I just went to edit the LJ entry, too, and got an error message that they are experiencing technical difficulties. Maybe that's why some people can see it, and some can't.

Cindy, I logged out and in and it was there fine. LJ being weird maybe.

BWAH. I love that, Cindy.

Cindy cracked me up with that.

Cindy, I went back and tried again; nothing. Refresh got me the same thing: the 5 Answers deal. I'll try it with a normal log-in later on.

I am in email with my editor, mutually regretting my non-attendance at Bouchercon. It's in Vegas this year. Alas, it's also in about three weeks, or six weeks before release of the book. So, she'd have loved me to go do a signing. But sign what?

Plei! Got any more Cohen quotes? I lurved doing those.

I have many, many more Cohen quotes.

Upheld by the simplicities of pleasure,/They gain the light, they formlessly entwine;/And radiant beyond your widest measure/They fall among the voices and the wine.

(From Alexandra Leaving)

You who wish to conquer pain,/you must learn what makes me kind; /the crumbs of love that you offer me, /they're the crumbs I've left behind. /Your pain is no credential here, /it's just the shadow, shadow of my wound.

(From Avalanche)

For starters

Those are so being marked for future Please-Plei quickie writeups.

Anyone in the mood for a quick Beta?

AU-set about four months after The Gift

When Buffy Comes Marching Home Again

Three days after we buried her, I went to her grave. We'd hidden it in the woods. Giles knew a priest or minister or whatever from town, that understood about slayers, and vampires, and the need to bury your best friend and savior. The guy consecrated the ground for us. This was a very big deal for Giles. I wasn't sure why, but Giles was not taking no for an answer, and wouldn't allow us to bury her until this was done. Willow offered to do some sort of blessing, but Giles was adamant that it had to be this guy. Willow performed some sort of spell so that Buffy...her corpse...wouldn't rot. That's as far as Giles would let her go. Good thing he was okay with that. It had been four months between her death and burial. The priest-guy was on a sabbatical or something. Everything was a non-starter until the grave was consecrated--by that particular guy. I guess you can take the boy out of the Church of England...

"Damned ground," I remember thinking. Consecrated or not, it would always be damned to me, because Buffy was in it, when she should have been walking on it for another 50 or 60 years.

When I reached the clearing, it was obvious, even from a distance that her grave had been disturbed. Spike leapt to mind as the usual, and obvious suspect. "That frigging stalker-lunatic," I thought; "He took her corpse." I imagined the great pleasure I was going to take from killing him, finding a way to resurrect him, then killing him again. And again.

It wasn't quite daylight. All around the clearing, the woods were so thick--a Fangorn Forest--I was not sure daylight even penetrated them anymore. I was muttering to myself as I reached the grave. In a grove, on the other side, I heard the stalker-lunatic's voice.

"I've brought some flowers for her, Xander. Do you mind? I got delayed and don't want to chance the sunrise."

At times, I had been ashamed of how I'd treated him over the summer. Then I'd think, 'He's a freaking serial killer.' However, I had to admit he was a freaking serial killer we use regularly to stay with Dawn, and help us kill other freaking serial killers, but a serial killer all the same. Usually, these thoughts would go around and around in my brain, whenever I was anywhere near Spike. That morning, shame didn't even cross my mind. "Where'd you put her Spike? Tell me where you put her, you son of a bitch. Tell me before I drag you out here and sit on you 'til the sun rises, and you're nothing but a big pile of dust!"

"Pardon me?"

It was then that I finally focused on his face. Stalker lunatic wasn't lying. Or if he was, he was even better at it than I ever thought.

"The grave--Spike. The grave is...disturbed."

"Oh, God."

"It wasn't you, then?"

"Please. I can't. No." He raised his duster over his head. If I hadn't been so upset over the universe's latest assault on Buffy, I would have laughed as I watched him try to keep to the shadows. He made it to Buffy's gr--well, to the site. "What the bloody..."

"I don't know. I have to go back to my car and get a shovel. Don't touch anything, Spike."

