Heh.

[link]

Is working for me.

It seems to be working from the link, actually, thank you.

Works for me, too.

A stack of bills was really not the liveliest of Friday night dates. Buffy glowered at the to-be-paid pile. Somehow, this wasn't how she'd pictured her adulthood. Dawn was spending the night with a thoroughly-investigated and seemingly harmless friend from homeroom, Willow was taking a nap, having worn herself out studying up for the new semester, and the only sound was the quiet scratch of a ballpoint pen in the checkbook. If anything, it was how she'd pictured life in a convent, but without the religion part. Still, she had silence, poverty, and chastity down pat; maybe there was a wimple in her future after all.

"Stupid life," she muttered.

When she'd finished the routine emptying of her bank account, she turned her attention to the pile of coroner's reports and obituaries that Willow had left for her. Nothing, nada, zip. Three cancer deaths, one electrocution, a couple of heart attacks, and a handful of miscellaneous accidents, none of which screamed "supernatural". She'd kind of hoped that she could at least have a cathartic night's slaying, but it looked like another one of those slow patrols she'd dreamed about, back when she'd had a life.

Things must have gotten bad if she found herself more than half-hoping for an upswing in demon activity. There was the Bronze, but things always seemed to go badly there, and besides, if there was anything more pathetic than sitting at home alone on a Friday night, it was sitting somewhere else alone on a Friday night, especially if your job description put you firmly in the uncool grown-up camp.

What she really wanted was to leave Sunnydale. Not for long, just a weekend somewhere where she didn't feel like somebody's middle-aged parent trying too hard to be hip. And if she could figure out a way to get down there, she knew just the place. Her dad owed her big time; if she was lucky, she could maybe even guilt him into taking her shopping. All she needed was a car. She picked up the phone and dialed a number before she could change her mind.

"Harris residence, this is Xander speaking."

"Of course it's Xander speaking. Last I checked, you're the only person who lives there." Buffy hoped she'd managed glib. She gone for glib, but she was worried it had just ended up sounding mean.

"Oh, hi Buffy. What's up? Not planning on killing my ex again, are you?"

"Xander..."

"Sorry, it's just still kind of a sore spot. What do you need?" The strained friendliness of his voice didn't bode well for her request, but she decided she needed to forge ahead anyway.

"Your car."

"You want me to drive you somewhere? Be wheel-guy?"

"Actually, I was kind of hoping to drive myself."

"Buffy, no offense here, but you're not exactly what one would call safe when you're operating a motor vehicle. In fact, I think somewhere on you, there's a little warning label just like there is on cold medicine. Why don't I just drive you to where you need to go?"

"Because I need to go to L.A."

"And this comes up at 7:28 on a Friday night because? Hold on. Look, I know he's been on your mind, but you're not planning on seeing--"

"Angel?" Xander would think that, and to be fair, the thought had crossed her mind. "No, I'm not. I was thinking more of the handsome older guy I dimly remember calling 'Dad'."

"That would be the same one who's bailed on you the last dozen times you've tried to get in touch with him?"

Ouch. Xander must have paid attention to D'Hoffryn, because he was definitely going for the pain. "Yes, that one. He's kind of the only dad I've got, and I miss him."

Xander's voice lost the sarcastic edge. "I get that, but wouldn't it be better if you gave the guy some notice?"

"Why? So he can find something more important to do? His secretary said last time I called that he'd be in town for a while. I'll leave him a message."

"If--and this is still a big if--I let you borrow my car, you'll promise to bring it back intact, right? No scrapes, bumps, or demon parts?"

She had him; he was going to loan it to her. If it wasn't for him being Xander, she could have kissed him. "Cross my heart and hope to, well, not die, but hope to something."

The long-suffering sigh on the other end was music to her ears. "Okay, I'll be over in a few."

"Thank you."

"Just remember, you owe me big time."

"So noted."

After leaving the promised message on her father's voice mail, she went up to her room and threw together a weekend bag. It took her longer than expected; none of her clothing seemed right for whatever it was she wanted to do, not that she was totally sure of what that was. Buffy finally resorted to closing her eyes and grabbing clothes at random. After one last wistful look at the closet, she grabbed the key to her father's place from her jewelry box, and went to wake Willow and let her know she'd be on her own for the weekend.

"You know where Dad's number is, right?"

"Yep. And I know the number where Dawnie's staying, and I know that I should get in touch with Xander in case of emergency."

