Title: Document--Angelus, Part One

Author: Scribe

Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Type: MarySue

Status: In Progress

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, except Scribe. I'm not making any money off it, either. Just giggles and warm tinglies. They can try to sue me for them if they like.

Notes: This was never meant to see the light of mailing list. It began life as an untitled fantasy meander. I was feeling a bit dark, and decided to just abuse the hell out of my Mary Sue character. I thought, "Who better than Angelus? He'll really get a kick out of it." I got so graphic in my character's molestation that I became a weeny bit appalled at myself, and put it away, but it wouldn't leave me alone. It even made a cameo in my Proverb Series, where Angelus grabs my Scribe character and offers to recreate one of her fics, "The one you're too embarassed to post? The one that's just titled 'Document'?" Her eyes sprang open, and she went from limp to dervish in a split second. "NO FUCKING WAY!" she shrieked. "Not 'Document'! Anything but Document." *shrug* Mary Sues have become much more accepted, and... *sigh* Sucked back
in. This story bears no direct relation to any time or story line for the series, really. Unless you want to consider it happening around the time Angel lost his soul. Anyway, being a MarySue, it is pretty much automatically AU.

Warnings: Blatant MarySue. Don't bother to complain to me about it--you've been warned. Non-consensual, out and out rape, bondage. Dark fantasy. Please don't try to psychoanalyze me on this. I'd never really want anything like this to happen in real life.

Rating: NC-17

Document--Angelus
by Scribe

Things had been decidedly, er, active in Sunnydale the last few days. A very ruffled group of Scoobies had gathered in the high school library. Even the usually neat Giles was looking more rumpled than usual. He dropped a large, dusty book on the desk and looked around at the assembled teenagers--and vampire. Angel was here, too. Giles didn't exactly like that. His every
instinct as a Watcher cried out against it, in fact, but he HAD helped them out before, and they could use all the help they could get now.

"I have identified the demon," he announced.

"Are you SURE it's a demon?" asked Buffy. "I mean, maybe it's just some sort of naturally occurring phase."

"While I know that rampant hormones are a part of growing up, I find it hard to believe that they could account for the sudden mass make out session in assembly."

Oz and Xander exchanged looks. "Youthful high sprits?" said Xander.

"Teenage hijinx?" offered Oz.

"Perhaps, but that would hardly account for the orgy in the Teacher's Lounge, nor that appalling incident involving Coach McNamara and Miss Teesdale under the table in the cafeteria."

Cordelia shuddered. "Luckily I had my shades. I might have been struck blind."

"We can be fairly certain that it IS a particular demon, and I must say that of all the obscure beings we've had toddle through this benighted town, this is one of the most obscure. Those who have encountered it were usually reluctant to set down their experiences."

"Not at all hard to understand, considering that they would probably qualify as porn," drawled Xander, sprawling in a chair.

"And considering that there might not have been very many left with the energy to write it," said Willow.

"If you'll allow me?" The Scooby's quieted again. "Thank you." Giles opened the book and adjusted his glasses. "This is an Amoresor demon. A most appropriate name, but I doubt if that is what it calls itself. I think that the recorded name was probably bestowed by its victims."

Xander spoke, "Blank looks all around. This is significant?"

"It's Latin, Xander," said Angel. "It means 'desire eater'." The Scooby's stared at him. He shrugged. "Don't look at me like that. They shoved Latin down your throat back in my day."

"In any case, Angel is quite right. This is a creature that feeds off the energy generated by *cough* sexual congress. It's pheromones and the chemicals in the oils on its skin are powerful aphrodisiacs."

"I don't know what's so bad about this," Xander protested. "In fact, it could very well be considered a public service."

"This is serious, Xander," said Giles severely. "The ones who are affected become overwhelmed by lust, driven to satisfy their urges. In fact, they suffer both physically and emotionally if they do NOT indulge."

"Same song, second verse, where's the bad?"

"The bad, Mister Harris, is in the fact that the demon does not affect EVERYONE in its vicinity. Some remain unmoved. The ones who ARE affect are helpless to resist their compulsion to seek relief--with the nearest available source." There was silence, and Giles nodded. "We've been lucky so far, but it could very quickly turn into the bad sort of nasty. Luckily this book DOES contain a recipe for a potion that will open a portal into the demon's home world. All we have to do is locate the demon and use the potion. The Amoresor will be sucked in, and the portal will close. It's jolly unlikely that the creature will be able to find its way back, especially to this particular area."

"Well, great!" said Buffy. "It'll be nice to not have to get all sweaty fighting one of the oogies for once."

"Um, perhaps." Giles sounded a bit sheepish.

"What?"

"Well, we WILL have to lure the creature to us. That could be most easily accomplished by one or more couples, er, necking rather passionately."

Xander sighed heavily, putting his arm around Cordelia. "It's a dirty job, but someone has to do it." She smacked him on the back of the head.

"We can worry about that later," said Willow. "Giles, will you have everything you need to make the potion?"

"I should. I gave it a quick glance, and it doesn't seem to be anything too rare. I should have everything in my private box in the chemistry lab."

They started for the chemistry lab, the Scooby's strung out behind Giles as they walked the dimly lit, quiet corridors. Any school at night is a slightly creepy place--something about a place that is usually so bright and bustling being empty, silent, and dark. Sunnydale High was definitely no exception, and the Scooby's unconsciously stayed to the center of the hall, away from the brightly
lit classrooms.

The figure that stepped out of the classroom to their right was so unexpected that it garnered several gasps, and the little group skidded to a halt. They relaxed quickly, though, as this person was pretty much the opposite of intimidating.

It was Sunnydale's new English teacher--Miss Scarlet Isabelle Mozelle. She was a pleasant looking, plump woman, she was probably somewhere in her mid-thirties, but she had the sort of round, smooth face that would not age readily. She regarded the little group with bright, lively blue eyes, smiling faintly. "Well, y'all are certainly having a late day of it."

Giles took a step toward her. The Scooby's noticed a sudden near courtliness in his manner. Xander muttered to Oz that he thought that the accent had suddenly become thicker. "Miss Mozelle, you shouldn't be here so late. Things... there's been a good bit of unrest lately."

She nodded. "And y'all are going to try to do something about it?" Shuffling of feet. No one was entirely sure HOW this woman, who had lived on the Hellmouth for less than a half-year, had managed to figure out that there was SOMETHING going on, and that a group of the students, and the school librarian, were fighting it. If they'd asked her directly, she would have told them--she paid attention, and worked on the Sherlockian theory that when all possible explanations had been ruled out, then the impossible was true.

"We're just going to do some extra curricular research," offered Buffy. Everyone stared at her. "What?"

"Does this have anything to do with why the pep squad molested the chess club?" asked Miss Mozelle.

"Yes," Giles admitted. "And I really wish that you hadn't stayed over, Miss Mozelle."

"I had to finish decorating my room for the Shakespeare unit, and will you please stop calling me that? I'm southern enough as it is. It isn't bad enough that my mother has to name me after the ultimate southern belle--when I hear myself called Miss Mozelle I feel like I should tuck a magnolia blossom behind my ear and chug a gallon of mint julep. Please, Rupert, call me Scribe. It's the most appropriate and least embarrassing nickname I've been given yet."

