as promised, more V!Giles

They ate in relative silence for a few minutes. Buffy started to speak then stopped so often that Joyce finally put down her fork. "Yes?" she asked patiently.

"Are you sure you're up to this?"

"Sweetheart, I made it before under far worse conditions."

Buffy shrugged. "I know, but . . ."

Joyce got up to put her plate in the sink and kissed Buffy in passing. "I'll be fine. Xander will be with me."

Xander kept his head down over his plate so no one could see his grin. It was nice to have someone appreciate him. When he glanced up to get his milk glass, he saw Buffy watching him. And almost frowning. He raised an eyebrow at her, and she paid attention to her waffles again.

Joyce went into reduced bustle mode as she gathered her things for the trip. Xander followed her out to the car to get out from under Buffy's thoughtful eye. The back of the Land Rover was full of boxes.

"Christmas in August?" he asked.

Joyce grinned. "I've been taking donations at the gallery all summer, after I got back to work. I told everybody it was for a convent in Honduras."

"What are you taking them?"

"Some new gardening tools, some bolts of cloth, shoes and things. Canned food. It's not easy shopping for people who have nothing and don't want anything."

He thought a moment, then went to his own car. He hauled out his tool box and belt and carried them to the Land Rover. "They might need some things fixed," he explained with an attempt at an offhand shrug.

Joyce nodded. "Good idea." She took a deep breath. "Leave in fifteen minutes?"

"Sounds like a plan."

A few last minute things needed dealt with before they hit the road. After his own turn in the Summers bathroom, he found Buffy waiting for him near the stairs.

"Yes, I'm going to drive carefully and not bounce her around and make sure she's all right," he said to forestall the lecture he saw brooding in her eyes.

She nodded with a small smile. "If she doesn't seem OK, you bring her straight home, all right?"

"I promise. But she's right, she's in a lot better shape than the last time she made this trip."

"Yeah, but then we were all there too. This time it's just you."

"I thinking I'm up to looking after your mother."

"I know, it's just . . ."

That came out a half second too slow, and she didn't meet his eyes when she shrugged again.

She didn't trust him to look after her mother, not really. Xander kept himself from asking what was wrong, afraid she'd tell him. "You could come with us."

"I shouldn't leave town. There have been a couple of weird things the past couple of days that I need to keep an eye on. Besides, Mom said no."

He gave her a look of "Well, then?" If she wanted to say something, she was going to have to make the first move. He wasn't in the mood to be Volunteering Boy.

"Xander!" came from Joyce downstairs.

"Gotta go," he said, smiling in as friendly a way as he could manage.

"Yeah. Xander--"

He turned from the stairs, his gut twisting in dread. She looked undecided, then she hugged him instead of saying whatever was on her mind. He hugged her back.

"Xander, come on!"

Buffy grinned. "Better go. That's her 'I'm not writing you another excuse note' voice."

"And you know this tone of voice well?"

Her laugh followed him down the stairs.

Dawn hugged him in passing. "Bye, Xander, drive careful."

"Always do. Don't do anything stupid that blows up in your face and you have to admit to your mother later."

"Sure thing."

Joyce was already by the car, looking impatient. Xander held the passenger door for her and lent a hand for balance as she climbed in. She tapped her fingers on the arm rest as he got behind the wheel.

"Are we in a hurry?" he asked.

She caught herself, then laughed. "I love them dearly, but Buffy and Dawn do tend to hover. I'm--kind of looking forward to having a couple of days without someone watching me all the time."

"Sorry," he shrugged, "I promised." He started the engine, put it in reverse, then hesitated. "We forgot the most important part of the trip."

"What?" Joyce frowned.

"Music. And who gets to pick it. I've got CD's in my tool box."

"My car, I get first pick."

Xander watched anxiously as she opened the storage unit between the front seats and pulled out a CD binder. Maybe she'd at least have something marginally cool, like Elvis when he was still country.

Joyce smiled at him. "What do you think of Led Zeppelin?"

"Who?"

"Them, too."

"Huh?"

She pretended to think about it. "I don't think I have them." She laughed at the look on his face. "Get us on the road, Xander, and you can hear proper old fogey music. Maybe some Hendrix," she mused as she flipped through the CD's.

He sighed and put his trust in U-2 and, if necessary, Roy Orbison.

Kay gave me dictation again...she's headed to L.A. to find out what's up with the Munchkin.

