After a long pause, and several more swallows of beer, she did just that. "I made some bad relationship decisions. And some bad life decisions. Actually, pretty much ever decision I made between coming back from the dead and a couple of months ago? Bad. With a capital B."

"I've made a few of those myself," he admitted.

"You won't tell Angel, will you?"

"It's unlikely--we're no longer working together. Besides, you haven't actually told me any of the specifics. I somehow doubt things were as bad as you claim." Her eyes widened and she turned an interesting shade of bright rose and drained the glass. "Oh dear, they really were that bad, weren't they?"

"Probably worse. Definitely worse. Sleeping with the enemy worse." She flushed again as she said it, looking like she wanted the booth to swallow her where she sat.

He let his arm brush against hers as he refilled the glass. "Well, was it worth it?"

"Some parts. On the whole? No, it wasn't, and it didn't have the prettiest of endings." She sipped her beer, more slowly this time. "But I'd be lying if I said that I didn't get anything out of it."

"For example?"

An unexpected and possibly alcohol-influenced grin split her face and she held his eyes for a second before answering, "Laid on a regular basis?" She groaned and covered her face with her hand. "I really didn't mean to say that," she muttered from between her fingers.

He hadn't quite imagined the conversation taking this sort of provocative turn, but then, he'd never imagined they'd be having a conversation of any nature in there first place. It was strange to realize they had more in common than just a nominal alignment and a somewhat convoluted history with Angel. They had a nominal alignment, a somewhat convoluted history with Angel, and, it appeared, a taste for disastrous entanglements.

Which, when he thought about it, was actually somewhat more than he and Lilah had in common outside of the bedroom, as recent events had proven. He was poking at wounds again, but at least this time it was a fresh one, and one he'd had no one to blame for but himself. And, if he felt like seizing the opportunity, one he'd be able to pay back in a way that might actually cause Lilah to have second thoughts about playing him again.

Of course, it could also cause her to make good on her Mrs. Robinson threat. Wesley wondered which would upset Angel the more: him sleeping with Buffy, or Lilah seducing Connor as a result. He supposed there was only one way to find out.

He gently pried her fingers from her face, letting his thumb brush her cheek as he did so. "I didn't mind. Honestly."

"Is this flirting?"

"I haven't ruled out the possibility."

Her eyes darted everywhere but his face as she took in the words. Throwing her off balance was both easier and more enjoyable than he'd ever envisioned.

The first tentative touch of her lips startled him; he hadn't expected her to make the first move. Her body remained rigid, ready to hit or run if the occasion demanded it, so he kept his hands at his sides as he returned the kiss. When she broke contact, her face was flushed and her breathing a touch less even than it had been. He was careful to keep from showing his amusement as her face flitted between anxiety, desire, and determination. It seemed he wasn't the only one with an agenda for the evening. Fortunate, then, that they meshed so well, absolving him of any potential feelings of guilt for using her. She leaned in to kiss him again, and this time, there was nothing tentative about it. His arms circled her waist and pulled her closer until he could feel the soft press of her breasts against his chest. When her hands slid under his shirt, he pulled away, albeit reluctantly. "It's a little public here, don't you think?" ***

Okay, that had been about thirty seconds away from being really, really embarrassing. Obviously, she still wasn't quite grasping the "sex in public places" taboo. Of course, a dark corner in a seedy bar was a little better than, say, the catwalk at the Bronze, her front yard, next to a dumpster, and G-d--when exactly had she turned into the queen of the perverts? "Maybe a little," she admitted. "We're fairly close to my place, if you're at all interested..." His voice trailed off, leaving the ball in her court. "Oh, yeah. Definitely interested." She gave him a look she hoped was innocent. "Got handcuffs?" The grin she got in return was decidedly devilish. "Padded or standard issue?"

"They make padded ones?" Too bad she hadn't known that months ago. "You sound chagrined." "Kind of. Why didn't Sp--someone tell me they made padded ones?"

He burst out laughing. Not that she blamed him, she sounded like a petulant grade schooler, except for the part where she was talking about handcuffs.

"Perhaps it didn't seem important at the time, though I notice you've adroitly avoided answering the question."

"Sorry, you kind of threw me with the whole actually taking me up on it thing. It wasn't quite what I was expecting."

He stroked the inside of her arm just lightly enough to make her whole body tingle. "What, pray tell, were you expecting?"

"Something a little more... English, maybe?"

He laughed again. Well, at least she was amusing him.

"But we English are famous for our restraint," he said lightly.

Ouch. That was painful. And shameless. "You never struck me as the pun type."

"You never knew me well enough to know one way or the other." She winced, even though the tone was matter-of-fact. "It goes both ways," he hastily reassured her. "I didn't know you well enough to know if you preferred domestic or imported beer."

"Wes, I wasn't old enough to drink last time you saw me." Nice to pass the wincing to someone else for a second.

"Well, there is that, isn't there?"

She broke the lull in the conversation about half a second before it could turn into an uncomfortable silence. "So, you said your place is pretty close?"

They left the bar and walked to his apartment. Which was, by L.A. standards, close. Heck, even by Sunnydale standards it wasn't far. It was, however, just far enough to give her time to wonder what the hell she was doing. Probably, she thought, making another bad decision. Though on a scale of bad to badder, it didn't even really register as anything more than just naughty compared to say, well, just about any of the other bad decisions that were springing to mind. And it wasn't like there was anything actually wrong with it. Just two consenting human adults doing what consenting human adults do.

"Second thoughts?"

"I think my second thoughts have had second thoughts by this point."