"Yes... Scribe." Giles lingered a fraction of a second over the name. Oz and Xander exchanged looks, eyebrows raised. "Look, we'll be a bit in the lab. Please, don't go wandering about the school, and wait for one of us to escort you to your car."

She cocked her head. "You think it's that hazardous?"

"I'd be much more comfortable."

"All right, then." She smiled, reached out, and tapped the middle button on Giles' shirt. "Far be it from me to make you uncomfortable." The Scooby's were treated to the very rare sight of Giles blushing.

Scribe turned quickly to go back into her room, and...

ran smack into something cool and solid, almost falling. Big, firm hands gripped her arms, supporting her, and she looked up into a handsome, pale face set with dark eyes. "Oh, Angel. I'm sorry. I didn't realize you were behind me."

He nodded. Vampires could be very good at fading into the background until they WANTED to be noticed. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine, aside from the normal embarrassment. I seem to be on about my tenth 'clumsy stage'." There was a pause. She could feel his thumbs stroking her arms, and fought back an urge to shiver. She knew what he was, just as she knew about the Hellmouth. Like many Americans she'd grown up with something of a fascination with vampires. Finding out that they actually existed had been disturbing, frightening, and a little bit intriguing. The others in the little demon-fighting group seemed to accept Angel, so she did, too. After all, he'd even saved members of the gang from his own vampiric family--Spike and Drusilla. She saw no reason not to trust him, till he proved untrustworthy. "I ought to get back to my work."

Angel blinked, as if suddenly snapping out of a distraction. "Yes. Just let me know when you're ready to go..."

"I'll walk her out," snapped Giles. "Come along--we're wasting time." He stalked off toward the lab, and the Scooby's followed in his wake. Angel brought up the rear again. Just before entering the lab he glanced back. She was still standing outside the classroom, watching the Scoobies. Their eyes met, and she looked down quickly, turning to go into the classroom.

Inside Giles had unlocked a cabinet and was setting ingredients out on one of the counters. "Lets see..." He ran a finger down the page of the book. "Ground mother of pearl, powdered unicorn horn, flame beetle carapice, sweet oil of oleander..." He muttered to himself as he set out the ingredients. Then his finger stopped moving, and he blinked.

The silence drew out. Finally Cordelia said, "What? Do we have to send someone to the nearest 7-Eleven for eye of newt or something?"

"No, I don't think this could be located there. Hopefully we'll be able to provide it ourselves."

Xander sat up straighter. "I'm not donating any organs."

"Please. It's something any of you could easily spare, and it's for a good cause."

"Well, what IS is, Giles?" said Buffy.

"Well, you see, the recipe calls for three drops of virgin blood."

Silence. Finally Xander said, "Is that, like, blood from a virgin, or like a virgin Bloody Mary, no alcohol?"

"It is blood from someone who has never had intercourse. Someone. that means that it can be from a male or a female, but they," he read, "must never have known the carnal embrace of a man."

"Well, that lets YOU out, Harris," said Oz.

"Surely this won't be too hard to obtain." Giles looked toward the person who would seem like the most logical choice. "Willow?" Her eyes darted around. Oz slipped an arm around her waist and rested his chin on her shoulder, raising an eyebrow. "Right. Cordelia?" Xander and Cordelia exchanged looks. "Yes, well. Buffy?"

Buffy bit her lip. "Does it count when...?"

"Yes, it does." Giles looked at Angel. Angel smiled. Giles sighed. "Bloody hell. Couldn't you lot have waited for your senior prom, like most American teens? I don't suppose there are any younger brothers or sisters or cousins I'm unaware of?"

"We could try the mall," suggested Buffy.

"What are we going to do?" asked Cordelia snidely, "Tell them that it's some sort of advanced placement test?"