"You sure you're going to be OK while I'm gone?" She couldn't keep the worry out of her voice.

Willow smiled at her and nodded. "Peachy keen."

Somehow, despite all the last-minute things she found herself doing and then checking to make sure she'd done, she managed to be on the road by a little after 8:00, and in L.A.--car intact, nerves shot--by 11:00. The entry light was on, but the inside of her dad's place was still dark. Buffy swallowed her disappointment and let herself in. When she turned the lights on, she found that he'd left her a note saying he'd had to go off, so she should go and do something fun. He'd also left a neatly-folded stack of cash for her to fund her fun. He hadn't changed a bit.

Los Angeles, on the other hand, had and it hadn't. Or, rather, she was belatedly realizing that she had even less of a clue about where to go for fun here than she did back home. Luckily, she still had a pretty good idea where to find trouble. With a little luck, she'd run across the former when dealing with the latter.

The cheerfully-ample supply of cash allowed her to leave Xander's car in the safety of the garage. Even if she'd been secure in the knowledge of her driving ability, she really didn't want to risk taking it into the area she'd lived in that summer she was Anne, and a little bit of neighborhood improvement for old-time's sake was kind of her first stop.

It seemed quieter than she remembered, or maybe her head was even noiser now than it had been back then. She walked down the street, watching and listening for something, anything. When a shrill scream followed closely by an inhuman roar pierced the evening air, she lifted her head in silent thanks. Now that was a little more like it.

***

The grip was unwieldy, the blade dulled with alarming rapidity, and Wesley very much suspected the thing would corrode in a vacuum, all of which re-enforced his decision to find a better supplier of cost-effective weaponry.. Still, it would get the job done, albeit nowhere near as quickly as he'd hoped. He swung the axe again, hitting the Ghr'zaki square in the neck.

It barely broke the creature's skin--though one would think he'd struck a mortal blow from the noise it made; it sounded like nothing so much as an outraged schoolgirl before it rounded on him, letting loose a low, rumbling growl from its fetid mouth. Wesley grimaced as he hefted the axe to swing again; thank heavens this wasn't a paying job. Perhaps thinking of Lilah would aid the blow.

A blur of motion interrupted the swing. He barely missed whoever had decided to join him. If it was a contractor hoping for more work, he'd be sadly mistaken. Of course, he didn't have anyone working for him who was quite that small. After a moment's thought that it might be Justine come to bother him for whatever reason, he realized it was too small to be her. Too strong, and more than a little too blonde as well.

Well, wasn't this an unpleasant surprise? He dropped back, letting his useless weapon clatter to the ground as he watched the festivities. She fought as well as he remembered, though with a touch of eager recklessness he had always associated more with Faith. It proved her undoing--the Ghr'zaki caught her mid-kick with a lash of its tail and she went down. Taking advantage of his unobstructed view of the demon, Wesley pulled his gun and fired twice.

To say it was more effective than the axe was something of an understatement. The Ghr'zaki fell harder than the Slayer had, and unlike her, it wouldn't be getting back to its feet in this lifetime or any other. He put the gun away and turned to where Buffy was struggling to her feet.

"Here."

He held out his hand. A flash of fear passed over her so quickly he thought he'd imagined it, then she accepted his assistance. He watched her closely as she dusted herself off, her face settling into a mask of annoyed bravado. Interesting.

"What are you doing here, Buffy?"

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?"

"Considering I both live and work in Los Angeles, no, I don't expect you should be. Do you make a habit of jumping into other people's fights?"

"Thought there might be someone in trouble."

"As you've no doubt gathered, you were mistaken."

Oh, and all of the above is set post-Selfless, post Slouching.

Buffy and Bitter!Wes? Yay! Um, no pregnancies planned, right?

And, Am-Chau, that was lovely, and I'm proud to be considered an inspiration. "Let us not speak of this again." hee.

Buffy and Bitter!Wes? Yay! Um, no pregnancies planned, right?

Oh, Christ no. I was thinking more along the lines of handcuffs.

Not that Tara was planned, if one wants to get technical. Either by the parties involved or by the author, if one looks at the original source material.

Still, she let me have some Angel/Wes moments, and provided me with some of my better writing, so she was a fairly happy accident. (Fine, I'll admit it, I'm madly in love with Absolution. Madly. Deeply. It's not perfect, but it's my baby. So there.)

Handcuffs? I can deal with handcuffs.