Thanks, hon. Right back at you.

Deb, Erika, my hat's off to both of you, as always. Fine stuff.

Deb, I swear, you're going to make a writer out of me yet.

That change works very nicely, I'ma do it. Then I read over and see if I can spot other tellishy places myself.

Also, your fic? Great. The slash works pretty well, though I'm not 100% convinced it would happen. Still, I'm very tough to convince that my characters would ever have sex with each other. Faith and Xander confused me, and that's canon. =)

I'm a little lost on yours, erika, as I didn't read whatever came before I started hanging out here. Or at least I'm not familiar with the character. Is there introductory material posted online somewhere, that I can read?

Which, babe? I've got three...balls in the air right now. AIFG. But I write crossovers, mostly. Claire and Jack used to be on L&O together. That story is the Calendar case as presented on L&O. Tim Bayliss is my fictional boyfriend from Homicide...he has a few issues, poor baby. Mostly with a case that got away. The murder of an eleven-year-old girl, Adena Watson. Kay and Munch are crossed with Angel for my H:LOTS/A:ts crossover(as far as I know the first of its kind) Hint: He's not a vamp on TV. I've got finished fics, but they are lengthy. Or do you want a Homicide primer? Be warned, I'm passionate on the subject...I'm a rare crime junkie buffista.

Love the L&O x-over stuff!

Thanks, Sumi. The dialogue's kind of a bummer, too on point. No davinos or anything.:) I found shell's H:LOTS primer thing. Girlfriend talks too much, but her heart's in the right place. And she hated "Defender..." but I'm over it. Now.She just thinks Timmy's hers, poor dear. Hers and Billy Tallent's. [link] ETA: And she kind of ignores the Munchkin, except for that dumb gallery thing. I'm not too happy about that. Edited one last time to say I couldn't find one for L&O. If anyone does let me know, although more people have seen it than H:LOTS. Although Deena did tell me she never watched one, which boggled me, considering how omnipresent the series is.

Gordon Pratt: I promised somebody I wouldn't do this during the week anymore, but it's fun when it's wrong. More "People V. Angelus" BTVS/L&O “Fine,” McCoy said, “we’ll do it.”

“Excuse me?”Claire said, her green eyes wide, “Do what?”

“Empanel the undead. We are going to follow the letter as well as the spirit of the law in this one. I want this conviction, Claire.”
“You used to talk about me like that. And now it’s my turn to say ‘You can’t be serious.’

“It’s not hard,” Jack said. “There are three hundred neck ruptures a year in Sunnydale. Pretend you’re in Chicago. The dead there are surprisingly civically active.”

The rare flash of levity made Claire smile in spite of herself. “Ha ha. If anything happens to me while I’m doing that, I’ll haunt you..”

“It would be impossible for you to do that more than you already do, darling.”

“Likely story. One I’ll consider in the cemetery with Mike Logan.”

“I really wish you’d take Lennie,”
“ What would he do? Wisecrack them to death? Besides I like the leverage.” Editor's note: I typed "cemetery" and "Logan" and my A/C quit working. Y'all did this to me, I swear. I used to be hearts and flowers...now I'm Emma Zoole.

erika, for the new readers? Might work to put the fandoms atop each entry ("Homicide:Life on the Streets/AtS Crossover" or whatnot.)

Nova, I have trouble with Faith and Xander. But that Harmony/Faith thing - I could see Faith, not so much in need of solace herself, but with the confusion of the world emptying out around her, somehow needing to offer it. And the only person in that collection she could offer it to - Wes and Gunn both, in their own ways, being as strong as she is herself - would be Harmony.

Ok. I'll do that...I just never expect to have new readers. Or, hell, even old ones, with these mutant bunnies.

fwiw, erika, you've not only alerted me to the existence of H:LotS, you've made it into one of my Shows-I-Must-Get-Hold-Of list. Just 'cause of your fic. I love Kay.

Deb? Lovely Faith. Lovely lovely. You have, in fact, infected me with an urge to write Faith. With a vague sense of gift-for-Roz chaser. Which has me writing Faith/Willow PWP, to my own more than moderate surprise.

Displacement.

"So?" Faith slides the raspberry chupa chup out of her mouth long enough to cast the syllable at Willow like a challenge, and then coolly pushes its gleaming head back between her glossy lips. The slurp is comically obscene and it tickles her to see instant irritation flickering across Red's features.

"What do you mean, 'so'?" says Willow, crossly. Kennedy has been gone now for two weeks and four days. She glances away from the road for a moment and glares at Faith, sitting smug and confident, with a paper bag of groceries in her lap and snakeskin boots perched atop the dashboard. "So what?"