As the group began argueing, Angel quietly slipped out the door and made his way back down the hallway.

~~~~*****~~~~~

Scribe stretched her arms up over her head, reaching for the strip of corkboard that ran above the blackboard. *Too damn HIGH above the blackboard. Did they design this classroom for teachers who were basketball coaches in their spare time?* She was already standing on the second step of a three step stepladder, and she was still several inches short of reaching her goal.

*Drat. They say not to stand on the top step, but if I don't I'll have to try to push the desk over here, then stand on it. This will only take a second.* She made sure that the thumbtack she intended to use to fasten the drawing of the Globe Theater to the cork was firmly in place, through the paper. She held it in her left hand, then braced her right hand against the chalk board and carefully eased up onto the top step.

She paused in a half-crouch, making sure that she had her balance, then slowly stood up, dragging her hand along the wall for support. So far, so good. Now she stretched her left hand up to seat the tack. Her thumb slipped. The tack slipped out of the paper and dropped, smacking her on the forehead. It didn't prick her, but it startled her enough to make her flinch, and that was all it took.

Her footing slipped, and suddenly she was pitching backward. There was a split second for her to hope that she wouldn't hit anything on the way down, and to pray that she didn't get anything more serious than possibly a broken arm or leg. But these tile floors were awful hard. Even though she was only about three feet off the floor, there was a good chance she'd break her neck when she landed.

She didn't land. Not on the floor, anyway. Instead of thudding to an unyeilding, cold surface, she was caught, strong arms going under her shoulders and thighs. She was caught and drawn close against a broad, cool body, one that staggered only a little at her impact.

Scribe found herself clutching frantically at the slick leather of her rescuer's jacket, gasping with the adrenaline that she suddenly didn't need. She wasn't surprised when she looked up at Angel. He said calmly, "Those things aren't designed to be used like that."

"I know. Talk about learning an object lesson. Thank you." He nodded. She waited a moment. "I'm lucky you just happened to come back by."

"Mm. It's not exactly a coincidence." He set her down, but took hold of her arm. "Miss Mozelle, can I ask you a favor? It's for the Scoobies."

"Of course. Is there something I can do to help?"

"There might be. I think there is, but I'm not entirely sure. Would you...?" He paused.

"Would I what?"

"Just..." He was reaching toward her. She stiffened slightly as his other hand settled on her shoulder. "Just stay still for a moment, and don't be afraid." She stood very still as he leaned toward her, closing his eyes. He took a deep breath. His face tightened in concentration, and he leaned closer still. He turned his head from side to side, sniffing delicately. Then he bent, bringing
his face to within an inch of her bare throat. She froze, suddenly remembering what he was, and just how vulnerable she was at that moment.

She didn't see Angel open his eyes, didn't see the brief flicker of feral yellow that shot through the dark depth. When he stood up, he looked normal. "Come with me, please."

Now thoroughly confused, she allowed herself to be led back to the lab. She could hear the confusing gabble of several voices, not an unusual thing when the Scoobies were together, she reflected.

Buffy was saying, "Well, I think I still qualify, technically, so we can go ahead and try it with my blood, and..."

"We can't, Buffy!" said Giles sternly. "The unicorn horn would react very violently to less than pure blood, and..."

"That is SO archaic!" she protested.

"We are NOT debating the double standard and politically correct attitudes toward sexual activity, Buffy, we are trying to concoct a potion that was developed sometime before the middle ages, so the term archaic is not totally inappropriate, and what are you doing here?" All eyes turned toward Scribe and Angel. Giles stammered. "I... I don't mean that you're not welcome, that I don't want... that we don't want you here, but..."

"Angel seems to think that I can be of some help to y'all." More looks exchanged between the teenagers. Xander coughed. Oz poked him severly. "What?"

"Angel," Giles' voice was frosty. "This is in extremely bad taste, not to mention being almost criminally frivolous."

"I'm not trying to play some sort of joke. You people need a virgin--she qualifies."

Complete and utter silence. A pink tide slowly crept up the English teacher's face. Finally she said weakly, "Well, don't worry. The last I heard it wasn't contagious."

"Good heavens. You are...? I mean, you haven't...? At all?"

Scribe regarded the librarian with something approaching amusement. "I am, and I haven't, at all."

"Well, you've kinda..." Buffy waved her hands, "Um, you know..."

"I don't, but I'll spare you trying to put it into words that won't make us all want to sink through the floor. If it can by any definition be called having sex with another person, I haven't. Clear? Now, what the hell is this all about?" Pause. "Pardon my French."

Giles cleared his throat. "The potion that we need to settle this disturbance requires three drops of virgin blood, and it must be stirred by the hand of one who has never known the carnal embrace of man."

She nodded. "Well, I qualify, all right." She looked around at the teenagers. They looked everywhere but at her. "I decline further comment. This doesn't have to, like, be extracted from some internal organ?"

"Oh, no! It's just three ordinary drops of blood."

"Fine. How do we go about this?"

"Well, we'll need something sharp." Giles glanced around.

"There are disecting kits over there," Xander pointed. "They have little scalpels and picks in them."

"They've also been used on pickled fetal pigs, Xander. Ew," said Cordelia.

"I think I may have the solution." Oz turned up the hem of his shirt and unfastened a large safety pin. "Be prepared. Plus it can be used as an emergency guitar pic." He handed it over to Giles.

"Perfect. I'll just prepare the other ingredients." Giles quickly and efficiently measured the dry ingredients into a mortar, poured in the oil a drop at a time, and stirred it vigorously with the pestle. A viscious, nasty smelling brown goo resulted. "Oh, dear. That doesn't look right, but I've followed the directions carefully. Perhaps the final ingredient will turn the trick."

He opened the safety pin, lit a bunsen burner, and ran the point through the flames. "Scribe, if you would?" She stepped forward. Giles took her wrist, and she stuck out her pointer finger. "Look, I'm sorry about this."

"I used to do counted cross stitch, Rupert. It won't be any worse than what I've done to myself."

The entire gang tensed up, and Giles made a short, sharp jab. Scribe drew in a hissing breath, wincing. Giles stroked her finger, from base to tip. A tiny red speck swelled there, growing till it was a fat, shimmering glode of crimson. She held her finger over the little bowl, and turned it over. The drop elongated slightly, then pulled free and plopped into the goo. She squeezed her finger again and another plump drop fell. It had gotten very quiet in the room.

Cordelia whispered, "Maybe she was... exaggerating a little?"

Scribe gave her a scornfull look, and squeezed her finger again. Another drop fell into the mortar. There was a small flash, and a tinkling sound. The scent of violets filled the room, and the mixture in the bowl shimmered, then turned a pastel blue. She gave it a quick stir, and it faded to pure white.

"Ah. Yes. I do believe that's done it. One of you fetch me a container. A glass one. I'll need to use this a bit like a Molotov cocktail, I think. Smash it as close to the demon's feet as possible."

Willow and Buffy started searching through the cabinet for a suitable container while Cordelia began to help Giles replace the ingredients. Xander and Oz were whispering together about the heretofore believed mythical beings--post adolescent virgins.

Scribe had stepped back a bit from the counter, and found herself standing next to Angel. "Well, that was unusual. I never thought that my maiden state could actually be benificial." He cocked an eyebrow at her, and she shrugged. "It doesn't even guarantee a good reputation these days."