Spike said something to me in reply, but I wasn't listening. I think every ounce of blood in my body was pounding in my head. Walking to the car should have helped, but didn't. I was still ready to explode. When I returned, Spike was in the shadows of the trees nearest the grave, coat still over his head. Dawn was breaking. There wasn't much digging to be done. Once I had a bit more light, I realized I could have done without the shovel. All I had to do was brush some dirt off the casket. I couldn't bring myself to open it. Spike must have seen this.

"I'll do it. If you cover me, I'll do it."

I wasn't sure how he was going to manage, even with me covering him. But I couldn't bring myself to open her casket. I took off my jacket as I walked towards him. His duster was now off of his arms, too, and just draped over his head. I walked in front of him. When we got to the grave, I stood between Spike and the sun, and raised my jacket for extra protection. I didn't really care if he combusted. I don't think he did, either. But he couldn't help me, if he burst into flames, so I shaded him from the early morning light. He jumped in the hole--in Buffy's grave. I thought I smelled a whiff of smoke--burning meat--but I never heard him yell.

Somehow he managed to dig his feet into the earth, and give the casket lid a wide enough berth past him, so that he could open it, skinny bastard.

It was empty.

As Dawn broke, Joyce appeared as if from nowhere. She didn't descend. She didn't "pop" in. There were no special effects, no rays of light. No halos. But as sure as I am that I am Xander Harris--Alexander LaVelle Harris--Joyce Summers, the same Joyce Summers who had died months before--was standing before us.

"Xander, Spike, don't be afraid," she said. "You are looking for Buffy. She is not here. She has risen."

Spike spoke first. "What did you...did you do?"

"I didn't do anything."

"The little bit, your... your Dawn, she?"

"No, Spike."

"Ah. It was Willow, then," he said. Now, we'd had these plans; I'll go into detail later. Suffice it to say, as far as I knew, Spike wasn't in on them. We thought he'd derail them, or manipulate them for his own purpose. We--Willow, Tara, Anya, and I--had planned to resurrect Buffy. I wouldn't put it past Willow to jump the gun. I remember thinking (and being angry that) she must have gone to Spike instead, and neglected to tell us. I couldn't make sense of it, but I couldn't make sense of the empty grave before me, either. Then I remembered Spike's shocked face when we'd first found the casket empty. Nothing meshed.

(cont'd)

(cont')

"It's really, you? But how?" Spike asked. He was crying.

I finally found enough breath to fuel my words. I hadn't, however, found enough thought. "Buffy," was all I could manage.

Joyce came to me then. She touched my hand, my cheek, and--don't take this the wrong way--I've never felt anything like it in my life. I remember my immediate relief at the warmth of her touch. She certainly wasn't a vampire. Was she human? I couldn't tell you. Was she evil? I don't think so. I do remember, that in my hurry that morning (I had a big job starting and wanted to be there before everyone else), I had nicked myself shaving. Later, when I got back to my car later, the cut was gone.

Joyce said, "You know who I am. You know I am me. You know I am telling you the truth. Buffy is alive. Xander, Spike, go tell Dawn, Willow, Giles and the others."

Then she was gone--just gone.

I honestly don't know how Spike managed to keep to the shadows all that time. He was standing in Buffy's empty casket, in her otherwise empty grave. It wasn't broad daylight, but he certainly should have been the toast with my morning coffee. The grave faced west. Maybe the headstone provided him with enough shade. I wasn't really thinking about Spike just then. Spike wasn't either. He started to climb out of the grave, and I heard the sizzle; he must have felt the sizzle. He yelped in that drama queeny way he has, and fell back in. But he didn't shout at me. He quietly said, "I need help."

He wasn't even Spike to me, anymore. He was just another person who loved Buffy--at least for the moment. It might have been the first time I'd ever thought of him as a person--maybe the only. I reached in the grave, picked up the duster from the bottom of the casket. Under it was the remains of a white rose I had tied to her favorite stake, and stuck in her casket, right before we buried her. I covered Spike, and grabbed the flower and stake. I held my jacket between Spike and the ascending sun, and ran him to the safety of the woods, told him where to find my car, and started off, back through the clearing. I stopped once more at Buffy's grave. I had to be certain. I was. I was fairly certain I was out of my mind.