Faith smiles secretly around a mouthful of hard candy. They are still not friends, and likely never will be. She runs a calloused finger lazily over her damp collarbone and Willow's gaze follows it unwillingly. Her smile broadens. Willow makes an exasperated noise and keeps her attention fixed on driving. Faith stretches like a cat, feet braced precariously on the dashboard and arms reaching up to the ceiling. Her back arches, raising the paper bag up for a moment, and her breasts press against the thin fabric of a too-small t-shirt borrowed from Dawn. Faith's approach to laundry is erratic. She isn't wearing a bra.

Willow's indrawn hiss of breath is loud in the quiet confines of the car. Faith's grin widens and after a moment she leans forward to fiddle with the radio.

Flick.

Ike and Tina Turner.

Flick.

Britney.

Flick.

Melissa Ferrick's voice fills the air, singing 'Drive', and Faith laughs out loud around her candy and cranks up the volume.

"…Whatever you want/I’ll give it to you/I’ll give it to you slowly /‘till you’re just begging me to hold you/yeah whatever you want /whatever you want/but you’re going to have to ask me…"

"Is this supposed to be some kind of joke?" Willow asks, not looking at her. Willow's mouth has gone tight, and the car is fairly crackling with the tension that has been there all day. All week. All along, in fact, but never quite this loud and clear.

"Don't you like it?" asks Faith, watching Willow's pink tongue dart out to lick bare lips. "It's a cool song. Sexy. I like it."

"I – you – could you ever, just for a moment, *not* act like a bitch in heat?" demands Willow, helplessly. "I suppose it's too much to expect you to notice that *some* of us don't have our sweeties waiting back at the motel. *Some* of us might not much appreciate being reminded about this." She shakes her head. "You never change."

Faith tugs the lollipop out of her mouth again and licks it thoughtfully. "Guess you're missing your little chew toy, hey?" Willow rolls her eyes.

"Tact just isn't in your vocabulary, is it?"

"Not my favourite four-letter word, no," agrees Faith. They sit quietly for a moment or two, and Ferrick's song coils through the air like smoke.

"…I’ll hold you up/and drive you all night I’ll hold you up/and drive you baby ‘till you feel the daylight…"

She leans a little closer, close enough to smell the motel's flowery shampoo on Willow's hair. "Not that I blame you – she's not the sharpest stake in the box, maybe, but she's feisty, and she's kind of hot. If you can't have B or me, then she's not a bad little substitute. And the pierced tongue – now *that's* got to be a blast in the sack."

The car swerves only slightly, and Faith snickers.

"You," says Willow, after a long moment, "are well on your way to being turned into a frog. Also? You really, *really* need to get over yourself." Her voice is even. Grown up. Faith pouts.

"And you're no fun."

"I thought you knew that already."

"Nah, I think you could be a lot of fun, Red," says Faith, and she means it. Her voice has gone dark and furry. "You just need to kick loose a little."

"I've tried that," said Willow, shortly. "It was all End-of-The-Worldy, and I had this whole veiny complexion thing going on. Not of the good. Really. Uptight is much better all round, trust me on that."

Faith says nothing, but her eyes trace the line of Willow's throat as hungrily as any vampire and she resumes sucking on her lollipop with vigour. Willow shifts uncomfortably after a while, conscious of Faith's silent gaze.

"…Your mouth waters/stretched out on my bed your fingers are trembling/and your heart is heavy and red and your head is bent back/and your back is arched and my hand is under there/holding you up…"

"What?" she says at last, torn between irritation and amusement. They are still fifteen minutes away from the motel, where Xander and Andrew and Robin and Dawn are waiting for apples and pizza and cherry coke. Faith gives an odd little laugh.

"You don't want to know," she says, and there is a husky note in her voice that makes Willow shiver.

"Okay, if I didn't before, *now* I do. I'll bite. I mean, not in a yellow-eyed, crinkly-forehead way, obviously, because, hello, not a vampire, but – well, yes, okay, metaphorical biting." Her cheeks are reddening, and she doesn't want to ask herself why. "There will be biting of a strictly metaphorical kind. So go on. Spill."

"I was just wondering what your face looks like when you come," says Faith, her voice shockingly soft. "If you get that anguished expression, or kind of blissed-out, or dumb, or – I was just wondering, you know. How you look." Willow, for once, has absolutely no words. She gapes. Faith is looking at her with the sort of focus normally reserved for sword-toting demons. "I b