"You're still bleeding," he pointed out. She looked at her finger. The sting had stopped. Now it only ached a little. Sure enough, there was another bead of blood gathering on her fingertip. "I could get you a tissue."

"No need. Nature provided first aid for stuck fingers." She lifted her finger, opening her mouth, prepared to suck the aching digit. But she stopped suddenly. Angel had tensed. She noticed that he was watching her closely. Of course. He survived on cow and pig blood these days, declining to feed off humans now that he had his soul. It nourished him, but Scribe supposed that it must me
like living on a diet of cold, unseasoned oarmeal--it might keep you alive, but it wasn't healthy, and it wasn't pleasant. She extended her hand toward him, offering it silently.

Angel stared at the proferred hand. He stared on the quiivering, bubble of blood, then looked back at the face of the woman who was offering it to him. There was no teasing there. There was only friendliness, gentleness. *She knows what it's like,* he thought, surprised. *She realizes, at least a little, how hard it is for me to abstain. She's offering it because she believes it will be good for me, help me.*

He looked down at the blood droplet again. His nostrils flared, and again he drank in the scent of the woman--all the subtle aromas that were the things she used, the things she wore, or ate, or drank, and the infinitely richer, finer scents that were just her alone. Weaving through it all was the scent that he'd recognized in the hallway, the one that had drawn him back to her. The scent of physical purity. It was rumored that a virgin's blood was the sweetest. Angel believed that, though the knowledge was like a dark weight on his soul. Angelus would attest to it with relish.

Slowly Angel took hold of her wrist, lifting her hand. He bent his head, shutting his eyes and opening his mouth. Scribe shuddered slightly as she felt the cool, velvet touch of Angel's tongue. He lapped her fingertip, then paused, eyes closed, lips resting against her skin. After a moment his lips parted and he slipped her fingertip into his mouth, sucking softly.

Scribe stared, wide-eyed, unsure. "Angel?" she said softly. His grip tightened a fraction on her wrist, but that was his only response. Her voice rose a little. "Angel?"

Giles turned around. The metal jar he'd been holding clattered to the floor. "ANGEL!"

Angel's head jerked back. He looked up into the startled face of the woman beside him and quickly let go of her wrist stepping away. "It's all right, Giles."

"It goddamn well ISN'T all right!" He rounded on Scribe, his fear and worry making him angry. "Damn it, woman, don't you know what you're doing?" She blinked at him, and the anger drained away as swiftly as it had come. "No, of course you don't. You don't know how dangerous that little game is. But you..." he glared at Angel. "You have no excuse." Angel nodded, not trying to
deny it. He knew. He had just allowed himself a moment of weakness. That was dangerous, for everyone.

Giles stepped close to Angel. His voice was very low. "You won't touch her again. Do you understand? You won't go near her, not unless all of us are here. And even then..."

"I understand."

Giles stared at him hard. Finally he nodded. "Come along, Scribe. I'll walk you to your car."

"Oh. Yes. I'll just need to get my purse from my room."

"I'll take you there."

"Yes." She glanced around at the Scoobies. "Good night. You all take care Don't take any chances with this... whatever it is."

There was a chorus of asssurances. Perhaps Scribe's eyes flicked one more time toward the tall, dark vampire, but she gave no special farewells as Giles escorted her out of the room.

"Whoa, Giles suddenly turned into Mr. Protective," marvelled Xander.

"Definitely a bit more than the usual Mr. Manners he usually is around the rest of the female staff," Oz agreed.

Xander lifted his chin toward Angel, who was staring at the empty doorway. "Hey, Deadboy. What's virgin blood taste like?

Angel didn't turn, didn't look around. "Sweet," he murmured. "Very, very sweet."

Part Two

"Yes, the outdated language CAN be a deterrent to enjoying Shakespeare, IF YOU LET IT! But if you pay attention to the action and the situation as well as the words, it usually isn't all that hard to figure out. For instance, in the scene where Hamlet first spies the ghost of his father, he cries that he will not be kept from going to him, he will deal with whoever 'lets' him. I noticed some of
you looking puzzled. Why?" Silence. Scribe glanced around the room. "Cordelia?"

Cordelia slapped her book shut, hiding the clothes catalogue she'd been studying. "Um. 'Lets'. Uh, because he wants to go, and he ought to be happy with anyone who lets him."

"That's what you'd think if you just looked at the words and didn't try to interpret the action. Willow?"

"Well, from the way he uses the word in this situation, I'd think that maybe 'let' had a different meaning from what we think of today. Maybe it meant... stop?"

Scribe smiled, nodding. "Exactly. And when Hamlet later tells Ophelia to 'get thee to a nunnery', he isn't telling her to take holy vows. In Shakespeare's time, nunnery was a vulgar slang expression for a house of ill repute." The bell rang. As the students started to surge to their feet she raised her hands. "Whoa! Remember the assignment! I want a three page dialogue done in your best imitation of Shakespeare's style." There were groans. "Bunch of babies," her voice was good natured. "Three full pages, narrow lined paper. You can skip lines between each section of the speech, but don't try to get away with skipping every other line. Remember, Shakespeare did comedy, too, and his plays were the sensational entertainment of his time. Violence, intrigue, death, and sex. Y'all should be well versed in all of those after watching cable television. Okay, escape." They did.

She was shaking her head as she began to gather her things. "You'd think I'd asked them to write 'War and Peace'."

"You didn't ask for footnotes or index cards. How are we supposed to operate without footnotes and index cards?"

Surprised, she looked around to find Xander Harris standing near the doorway. "Xander. I expect y'all to actually try to have an original thought or two. Harsh, I know, but it's up to me to prepare you for the real world."

He smiled. "You think original thinking is admired in the 'real world'. Watched any tv lately?"

She had to smile back. She liked Xander. He was funny, but not unnecessarily disruptive, he had a quirky sense of humor, and she suspected he was a lot more intelligent than he let on. "Point taken. What are you doing still hanging around? Shouldn't you be half-way home by now?"

He shrugged. "It's not like I'm on a curfew or anything." He came over and picked up the stack of books she'd been reaching for. "I'll take those for you."

"All right." She hitched her purse up on her shoulder. "But I warn you, I had to park on the far side of the lot today." As they walked she said, "You know, my timing stinks. Girls are supposed to have boys carrying their books while they're attending school, not while they're teaching it."

"Do you read all these?"

"THOSE are my class books. The stacks I take home from the library for my personal reading are much larger than that."

"Shit!" He flinched. "I mean..."

"My ears aren't going to fall off, Xander." She slanted an amused look at him. "Damn it."

"It's just that you read more than anyone else I know, even Willow. Well, except maybe Giles."

Scribe was unlocking her car. She smiled. "Yes, Rupert DOES seem to have a wide range of reading interests. I've never seen such an, um, unusual selection as there is at this school's library." She looked up to find Xander making a face. "What?"

"It's just kinda weird, hearing Giles called Rupert."

"I can sympathize with someone having a slightly unusual name. In fact, slightly unusual names seem to almost be the norm around here--Rupert, Buffy, Cordelia, Willow, Oz, Xander... Oh, but the Xander stands for Alexander, and the Oz is really a Daniel. So you two have CHOSEN your different names." She tilted the driver's seat forward. "Put those in the back, would you?"

Xander stepped forward and bent down to place the books on the back seat. When he stood up, he found that he was very close to Scribe. In fact, his sleeve had brushed her as he turned. He found himself staring into her face, and he found himself thinking.

He'd stayed because she knew what was going on in Sunnydale, and he was wondering if she was going to be recruited into the Scoobies. Lord knew they could use all the help they could get. But Giles was acting oddly resistant to the idea. This had Xander puzzled. While the Watcher did everything he could to see that they were well trained, educated, equipped, and prepared to fight
