I sang like I wanted to go home with every critter in that place. And I could've, with more than a few. And I'm not flattering myself...apparently grief and Scotch are beauty aids on me. Go figure. I pushed sweaty hair out of my face and went to the table. The waitress wanted to take the bottle away. "Leave it."

A familiar voice, Munch's voice, says "Hmm. Bottle of Scotch. One glass. Sounds like a medical emergency. Who died?"

For ten seconds, my relief was so great, I could have hugged him. As it was, he started my tears flowing, and I didn't try to stop. "Oh, God, Munchkin," I said. But John and I never stay in those places long. "Who do you think, genius? Pick up a phone or something, Munchkin. You've had me out of my mind here...you know the kinds of stuff I've been picturing, huh?"

"I'm guessing it didn't involve you, me, and a can of Reddi-Wip."

"Same old Munchkin,"
He looked darker than usual and said "You'd think so, wouldn't you? But I've been going through some changes, lately."

"That's no excuse for letting me think you were...10-7, John. This whole time, I've been thinking we had another Crosetti on our hands."
"So all this? The pilgrimage to LaLa...the provocative but inane song stylings? For me? I'm touched, babe. But you should've saved yourself the trip."
"Since when have I let you decide what I do? Not while there's blood in these veins, huh? And not exactly for you. We haven't been each other's box of matches, huh?"

"That's cause you were smarter than me. Smart enough to stay away. No matter what, remember that, ok, babe? You were always the brains."

"What's all this 'were'. You could still get lucky. Brain cells die as you get older."

He picks up my glass. "Especially if you pickle them in booze...just what the doctor ordered for a GSW patient, huh?"

"GSW survivor, babe. I'm bulletproof now. Gee sent out a memo and everything, which you would get if you were back at work."

"Well, Supergirl, I've proven I still make women cry...let's see if I'm still kryptonite." And he leaned in, as if to kiss my forehead, which felt crazy enough...I slapped his face once and that was about our physical contact limit, but it was not as crazy as my kissing his mouth. It was like those dreams where you find yourself married to somebody you barely know, or you know, like Munch's real life. And like those dreams it ended weirdly.

"Back, demon!" Wesley said. I looked over my shoulder and I saw him, carrying a crucifix. I turned to give Munch a "Can you believe this?" look, but it wasn't Munchkin I saw. His face was covered in ridges and his eyes were gold. He broke his grasp on me and ran off. "Holy shit!" Wesley saw I was freaked and tried to get me to go with him. I walked faster and gave him some finger gestures you don't learn in finishing school.. "I was going to tell you..."
"But what? You didn't want to ruin the surprise? Fuck you, Wesley." And I thought that sentence was gonna sound so different.
"There are things that you need to say that you never know the right time for," he said.
"Before my massive heart attack is good, Wesley. Right about then, huh?"
"You're just lashing out out of anger, fear, and confusion. It's perfectly natural."
"Well, great, cause now? I'm gonna go to the hotel and vomit. That's natural, too. "

Oooh! More, more!

I took off the other direction and didn't let Wesley follow me.

I don't quite get this. I think it reads better without it.

That's just amazing, Erika. I want more! I'm bouncing in my seat!

Wouldn't it suck if I wrote myself into a corner now? I'm still not sure how they're gonna deal, though.

Tiny steps, tiny bites, tiny men with tiny brains. I told myself I would never do that, and I don't.

t applauds wildly

Oh, Deb. Yes, yes, and yes. And thank you.

Thanks...not that I'm sorry to be mistaken for debg...maybe married people type alike.

D'oh!!! No, sweet thing, that was two separate compliments. I am perfectly aware that you and deb are AS one on occasion, but you are not one.

Must. Be. Clearer. In. Feedback.

Kay singing 'Boots' was tee-riff. Deb's fourth thing was a wonderful slice of AU schmoop. Is that better?

DOOOOOOD!

I. love. that. confrontation.

Would have served Wes right if she'd chucked all over him, damnit. Back, demon? Jeepers.

Why, look! It's my muse, back from her sneaking off and leaving me to deal with real life. And she's brought the next part of V!Giles, Joyce and Xander on the road to the Convent of St. Eugene, with her.

They stopped for lunch at the same restaurant as they stopped at last time. The place was full of travellers this time, families on vacation, hikers headed for the mountains, people with maps and sunburns.

"And gas prices are easily twenty cents more per gallon than they were in the spring," Xander observed as they were finally shown to a table.

"So are the food prices," Joyce added, studying her menu.

"If you cover the refueling, I'll cover lunch." He saw her look at him in uncertainty. "I've been putting in a lot of overtime, I can easily spring for a tourist-priced lunch."

She smiled graciously. "All right, then. Deal."

To his surprise, the lunch she ordered paid mere lip-service to the idea of either healthy or low- cal. She bit into her bacon cheeseburger with delight, then made a noise of inquiry at his stare.

"You don't eat like a girl," he blurted out.

She swallowed and smiled. "Life is short. Eat a cheeseburger."

He nodded but his smile was a little forced. Life is short. Damned straight.

They worked through their burgers and fries and drinks in peaceful silence for ten minutes. When Joyce took a deep breath over her last fry, though, Xander braced himself.

"How's Anya?" she asked, paying more attention to the puddle of ketchup on her plate than to him.

"She's fine." He licked a finger and began picking up the stray sesame seeds from his hamburger bun. He finally couldn't help looking up at Joyce's continuing silence. She was wearing the Concerned Parent face, a look that only seemed to get directed at him by people he wasn't related to. "Don't, please," he said as she took another breath.

"Xander--"

"Please!"

She frowned a moment longer, then reached across the table to pat his hand. "All right, I'm sorry. It's just--we worry."

"Everything's fine." He couldn't help smiling just a little at the "I don't believe you" that went over Joyce's face. "We're--managing."

"And that odd--person. With the horns. Who you made the deal with. What about him?"

"D'Hoffryn. Anya's boss." He found some sesame seeds he'd missed. "Haven't seen him. When he shows I'll deal. When did you want to get back on the road?'

She frowned a moment more, then nodded. "We probably should get going. I'll meet you at the car."

Xander signaled for the check as he watched Joyce make her careful way across the restaurant. That hadn't gone nearly as bad as he'd been afraid of. And maybe she'd leave the subject alone. Too bad Buffy and Willow wouldn't take No for an answer on discussing Anya and the deal. He had no idea what D'Hoffryn had in mind. The demon might hold on to that debt for twenty years or something. What could the master of vengeance demons possibly need from one human? Best not think too long in that direction.

The waitress arrived with the check, and he headed for the cashier. Some snacks and some drinks for the rest of the drive, that would keep his mind away from things that were best left alone.

Thanks, Deb. I'm not sure how she'll adapt yet. And I need to find a list of Munch's ex-wives. Cause the only one I remember is Gwen, cause she did Lenny Briscoe. (Gwen is also my wheelchair's name, cause, difficult ride).And of course Billie Lou drove him from Balmer. But who was the first lamb led to nuptial slaughter?