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?

But who was the first lamb led to nuptial slaughter?

Damn. No clue - I didn't keep track of John's wives.

There must be site or nine at which that info is housed...

I don't think he did, either. And you'd think so, right? But I haven't found it yet. SF/fantasy people are just more on top of that shit. I ended up googling myself accidentally while looking, and surprise! I'm not blind.

Munch POV: When I saw Kay on the stage, I thought it was a flashback to the '70s. Not that I knew her then, more like I had finally cracked the code on all those cockamamie seminars Alicia, my first wife, and the softest heart of my Nordic Goddess period, used to drag me to. Alicia was big on saving the planet, positive thinking, and making your desires manifest. Guess which part was my favorite. (I swear to God, Vishnu, whoever, that I did try. But all I could truly visualize was us being treated like suckers. And, honestly, who can be quiet that long? Anyone that can, I don't trust. They're hiding something, nu?)

Anyway, I felt that I missed Kay so much, I'd called her into being. Of course, even my imagination couldn't have called up that little song and dance, even if I suspected Howard of having hidden...dimensions. Even sitting next to the Princess it gave me a shiver.

Ah, Alicia. Still on the top five breast list.(The Princess is on the top twenty but I wonder sometimes if she shouldn't be in some Hall of Fame all to herself, some lifetime achievement Mammary Class, given the three hundred years faithful service.) Alicia had shampoo commercial hair, bright blue eyes, the whole Breck girl thing. I admit that was the first attraction...the heart attack my parents threatened when I brought her home. I tell people sometimes that my first disappointment as an adult was when they failed to have it...it's a great line, but I've said it so much, I'm not sure I believe it now.

-more-

Alicia wanted to save the world. And me. I'm not sure which was the greater lost cause. And I gave her hell, cause she was nice, and would take it. And I'm not. How dare she believe in me? She fucked with the whole misunderstood thing I had going, huh?(Great. Ten minutes with Kay, I'll probably do that for three days...Munch's Love at Midlife. Gulp. Is it still midlife if you die first?) I'd run a stake through my own heart fifty times to escape the look of horror on her face, brief though it was. I was going to tell her, but Little Lord Fauntleroy outed me. Him, I wouldn't mind scaring. "I have fangs and you don't. How do you like those odds, babe?" And, spare me the dime-store psychology on how Felicia sounds like Alicia and how I wanted to recapture...something.I've got it, Dr. Freud.

Is it still midlife if you die first?

There's an entire subset of fic waiting to be tackled, right there. I swear.

erika, would his "They're hiding something, no?" be more Munch as a "They're hiding something, nu?"

Hmmm. This week's drabble theme was "unconventional', apparently meaning behaviour unusual to a character, among other things. So...

Unbecoming

This is all wrong. She knows it.

Her excuse is the missing amulet, no power, can't help the feelings, human until she gets it back. D'Hoffryn's no help - all he's willing to do is demand she get it back. Useless, that's what he is - after all, he's a man.

She's been human before, and she didn't like it. It hurt. She chose the other path, Aud becoming Anyanka - her choice.

So this is wrong. But for a moment, silk sliding down her legs, stepping out of her knickers as Xander's jaw drops, she doesn't give a damn.

It's so nice when the muse starts clicking again

Johnny Cash and Bruce Springsteen filled most of the air on the rest of the trip into the mountains. Joyce told a tale of sneaking into a Springsteen concert, but only after making Xander swear he'd never tell Buffy. The mother-daughter negotiating field was delicately balanced enough without adding material like Joyce lying to her own mother about a sleep-over with a friend as cover for going to the forbidden concert.

The side roads that led away from the park entrance were busier at this time of year. By the time they reached the rutted turnoff marked by the small roadside shrine of Saint Eugene, though, they hadn't seen another vehicle for half an hour. Xander slowed for the turn, then hesitated.

Joyce started to ask what was wrong, but then she remembered Anya hopping out of the bus to identify the shrine on the last trip up here. If there had been anyone else to ask to drive her up here, she would have asked them. She hated dragging Xander through the memories of everything that had happened.

Xander glanced over at her cautiously, but he seemed to relax when she didn't say anything. Without a word, he drove on.

The air was drier and dustier in August. Rabbits and mule deer leaped out of hiding in the bushes as the car drove past. Joyce lowered her window and leaned out, letting the wind blow through her hair. It made a good cover for the tears that threatened.

This was the summer she thought she'd never see. When doctors used words like glioma and cerebrum and operable, a woman's long-term planning was suddenly defined in days and weeks, not seasons. Then the Glory thing had blown up, and it was all Joyce could do to hang on to Dawn's survival, much less her own. It had taken weeks after Glory's defeat for Joyce to start thinking again of the future as something that might be counted in years. She'd had a follow-up visit with her neurosurgeon three days ago, and Dr. Isaacs had told her that all the scans showed clean. All that was left to do was to continue her exercises to regain what function she could, plus a check-up in a year, just to be sure.