the demonic influences in Sunnydale, he still sent them out to do it. There was very little that he forbade them to do in the name of slaying. Why was he being hesitant about drafting Miss Mozelle?

"Do you need a ride home?" she asked.

"Yeah, that would be nice."

"Fine." She paused. "Xander, you have to let me get in the car if I'm going to drive."

"Oh. Right."

Xander went around and got in the passenger side after Scribe unlocked the door. As they pulled out, she said, "You'll have to give me your address."

"Tell you what, why don't you take me by Buzz instead? It's closer than my house, and I can walk home from there."

"Sure." They drove. "So, that thing that Rupert whipped up worked? I've noticed that things are a lot more... Well, a lot less, um, loose than they were."

"Yeah, it worked great. We lured the demon out into the open, and Giles lobbed that sucker right at the things feet, and *schloop!* Demon gone."

"How did y'all lure it out?" There was silence. They'd stopped at a corner, and Scribe glanced over to find Xander blushing. "Never mind." She pulled up in front of the coffee shop. "Well, I'll see you Monday."

"How about coming in for a few minutes?" Scribe hesitated. "C'mon," Xander coaxed. "They have an orange-mocha cappucino that's killer."

Scibe couldn't help smiling. She was still in the process of exploring Sunnydale, and she'd been meaning to visit this little shop, but never had. "Sure, why not? I don't have any heavy grading to do." She parked and they got out. She was pleasantly surprised when Xander hurried ahead of her and held the door. "Oo, a gentleman. What a pleasant surprise." At the counter he let her order first. "I hope you don't think I'm disrespecting your tastes, Xander, but I think I want the double chocolate frappichino instead."

"Who am I to argue with someone who wants chocolate? And I'll have my usual."

Buffy, behind the counter, gave him a disgusted look. "What regular?"

*Way thanks, Buffy, make me look like an idiot.* "What I've ordered three out of five weekday afternoon for the past year."

"I keep hoping you'll change it."

As Buffy started fixing the order, Scribe murmured, "I didn't know Buffy worked here."

"Just a few hours a week afterschool. It's sort of an unofficial requirement to cover up some of..." Buffy was giving him the hairy eyeball. He cleared his throat. "You know, sometimes that whole Slayer thing gets her into stuff that's sort of hard to explain, and..." He trailed off. Scribe nodded in understanding.

Buffy put the drinks on the counter. "That'll be six-twenty-two."

"Oh, I'm sorry, this isn't together," said Scribe.

"Yes, it is." Xander had pulled out his wallet and was handing over money.

Scribe blinked. "Well, I'm not used to having people pay my way. Thank you, Xander."

"No prob." He picked up the drinks. "There's a booth over there." He led her back to a corner booth, and they slid in opposite sides. "So, how are you liking our fair burg so far?"

"Um, interesting. It's not as wet as it was back where I came from." He lifted an eyebrow. She smiled. "Right. And the demon population is a lot thicker, too. I'd just about decided that there was weird stuff afoot in the world--it just wasn't confirmed till I came here."

"You handle it a lot better than some people who've been here a lot longer."

She shrugged. "Thanks. I'm not sure if it means I'm very stable, or a little cracked."

"Whatever. You fit right in."

They talked for awhile longer. Scribe found that she was enjoying herself. The teenager was charming, in a goofy, class clown sort of way, and she had the sneaking suspicion that he was a lot more intelligent than he let on in class. He caught several cultural references that would have whizzed right over the heads of most people his age, and he threw them right back at her.

Buffy came over and started cleaning a table near the booth. She paused and said, in a low voice, "Xander, I wouldn't expect you to know any better, but Miz Mozelle, I thought you'd be more discreet." Scribe gave her a blank look. Buffy waved her hand at the half-full shop. "C'mon, the place is full of people from school. If you two are going to date, you ought to pick somewhere a little more out of the limelight."

Scribe's mouth dropped open. "Date? Buffy, I haven't dated since..." She flushed. "Well, never mind, but I haven't. We're just having a drink..." She frowned. "That doesn't sound right."

"We're just having a coffee flavored beverage together," supplied Xander. He gave Buffy a cold look. "You can leave any time now." It wasn't easy to flounce in the smock Buffy had to wear for her job, but she managed it.

"A DATE?" Scribe repeated, sounding a little stunned. "Good God, what DOES run through that child's mind?"

"Right. Riding home from school and grabbing a frappacino doesn't count as a date. Now, going to The Bronze together, THAT would be a date."

"I mean, really, where did she get that idea? You're only about half my age."

"Younger men and older women are all the rage these days. How about it?"

"How about what?"

"The Bronze. Tonight, say about eight?"

She blinked. "Xander, did you just ask me out on a date?"

"Yes?"

"I'm old enough to be your mother."

"Please, no mental images. Doesn't have to be The Bronze. They're changing the movies at the multiplex today, and there ought to be something good."

"But... Xander... Let's put the age difference aside for a moment. I'm your teacher. Such things are more than frowned upon. I could lose my job."

Xander sighed. "Well, I can't argue with that. I couldn't support you. But would you if you WEREN'T my teacher?"

"Xander..."

"Look, the age difference doesn't bug ME. Do YOU have a problem with it, or do you have a problem with society's problem with it?"

"I..."

"Do you think that you're too old for me, or that I'm too young for you? Because there IS a difference, you know." Her hand was lying on the table, and Xander reached over, tracing a pattern on the back. "I'm mature for my age, in some things."

Scribe blinked at him. "Where the heck were you when I was back in highschool, and that's a metaphoric question, so don't say 'not born yet'." She studied him. "Tell me, is this about the virgin thing? Because there's bound to be some virgins your own age wandering around here somewhere."

"I won't deny that's a certain part of it."

She sighed. "Well, I'm still flattered, but... it wouldn't work, Xander. You have to know that." He slumped a little. "Oh, dear. This is a situation I DEFINITELY never thought I'd be in."

Xander waved. "S'okay. I don't think I could've handled having Giles go territorial on me, anyway."

"What?"

"Nevermind." He held out his hand. "Friends?"

She shook hands. "I certainly hope so, Xander." She left.

Buffy sidled over. "Did I see flames shooting up from over here, Xan?"

"Don't you have drains to clean? Grounds to empty? Hopefully toilets to swab out?"

"What is this obsession you have with older women, Xander? Miss Walsh, mummygirl, now someone who's..." she wrinkled her nose, "Giles' age."

Xander stood up. "You know, Buffy, sometimes I think that you're singlehandedly trying to prove all the stereotypes about blonds."

As he walked off, she called, "Hey! No tip?"

*One thing I hate about being a vampire--the accomodations are usually pretty shitty,* Angel thought as he awoke to find himself staring at the underside of a stone slab. Well, they had been for the last few decades, anyway. People had gotten so picky about wanting identification, and it had also gotten more expensive and difficult to acquire fake ID. He was eternally (literally)
grateful that he'd been turned AFTER he looked of age. It would have been really pissy to spend his existence having to flash a card to every bouncer and grocery clerk he ran across. *I wonder what they'd say if I showed them something with my real birthdate on it? Bet they don't get many with the DOB in the early seventeen hundreds.*

He pushed the slab aside and sat up, looking around the dusty crypt interior. "I have GOT to move. There's that deserted mansion on the edge of town." He settled back, not quite ready to get up. Better to wait for full dark rather than risk having one pure gleam of sunshine make it over the horizon unexpectedly.

The coffin wasn't too uncomfortable. He'd put in some rubber padding, and lined it with a quilt, tucking a pillow at the top. Angel folded his hands over his belly, sighing. Another bad thing about being a vampire--too damn much time to think.