"If it helps, you don't have to come up." He unclipped a cell phone from his belt. "I can call you a cab, if you'd like."

She looked up at him, pushed all second, third, and fourth thoughts from her mind, and smiled before saying, "You know what I'd like that would also help? You kissing me."

***

Even wearing three and a half inch heels, she was short enough that he had to bend to comply with her request. If Lilah happened to be spying on him (which was more likely than not, considering that it was, after all, Lilah), she'd have more than a few choice words to say about his behavior, beginning with the futility of such a pedestrian play at revenge, and moving on to the blindingly obvious choice of her complete opposite as the instrument of said retaliation. But she'd still mention it, which would be proof enough that it had gotten under her skin. And in the long term, that was really all he needed.

Buffy's mouth was warm and soft and tasted faintly of beer and the last traces of lipgloss, and perhaps he was over thinking things...

She did something with the tip of her tongue and the inside of his lips that managed to stem thoughts of Lilah and one-upmanship completely, allowing for a flood of thoughts closer to "where the devil did she learn that?", "or that?", and "how quickly can we get into the building?".

There. Workshopped like in olden days, happy golden days!

It wasn't that he held grudges so much as kept them carefully tucked away and coddled until such a time as they either became full-fledged resentment or collapsed under their own weight.

How terribly lovely.

"Slaying with stilettos?"

Is it you that desperately wants to see Buffy stake a vamp with her heel?

Then he smiled. She wasn't willing to call it a nice smile--it was a little too calculated to call nice--but it was the kind of smile she hadn't gotten from anyone over the age of eighteen and under a hundred and fifty in way too long.

Oh, yeah. That's the stuff.

Sigh. Thank you, Plei. I did enjoy that.

Is it you that desperately wants to see Buffy stake a vamp with her heel?

Oddly, no, not really. But it's a funny mental image.

"I haven't ruled out the possibility."

Guh. I can hear him say it. Wibble-making.

"Wes, I wasn't old enough to drink last time you saw me." Nice to pass the wincing to someone else for a second.

Looks like Xander isn't the only one who paid attention to D'Hoffryn. Then again, Buffy has always had a talent for finding weak spots.

Congratulations to Herself, who won the Halo Award for Best Drama - Buffy for What She Deserves (tied with Kalima, which is rather fitting, I think).

[link]

"where the devil did she learn that?", "or that?", and "how quickly can we get into the building?".

Nice. And you kept the pun! I'm so pleased. Heck, I like the whole handcuffs thing.

Sunday's a slow day at work. I knocked out a few paragraphs.

Giles wasn't wearing the usual padding as he and Buffy sparred in the training room behind the Magic Box, but neither was worried. He neatly dodged most of her blows, and he shook off the ones that landed with no more than a passing wince. Buffy noticed he moved faster without the padding, makng her move faster as well. It was good to face her mentor as an equal.

His eyes were colder and more focused without the glasses, and he managed to hold a conversation as they worked. "You and Dawn should get out of town, get as far away as you can. Glory won't wait."

"I can't leave Mom."

"Well, you can't take her with you, she'd only slow you down. Willow and the others would look after her."

She ducked away from his kick. "Not leaving her." She nearly swept his feet out from under him, but he dodged at the last moment.

"And what will you do if Glory's next move is against Joyce? You said you were prepared to sacrifice the others. Are you prepared to sacrifice your mother?"

Buffy stepped out of the fight and lowered her hands. "Glory could do that anyway, grab Mom. Grab anyone to try and get me to bring Dawn back. And I couldn't do that, Giles. She's my baby sister, I got to hold her when Mom and Dad brought her home from the hospital, I got to take care of her. We'd play with each other's hair, and I helped her get back at Sally Ann Consecko, who was mean to her in the third grade--"

Giles moved closer. "And you know it never happened. The memories might seem real, but they never happened. You can't lose yourself in worry and memories now, you need to make plans. What will you do if Glory moves against Joyce in an effort to get to Dawn? Will you trade your sister for your mother or your mother for your sister?"

"I could--send Mom away, send her someplace where they could take care of her but is too far away for Glory to worry about. If we scatter she won't have time to use everybody against me."

"Very good," Giles nodded. He moved around the room picking up discarded weapons. "I know it's difficult to think of these things, but once one has a plan one knows how to react in any circumstance. You can't hesitate."

Then he was behind her, with an arm around her throat and her hands pinned. "Your enemies won't," he snarled. Fangs drove into her throat as she screamed.

Buffy woke, and her hand was checking her neck even as her mind said "Dream."

The clock said nearly five. The sky outside was grey fading to pink. Slayer Happy Hour, the vampires would be scampering for cover and the demons would be retreating into their lairs to avoid being spotted by the innocent humans who felt safe in daylight. Might as well just get up.

Her mind was more on her dream than on morning routines. It wasn't bizarre enough to be a true prophetic dream. No shadows of the First Slayer with her bones and war paint, no guys with cheese. Just her fears finding words and images.

She was going to have to choose. This thing was going to end in blood one way or another, and she'd better have her acceptable losses laid out.

As she got dressed, she found Mr Pointy and carried it downstairs with her. Her job description was to save the world, but her job title said Vampires first. Her dream had shown her the dangers of forgetting about vampires. She was pretty sure the Slayer's Handbook had a few words to say about calling on the aid of one vampire to go save the butt of another vampire. Stupid Handbook, just as well she never got one. Like that TV show from when she was a kid, about the guy who received a superhero suit from a bunch of aliens who forgot to give him the manual that went along with it. Maybe that show was on cable somewhere, she could relate to that about now.