OK, Howard, you've got to be half out of your mind to make a trip halfway across the country on a hunch. But it was like the time Agnes' ghost showed me where the weapon that killed her was. I just couldn't shake it. And things are different now, anyways. Nothing like two bullets in the heart to stop you screwing around, you know? Let Beau cover for *me* for a change.

(I didn't tell him why...just cause he tells me about every twitch doesn't mean the impulse is mutual, huh?) "Aw, Jesus, Howie," He says, giving me a puppy face that would put Bayliss to shame, "Do you have to take time now? I've got my hands full with these stiffs, well, not literally."

Mean or not, I've got one weapon and I'm gonna use it. "You should have thought about that when you let me go in first," I say, winking to show I'm just breaking balls.

"I'll do anything to make that up to you, Kay!" he says, being all intense. "I knew I was wrong...why'd you lie to me, Howie?"

"Male egos are fragile, huh? And if you had a relapse, I wouldn't want that on my head...orphaning those poor kids. Just hold down the fort...I don't actually expect you to be good as me, or anything."

He makes a face...I'm kinda glad. Since I've been back, it's been like a movie of the week in here. Still, beats hell out of a funeral.

I actually start to well up myself, when Timmy, the only one I've told about my little mission, hands me an envelope with $100 in it."You need it more than I do," he says in that simple way he's got.

"I can't take this, Timmy." I say, "It's a helluva lot more than eleven cents." I know that stupid bar isn't making nickel one, yet, and besides I'm stubborn Irish. The way I grew up, you don't take money, ever. I try to give it back...he doesn't take it...we'd probably still be standing there, if some twinge didn't remind me I was in no shape for the island solution of "work until dead,"

"Tell you what," I say. "Run me a tab, huh?" And I take the envelope.

He nods like I've trusted him with the crown jewels, and I can feel the waterworks starting up again. I hold back, though it isn't easy, and I'm not sure why...it's not like Tim would mind...the worst moment would be if he hugged me or joined me, or something.

But the squad's not the place for it. "I'm sorry," I say. "One of the medications I'm on makes me real sensitive to these damn fluorescents."

He pretends to believe me. I guess after swallowing Frank's bull, what's a little more?

Oh, man. Kay's going after John?

Dude.

Yeah...don't really know what's gonna happen.

If he bites her? I'll kick his ass.

No doubt...but if he did that, nobody would hate him more than him.

Oh, my - a battle of Munch versus Munch for the soul of Munch?

Do we get interference from a Slayer in here anywhere, do you think? As in Kay, having to take Buffy off to the local Starbucks for the "look, kid..." talk?

Today's drabble theme was success/failure (I suggested it, in fact!).

First entry:

If At First

There is something surreal about stumbling upon dead flesh.

It's worse if the flesh was lately living; cheeks still mantled in the pale rose of scant moments ago, veins still indigo, eyes open as if in surprise, lips still warm. To find dead flesh that, until the breath stopped in lung and throat was the flesh of a loved one, is pure hideous darkness. Natures offers no crueler joke.

Buffy shakes her mother, tries to force her own air into a motionless throat, hears the sickening crack of a rib as she pushes.

Death being what it is, Buffy fails.

A little more... "I hope you find him," Tim says.
"I never thought I'd say this,"I say, "but I hope I find him in bed with a blonde, a brunette, and...their sisters."Somehow, I just couldn't say "redhead". Did Tim notice? He gives an impression of being on a different planet than the rest of us...I hope he was getting messages from the mothership that minute.
"The important thing is not to worry," Tim says.
"Detective, heal thyself," I tell him.
I'm just blown away by the scope of L.A. Precincts. And they've got more light than us...I could solve any case if I could look at the sky from my desk. I feel like I'm in good hands till I meet "my" detective. Detective Lockley looks like she graduated from modeling school...what topless beach did they drag her off of, I wonder. "May I help you?" all flat. Jeez, don't strain yourself, huh? I'm not exactly local.
Maybe I'm keeping her from her manicure or a "cleansing mud pack".
John and I watched this talk show one time where a woman got one...and it just cracked us up. And we were sober, too, it was just comical civilian bullshit. Sometimes, when Russert is..well, being Russert, John will turn to me and whisper "Cleansing mud pack, anyone?" He made me swallow my gum...I would really miss that.