He went back over the events of the last couple of days. It had been kind of crazy, capturing that sex demon. He had a feeling that Xander had enjoyed it a little, though. They'd needed sexual energy to lure the creature out, so Xander and Cordelia, Willow and Oz, and Buffy and Angel had gone to a deserted section of the park and, with Giles hiding nearby, made out.

He wasn't entirely comfortable kissing and gropeing Buffy around others. That was probably why he hadn't been all that interested. Oh, it had been pleasant enough. He liked Buffy--she was a good Slayer, and a fairly nice girl--if a little self-absorbed. But she WAS a girl--not a woman. He almost felt like a child molester with her, eventhough she'd admitted she wasn't exactly untouched with the whole virgin's blood thing...

There was a dark whisper in his mind. //Virgin's blood. Oh, it's been a LONG time.//

Angel ignored it. Most times he could keep Angelus muffled, crammed back in some far corner of his mind, but there were times when the demon wandered a little too close to the surface for comfort. The bright, shining shield of his soul kept the demon in check, though Angel sometimes worried. It was his apprehension about experiencing pure happiness, and losing his soul, unleashing Angelus once again, that had kept him all these years from establishing a relationship with anyone--mortal or vampire.

Angel's hands trailed idly up and down his belly as he thought, sliding over the smooth silk of his dark shirt. He treated himself to good clothes. There was so much he was denied in life--he would let himself have this. It wasn't that he hadn't had sex in all those long years since he'd regained his soul. No, there's been sex--fast, dirty, and as anonymous as he could make it. Often he didn't even know his partner's last name. In fact, there were a good number where he didn't even know their FIRST name--it had been lost in the pounding of club music when they first approached each other. He just didn't feel he could risk getting emotionally close to anyone he had sex with, so it had been decades of one night, or weekend stands. Not all that difficult to manage. He wasn't vain, but he knew that he was attractive, and he used it when he had to.

Angel let his hands slide lower, over the rougher spance of denim at his crotch. He stroked thoughtfully. Then there was Buffy. He wasn't sure exactly what he had with her. It was something, more than he'd had with anyone since Drusilla, but still... He sighed. He was beginning to respond, but only to his own caresses. The thought of Buffy just wasn't doing anything for him. Buffy was just a little too perfect. 'Malibu Barbie' some wit had called her once--probably Xander, when she wasn't around. That pretty much summed it up. A pretty, deadly doll--doing her duty and whining about it all the way. *What's that expression--I've stepped in deeper puddles?*

*But I guess that may be a side effect of California. Shallow, or conflicted. Shallow--Buffy and Cordelia. Conflicted--Willow. Miss Calandar--hates my guts. Then there's Miss Mozelle...*

There was a sudden throb of interest in his groin, and he could almost hear Angelus sigh, //Aaah, yessss. There's most certainly her.//

Angel spoke aloud. "No."

//So hasty. No? Then why are you opening your fly? I wish I could say OUR fly, but I don't FEEL any of it, damn you.//

Angel closed his eyes and pictured the woman as he'd seen her the other night at the school. He slid his hand into his pants and found himself already half hard. He gripped his cock and began to stroke firmly, remembering how bright and blue her eyes had been, how soft her hair looked, the rounded curve of her chin...

//Fuck! Think about her tits, her ass, even her mouth. GIVE me something, dammit! And spit in your hand, you idiot.// The demon's tone was taunting. //As much as you jerk off instead of getting laid, I'd think you'd know by now.//

Angel ignored him, stroking more quickly, going for maximum stimulation. He hated not feeling secure enough to take his time pleasuring himself, but anything that made him lose the least bit of control brought Angelus that much closer to the surface, and the demon knew this, so he'd try to goad Angel as much as possible.

*She smelled so good--warm, sweet, clean...*

//Pris-tine! Oh, yeah, smell is GOOD! Wouldn't it be nice to smudge up all that purity?//

"Shut up," Angel muttered. He'd started to leak pre-seminal fluid by now, and he used it to slick his hand. The pleasure was pooling in his groin, sparking up and down his spine. Not much more... He thought of how she'd felt when he'd cradled her in his arms after she'd fallen off the ladder. He'd held Buffy before, and she was solid and muscular. Scribe had been soft and curved—not taut and toned like the Slayer, but so definitely female. He remembered scenting her. If he'd just turned his head, leaned forward another inch or two, he would have been kissing her. Would she have pinched her lips shut? Remained passive? What if her lips had trembled, then parted?

//Yes, her mouth--warm and wet, like another part of her, eh? The desk right there. Imagine her bent over it.//

"No." But his hand was moving faster.

//How the cloth would have sounded ripping. The noise she would have made when you went inside, the way she would have squirmed.//

"No!" But the images came, and wouldn't go away. He tried to alter them, making the mental image of his self gentle into a lover's attitude--touching softly, sweetly... But her eyes were still hurt, confused, frightened...

Angel's hips arched, and he came, his cool sperm splattering the bottom of his shirt. He cursed even as the waves of pleasure were receeding. Now he'd have to change before he could go out. He climbed out of the coffin, searching for the tub of Wet-naps that he kept for such occasions.

Deep in his mind he could hear the demon hissing quietly. //You enjoyed it, sop. You won't admit it, but you did.// A dark chuckle. //Ah, the guilt adds to it, doesn't it?//

*I'd never do anything like that.*

//You wouldn't have to, Angel. I would.//

Part Three

"It is just sooo unfair."

Giles sighed, taking off his glasses to rub his eyes. "What's unfair now, Buffy?"

Buffy petulantly flipped a page on the book she had spread on the table before her. "I have to study this, and I have to do my homework, and required reading, ON TOP of patrolling. I ought to be allowed to let something slip once and awhile."

Giles put his glasses back on, leaning a hip against the table as he folded his arms. "Well, what would you suggest that you skip? Studying the magic texts? Yes, and then you run into a new sort of demon, and have no clue as to how to fight it, and you become demon chow, as Xander would say."

Xander, sitting next to Willow on the other side of the library table, looked up with a smirk. He glanced over at Oz. "Slowly but surely, I take over the world. I am insidious."

"Can't argue with that," Oz deadpanned, as Cordelia rolled her eyes.

Giles ignored them. "Patrolling? Then the other citizens of Sunnydale become demon chow. Homework? You know very well that if your school work suffers, your mother and the school authorities will take a dim view of your extracurricular activities, and if you are restrained from patrolling, demon chow once again."

"Required reading." Buffy poked a thick textbook. "I mean, really! Miss Mozelle assigned us Romeo and Juliet, and she expects us to read the WHOLE play! Why can't I just read the Cliff Notes? Or better yet, watch the movie! Sure, Leonardo DiCapprio is kind of, um, unmasculine, but Clare Danes is cool, and they have John Leguizamo as Mercutio."

Giles was rubbing his eyes again. "God, I could use an aspirin. Buffy, one of the reasons for reading Shakespeare is to experience the beauty of the language. One can hardly get that from reading the literary equivalent of 'Cup-a-soup', or watching the cinematic equivalent of 'three tacos for 99 cents'."

"Speaking of which, pizza anyone?" Oz waggled a twenty-dollar bill. "Dingos Ate My Baby actually got PAID, and I'm willing to blow my entire split to celebrate."

Willow looked up from her book. "Can we have sodas, too?"

Oz sighed. "Okay, so I'll donate my tip money, too."

"No need, Daniel," said Giles. "I shall contribute to the communal pot tonight. The usual, I suppose?" The all nodded. "Right--one Monster Garbage," he tipped his head toward Willow, then Cordelia, "and one medium plain cheese in deference to the slightly more health conscious." Willow smiled her thanks, and Cordelia nodded, then Giles went to the payphone out in the hall.