When I got back to my car, Spike was already there, and in it, huddled and shaking like a frightened child on the floor of the back seat. I went to my trunk, found a tarp, and threw it over him. For a moment, I almost felt pity for him. I got in the driver's seat, put the rose and stake next to me. I started the car, put it in reverse, and checked my rearview mirror. That's when I noticed my cut was gone.

That's when I noticed Buffy was right behind us.

I saw her, in the mirror. I got out of the car, thankfully remembering put it in park. Leaving the door open, I could hear Spike ask what was going on. He managed to turn around and see,--and hear--I guess. The next thing I knew, he was next to me, still covered in that damned, blue plastic canvas.

Buffy spoke first. "Good morning."

Only now with some distance between myself and that morning, can I say I wish I had a camera, or rather, wish I'd been caught on film--Spike, too. We must have been hysterical. We fell to her feet, and hugged her legs. It's a wonder we didn't knock her down.

"Guys, you're holding onto me for dear life. It's okay. Don't be afraid. Get up."

When someone you personally watched die, and later buried tells you to do something, you do it. Spike and I rose. He struggled with his covering, and as he did, I started to giggle.

Buffy grasped our hands. I could see her. I could feel her warmth. I'd held that hand before, taken things from it, passed things to it. It was Buffy. I needed nothing else. She said, "Go. Go back to town, get Giles, Willow, Tara, Anya, and my Dawn. Get them to the Magic Box. I will meet you there."

I didn't want to leave her. I think I could have stood there forever, holding her hand. But her tone, gentle though it was, meant business. We did what she said. I was halfway back into town before I realized I'd just left her there. "Gah! Why didn't we put her in the car, Spike?"

"She didn't say to," was all he said. I'd never heard his voice so quiet.

We went to Buffy's house first. How incredible it was to let myself think of it as "Buffy's house" again, without feeling that stab in my gut. The girls were all asleep. Spike got in the basement somehow--same way he always got everywhere, I guess. I had a key, and let myself in the front door. Spike came through the kitchen, tarp abandoned now, somewhere. We hesitated upstairs, not sure whom we should first wake.

"I don't want to startle Dawn," I said.

"Well, the birds could be...um..."

"Right. Dawn'll be okay. It's good news, after all."

Just as I said that, Dawn came out of the bathroom. She had her bathrobe on, and clutched it tight to her chest when she saw us. "What is it? What's wrong? Why are you here so early?"

Spike said, "Buffy." Further words must have failed him. For the first--okay, maybe second--time in my life, I think I knew how Spike felt.

I said, "Why don't we get Willow and Tara and tell them all together?"

"What? What? What? You can't come in here first thing in the morning, say my sister's name and not tell me. What is going on?"

We just walked to Willow and Tara's room, as Dawn ranted at us. I didn't blame her, but I needed Willow with me, even if Willow didn't know. We stopped when we got to their door. I didn't know if I should knock, or call their names, or what. Dawn, clearly exasperated, pushed it open, without saying anything.

"Willow, Tara, wake up! Xander and Spike are here and they're all freaked out. It's something to do with Buffy. What did you do?"

(cont'd)

(cont'd)

Willow sat up. Thank God she was dressed, as was Tara. Tara looked a little lost. I knew the feeling, believe me. We told our story. When words failed me, Spike filled in. Finally it was all out. Poor Dawn. She just sat there crying, silently.

Willow said, "Xander, don't worry. You're just crazy--under a spell or something."

"No. Wil, that's what I thought too, even with Joyce and the touching. But Buffy..."

"She held our hands. She spoke. She told Xander and me to get, and bring you to the Magic Box."

Willow called Giles, and Anya (and I knew I was going to catch hell later for not calling Anya myself, but I couldn't). I don't know what she said to them, but both showed up at the Magic Box while we were parking my car. I had just let Spike out of the trunk, in the alley behind the shop. He'd said the trunk was more comfortable, and I guess exhaust fumes aren't an issue for the undead. I think he just needed a place to cry. I could have used one. He ran for the back door. I left him there, and pulled the car back out front. Giles and Anya met us, and Anya unlocked the shop.

