hasn't there been enough killing? There's no need for all of this. The Key isn't here, and she won't be back until after dawn, when all of this will be irrelevant." She nodded to the east. "The sun will be up soon. There are only a few hours left, and then we're all safe."

Gregor looked over his shoulder. The tops of the mountains could be seen very faintly as the sky began to lighten. "We cannot depend solely on the dawn, Sister. Our only sure safety lies in the destruction of the Key. Bring it back, and I will give it as swift and painless an end as I possibly can."

Joyce only barely managed to stifle herself, and Sister Agnes shook her head. "No, General," she said.

Gregor sighed and nodded. "You give me no choice, then." He let out a piercing whistle.

Activity exploded in the soldiers' camp outside. The logs from earlier were taken up, and battering ram crews ran to the gate. Xander swore and raised the rifle.

"Please, Xander, no!" Willow begged. "Please, don't."

The military calm in his eyes showed fractures. "They mean to kill us, Will! You know that! Give me an option!"

She raised her hands, then hesitated. She fought back tears, knowing they were down to their last few options.

Spike looked from one swordsman to the other. "Who first?" he asked with a full-fanged grin. He raised an eyebrow at Gregor. "Or shall I deal with you first? You know you're going to have to settle me before you get to lay one finger on anybody else."

"Our faith is pure, monster. We shall defeat you."

He chuckled. "I've eaten lots of people who thought their faith was pure. They don't taste any different from anybody else."

Tara's sudden cry interrupted the showdown. "Time! Time!" She clutched at Sister Agnes' shoulder. "Time . . ."

Willow ran down the steps from the parapet. "Baby, what is it!" The swordsmen took their eyes from Spike to follow her progress across the courtyard. "Tara? What is it?"

Tara reached for her, whimpering. "Time, time. Time's up. No more time."

Willow took her good hand and brushed her hair back. "Tara sweetie, what do you mean, time's up?"

Spike jerked his head up, scanning the night. "There's a car coming. I can hear it. Xander! What's on the road?"

Back among the trees at the far end of the valley, a glow grew slowly brighter. The light bounced, and Xander remembered the rough road and how Anya had clutched his arm to keep her balance. She'd squeezed his arm, and he'd flexed the muscles for her without thinking, making her laugh. He shook his head sternly. "Car on the road, inbound!" The soldiers with the logs paused and looked back down the valley.

Tara smiled beatifically. "She's here. Time's up. Glory day."

Sister Agnes gasped and crossed herself. Gregor drew his sword and kissed the hilt. "Lord preserve us," he whispered.

Joyce looked around, confused and wishing she could stay so. "Willow?"

Willow's eyes were big and scared. "I think--Glory's in that car. She's here."

Oh, Connie, jeez. The description of Xander is phenomenal. And now you've left us hanging.....

t big plaintive eyes

More, please?

cooooonniiiieeeeee!!!!!

Argh! How could you! You evil, evil.... wonderful writer, you!

More, now. Please please please. t undignifed begging

Loverly stuff, Connie! I'm enjoying your version of Xander immensely.

Can't you see [Pembleton] chatting genially, and with increasing strength, about the darkness in Angelus? Circling the cage like a big cat, staring at the vial of holy water, raising his own blood pressure....?

Oh merciful Lord, I want to read this. I wonder if I should dare write this... Too many plot bunnies....

I loved the crossover drabbles, Plei & Deb. HLotS, man. Such love.

Makes me think I should do one.

So I lied about not doing a drabble.

Title: Aftermath.
Fandom: Buffy/Six Feet Under

"So what am I doing today?" Federico circled the autopsy table. "He's young. And pale. Cancer?"

"No," David said. "He was a student at the UC branch in Sunnydale. The medical examiner's report says a wild dog got him in the throat. It's just one wound, so it shouldn't take you too long."

Federico tilted the head to get a better look at the gash. "You said a dog killed him? This looks more like a suction bite." He glanced up. "Isn't Sunnydale that town where all the weird stuff happens?"

David sighed. "Oh please, you can't believe those stories."

A/N: I have no idea why I wrote the actor's name instead of the character's. Maybe it's that David and Michael are kind of the same name in my head, like Lisa and Amy? (By which I don't mean the names are similar in sound, etc., only that they carry similar personal resonances/baggage.) Anyhow, I feel stoopid.

Oh, *yay.*