The moment he was gone, the usual human phenomena occurred--work was ignored, and Giles was discussed. Buffy pouted. "Giles was a little snippy, even for him, about the Romeo and Juliet thing."

Xander leaned back in his chair. "Well, ya ought to have known better, Buff." He waved a finger at her in a 'no-no' gesture. "Not real intelligent, dissing his sweetie's work."

Buffy frowned. "What do you mean, 'his sweetie'?" The others exchanged looks. "What?"

Xander sighed. "Gah. You see me and her having a coffee and decide that we're slipping around. You sit through a ton of significant eye contact between those two, and Giles doing everything but blush... Wait," he looked at Oz, "he DID blush when she told us she was a virgin, didn't he?" Oz nodded. "And you don't notice something there?"

Buffy made a face. "Giles and anyone?"

"It happens, Buffy," said Cordelia shortly. "Though most older people have the good taste to keep the flirting down in public. Xander, what's this about you and Scribe?"

"Nothing, darn it. She says not only am I too young for her, but there's that pesky teacher/pupil thing going on."

"Did you tell her about the science teacher?" asked Oz.

"Somehow I don't think she'd relate to the ethics of a giant bug cloaked in human form."

Willow turned a page. "Well, I say good for Giles. Being a Watcher must be a lonely thing, and since Scribe knows what's going on here, he doesn't have to worry about being all secretive and everything. He can be open and honest, share himself with her."

Xander pushed his chair back. "Okay, we aren't even going to go into the mental images that conjures up. Will, this is GILES we're talking about here--the man with more reservations than a Vegas hotel during a major convention."

"He'll be different with her, Xander. Of course he's reserved around you--he isn't romantically interested in you."

"Again with the mental images. You don't WANT me to sleep, do you?"

Giles came back in. Everyone grabbed books and looked studious. "Why do my ears tingle every time I leave this group?"

Xander looked up. "They have shampoos for that now."

Giles sighed. "I REALLY could use an aspirin."

"Would Tylenol do? I have some caplets." All eyes turned toward the door. Scribe was rummaging in her purse.

She missed Giles' faint smile, but the Scoobies didn't. "Extra strength?"

"There's another kind?" She held up a little bottle. "Hand, please." Giles held out his hand, palm up, and she shook two pills into it.

"Thank you, kind lady." He took the caplets with a swig of water from the bottle on his desk. "Now, as marvelous as your company is, what are you doing here this time of night?"

She put her purse down on the table and took a seat. "I heard there was a study session going on."

The Scoobies exchanged looks. "This isn't an English study session," Cordelia said.

Scribe tilted her head to read the spine of Cordelia's book. "Demons of the Sub-Realms. You're right, I don't remember listing that anywhere on the syllabus."

"Scribe," Giles said carefully, "it isn't that we don't appreciate your offer of assistance..."

"But we don't have the time or energy to protect you when we should be demon stomping," finished Cordelia. Everyone stared at her. "What? It isn't like you aren't all thinking the same thing, and trying to figure out a way to say it diplomatically."

"I'm not asking to lead the charge," said Scribe coolly, "But I had six years of college, including tons of upper-level English--I KNOW from research."

"Absolutely," said Giles. "We need to have the widest possible knowledge of the widest variety of supernatural beings. Let me find research material for you." He went into the stacks, and came back with a large, paperbound book. "Here you are."

Scribe took the book, looked at the cover, then said, "Brownies?"

"Oh, hey!" said Willow. "You know, people think that fairies and leprechauns and stuff are sweet, harmless little things, but if you look at the legends..."

Scribe tossed the book on the table, grabbing her purse as she stood up. Her voice was cold. "Brownies, as in the lowest level of Girl Scouts, Willow. It's the handbook. I was a Brownie when I was in first grade."

"Wait!" Giles started after her as she headed for the door.

"I didn't come here to be insulted. I could have stayed in Texas and rode the bus for that." She whirled on him, eyes snapping. "I would expect this from Cordy, or even Xander and Buffy, but YOU, Giles?"

He winced at the use of his last name. As she exited he called, "Let me walk you to your car..."

"I wouldn't," advised Xander. "She looks like she's just about reached the purse-swinging stage."

"Normally I stay out of the female/male interaction thing," said Oz, "but I have to agree with Xander on this one." He shrugged. "You better let her have a little time to cool off."

Giles rubbed his forehead, "I am taking relationship advice from Xander Harris and a rock muscician werewolf. God help me."

*************

Scribe muttered to herself as she stalked down the darkened hallway. "The house is burning down, and I'm not allowed to throw a glass of water." She pushed outside. "Okay, I'm not Ripley or Sarah Connors, but I'll put my ability to recognize obscure references up there with the best of them."

"I'd have to agree with that."

She stopped abruptly. *Note to self--when leaving a building after dark, especially when in an area occupied by vampires, remember to look to both sides.* "Hello, Angel."

The vampire was leaning against the wall. He nodded at her. "Hi, Miss Mozelle. I don't think that room could get any more decorated, so what kept you today?"

She scowled. "My naive thought that I might be allowed to contribute, and call me Scribe."

He pushed off from the wall and came up beside her. "Walk you to your car?"

"Thank you, but I warn you--I'm not going to be the best company."

As they walked he said, "Speaking as someone who's spent the last couple of centuries hanging with demons, believe me--you're good company."

*Right. The first guy in memory who shows an interest in me is young enough to be my son, and the one who's being polite and charming was born about the same time as my ten-times great grandfather. To quote the Andrews sisters, they're either too young or too old.* They came to her car, and she unlocked the door. "Thanks again."

"You're welcome. I'd offer to go with you and see you to your door, but..." *Giles would come after me with a stake.* "I need to see the Scoobies, and I'd have to get back here." He shrugged. "Since that bit about vampires flying is a myth..."

"Majorly inconvenient."

Angel shook his head. "You've been hanging around Xander too much."

She got in the car, and was mildly surprised when Angel shut the door for her. After a moment's hesitation she said, "Well, I'll see you later, then."

"I'd like that." She didn't seem to know how to respond to that, so she drove away.

//Just as well she left. It isn't as if you'd do anything worthwhile with her.//

*Shut up.*

//If that's an example of your conversational abilities, maybe you ought to just stick to rape. I know it always works for me. Say, do your little Slayerette playmates know about these teta-a-tetes? I can't help but chuckle imagining how fast they'd stake your ass if they had an inkling of how close we still are.//

*Stake OUR ass, you bastard.*

//True, but I'd eventually have a chance to get back out in some other body. You, my friend, would be well and truly stuck. They'd be happy to have you back home, lemme tell ya...//

*Christ.*

//Stop talking dirty.//

He'd reached the library. "Giles, why did you let Miss Mozelle walk out alone? There could have been something nasty waiting for her."

Xander wrinkled his nose. "I could say something here, but I won't."

Giles glared at Angel. "I told you to stay away from her."

Irritation flared in Angel's eyes. "She needed an escort, and last I looked she was of an age to make her own choices." He could feel Angelus grinning, but he was too angry to worry about it at the moment. "Look, Giles, you've made it pretty clear that you don't consider me a member of your merry little band, so that lets you out as giving me orders."

"Angel," said Buffy, frowning, "What's gotten into you?"

Xander was looking between Angel and Giles. "You know how it is, Buff. Once a woman enters the equation, it throws off all the calculations, and..."

"Xander, considering your grade in Calculus, I think perhaps you should be quiet," said Giles. "Angel, you should go."