Buffy was seated at a table. She stood as we entered. Spike had again somehow found a way in. He just stood in the doorway to the training room, just looking at her, head cocked to one side.

Dawn ran to Buffy, and hugged her. Giles joined her. Willow pulled them off. She said, "We don't know this is Buffy."

"I do, Wil," I said.

"I do," said Giles.

"I do," said Willow.

"I do," said the Buffy bot. We all turned. It was freaky having the Buffy bot here with Buffy resurrected. It felt dirty. Buffy seemed unbothered by it though.

"Ha. It's the me-bot. Have you been helping them?"

"I've tried," said Buffy bot. "They are sometimes difficult to please. I must adapt. Spike was not difficult to please."

Buffy smiled at that. We all did, even Spike. Can vampires blush? It was probably my imagination, but it looked like it.

Willow's hands shot out in front of her. "Wait! We have to know for sure. How can we know you are Buffy? How can we know for sure?"

"Let's see, I've been dead 147 days."

"148 today."

"But today doesn't count, Spike."

"I don't suppose it does."

Willow was clearly unconvinced. She also seemed...what--angry--I think. She said, "Anyone could know that, anyone at all. Tell me something only you would know."

"Ben is Glory and Glory is Ben."

"Sorry, Buffy--er--whoever. Not gonna cut it."

"After I finished with Glory, Giles suffocated Ben."

"He did not. See? See? This isn't..."

"Ah, but it is. I--I did, Willow. I killed Ben."

"Suffocated him with your hanky covering your hand, right Giles?"

"Um...yes, but how did you know?"

I should mention, we were all startled by this revelation. Giles had never mentioned it over the summer. I guess with doors to demon dimensions opening and closing, and Buffy dying, we just didn't think about it. I always figured Buffy just beat Glory--killed her--won, the way she always had. It's funny now, but at that moment, I felt almost a little disappointed. I think I had built up her death in my mind. She'd killed an evil hellgod, and died saving the world. Now half the story was untrue. Mostly though, I was okay, because this sequel was even better, she was back.

Willow pounded on the table. "Hey, I'm still not convinced. Okay, we mere mortals didn't know this, but that doesn't mean an evil thingamabob in Buffy face wouldn't know it."

"What can I do to convince you, Wil? If an evil thingamabob could know that, couldn't it know anything?"

"Come here," said Willow.

Buffy walked over to her. Willow pulled the shoulder of Buffy's dress down. Her action was almost violent. Her face was white. Buffy's bra was now exposed. I'd had enough. "Willow, what the hell is wrong with you?"

Willow ignored me. "Buffy, reach in your bra, under your left breast. What's there?"

Buffy kind of shimmied her shoulders, looked at Willow's face, and decided to get it over with. She reached in. I think Spike, Giles and I all turned away. The girls didn't, though. Buffy must have noticed us though, because she said, "Okay, guys, it's safe."

"They're there?"

In unison, Giles, Spike and I yelled, "What?"

"You put a cross and a Star of David in my bra Willow. You did it when Giles and the Priest were consecrating my grave. You said, 'May you find wings to the kingdom.'"

Willow said nothing.

Buffy decided to try another route. "Okay, when I first met you, I was with Cordelia. We were at the water fountain in Sunnydale High. Cordelia said something like, 'Willow, nice dress. Good to know you've seen the softer side of Sears.'"

Willow was crying. "Oh my God. Buffy?"

"Oh ye of little faith."

"What are you doing here? How did you get back? When? Are you okay? You were in Hell, weren't you? You fought your way out. Can we get you anything? Do you want...need..."

"Hell? Me? Thanks a lot. No, I was in Heaven, or at least I think I was. Wherever I ... was ... I was happy--at peace. I knew that everyone I cared about was all right. I knew it. Time didn't mean anything, nothing had form... but I was still me, you know? And I was warm and I was loved... and I was finished."

I don't think any of us spoke for a good minute, which doesn't sound long, but believe me, it was the longest minute of my life. Finally, Anya (of course) piped up, "Then what the hell did you come back to this dump for?"

"Good question," said Buffy.