"Fine." He turned to go.

"Angel, wait!" Buffy jumped up to go after him. She turned and snapped, "Honestly! You're both acting like... like... such MEN!" She started off, then added, "And she isn't even all that pretty."

They were quiet for a moment, then Willow said, "Wow. That was pretty harsh. Why was Buffy so upset?"

Cordelia rolled her eyes. "Can you say 'pea green'? As much as I hate to admit she was right about anything--she was right."

"Cordy!" gasped Willow.

Giles sighed, sitting down. "No, Willow, they're right--she isn't pretty." He gazed sadly toward the door. "She is, however, beautiful."

"To quote Bobby Bare," said Oz, "Oooo-ee, another man done gone."

Part Four

Several Days Later

The Scoobies were gathered at the library, preparing for a night patrol. Buffy had managed to coax Angel back to the group, but was a little miffed that he wasn't paying as much attention to her as usual. He seemed preoccupied.

They were waiting for last minute instructions or advice from Giles, but he seemed to be absorbed in his own thoughts. Finally Xander patted him on the back. "G-man, why so gloomy? Aren't you going off to that librarian seminar in San Francisco this weekend? I know that would perk ME right up. The San Francisco part, anyway. The seminar I could live without."

"Oh, yes--I'd almost forgotten," Giles sighed.

"How do you forget an all expense paid three day trip to San Francisco?"

"Personal issues, I suppose. Miss Mozelle has been rather frosty of late. Every time I try to talk to her, she has something urgent that she needs to do elsewhere."

"Have you tried giving her flowers?" asked Willow. "Some nice long stemmed roses, maybe."

Cordelia looked up from filing her nails. "As pissed as she's been the last couple of days, I'd say skip the candy, flowers, and stuffed animals, and go right to jewelry."

"Oo, trouble in paradise," said Xander.

Giles cleared his throat. "No time to discuss my, er, entanglements--there's slaying to be done. We seem to have a new menace." He tapped a newspaper. "Two found dead today, killed last night--and rather nastily. Bits and pieces missing, though they don't say exactly what. Shockingly enough, they are actually being discreet, which indicates that it's VERY nasty. The salient point is that something very odd was seen leaving the scene of the murders. The witness recounted that he had seen a creature that had more than the usually number of limbs, and was at least seven feet tall. Another interesting aspect of this instance is the fact that both of the victims were found wearing very wide, very bright smiles."

Xander blinked. "I know that I, in general, do not find the thought of being rendered into several pieces to be in the least amusing."

"We need full forces on the street tonight, to deal with whatever vampires may be about, as well as try to prevent any more deaths from this new menace. Willow and I will remain here to research, and hopefully we will come up with pertinent information. Till then, exercise caution. Try to prevent any further deaths, but don't expose yourselves unless absolutely necessary, till we know what we're dealing with."

The group armed themselves, and headed out while Giles started digging through the stacks, and Willow dived into the World Wide Web.

~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**

Buffy started, "I'll go with Angel--Xander, you and Oz..."

"Hold it, Great Blonde Warrior. We ALWAYS end up with you and Deadboy, me and Oz. Now, I like Oz--he kicks ass." Oz bowed. "However, when confronting demons, especially UNIDENTIFIED demons, I'd prefer to have someone who can SUPERNATURALLY kick ass, and Oz can only manage that during his time of the month, and then he's not so inclined... you get my drift. I think we should split it so that each pair has at least one one-step-beyond member."

"Xander..."

"I gotta agree with him on this, Buff," said Oz. "The wolf is at low ebb right now. I wouldn't mind a little extra oomph in my back-up. No offense, Xander."

"Hey, dude, I'm the one who started it."

Buffy chewed her lip, obviously reluctant. Angel said quietly, "They have a point, Buffy. Might I suggest that you take Xander?" He smiled at the mortal boy. "He still hasn't quite come to terms with certain issues."

Buffy sighed. "Fine, but I don't want too much space between us. Let's stay within shouting distance, just in case."

They split up, moving off from each other at shallow angles that would take them no more than a block or two apart. After they'd covered a little distance, Oz said, "Welcome back, man. Buffy hasn't exactly been the easiest person in the world to live with since you've been gone."

Angel grimaced, then sighed. "I've tried to talk with her, tell her that I think we ought to take a couple of steps back on this involvement, think it through a little, but..." he shrugged.

"Mm, yeah. They may miss the compulsive part, but I'm pretty sure that obsessive is a natural part of a Slayer's make up."

Angel sighed. "I LIKE her, and I care about her, but I'm not sure I'm capable anymore of the sort of love that she envisions. I spent a long time soulless. I'm not saying it's IMPOSSIBLE for a soulless creature to love, but it damn sure isn't a walk in the park. Speaking of which, let's turn in here. Supernatural predators seem to love the pastoral." They entered the park.

"Ya know," said Oz as they made their way down the walk, "It's sort of funny to be part of the 'established couple' in a group. Hasn't happened much in my life." A teenage couple came screaming past them, eyes bugged out, moving at a flat run toward the park exit. "Like those two there. See?" He pulled out a stake. "They're almost running in sync."

Angel pulled out a very large hunting knife as they headed in the direction from which the others had come. "They probably complete each other's sentances. Really, that shouldn't happen till at least the tenth anniversery." They both ran toward the spot that the couple had been fleeing.

There were screams coming from there, too, but they changed as the two approached. Oz felt his hair prickle as he recognized squeals of laughter. "Oh, this is SO inappropriate," he muttered.

"I'd say so," Angel agreed, "because that thing DAMN sure doesn't seem to be tickling that guy."

There was a pair of figures on the ground, just beyond the full range of a street lamp, but there was enough light to get an impression of what was happening. The bigger figure had the smaller one pinned to the ground, was stretching one arm out rigid, and had a very impressive set of jaws just beginning to enclose the limb.

"HEY UGLY!" Oz yelled, charging. The thing's head snapped up to look at him, which was a good thing because it couldn't very well gnaw the victim's arm off when he was doing that. It was a BAD thing because, *Holy FUCK! I was NICE when I called that ugly!* Oz plunged the stage at the thing's head, aiming for one of the large, Orphan Annie blank eyes.

It batted the stake aside with a high pitched growl. Its lipless mouth stretched half across its moon white and round face, giving it a hellishly cheerful look. It turned toward Oz, and the werewolf's animal instincts zinged him into action. He leaped aside, and something long, thick, and flexible whistled past him.

Angel had shifted around, and jumped it from the other side, knife driving down into its chest. Again it made that odd sound, louder this time, and with an almost electronic crackle woven through it. Oz thought he could almost make out words in that freakish sound, and somehow that was more frightening than anything else so far.

There was a flash, and that oddly shaped object lashed again, this time whipping around sinuously, slapping at Angel's back. The vampire howled, and jerked the knife upward. There was a grating sound, and oily red-browun liquid poured over his hands. The creature slumped heavily, its long, conical nose digging into the ground beside the giggling teenage boy it was sprawled over.

Angel fell back. Leaving the knife buried, hitting the ground heavily. Oz rushed to him. "Angel, you all right?"

"Huh?" Angel blinked up at him.

"Did it get you, or were you just doing the old battle cry bit?"

He smiled at Oz. "I'm fine. Got the fucker, didn't I? Go check on his Happy Meal."

Oz went to the young man, pushing the dead demon--or whatever the hell it was--off him. He helped the boy to sit up. The boy was giggling. "Fucker was gonna eat me, man," he said cheerfully. "Look at that--drool all down my arm." He chuckled. "I think I wet myself."

"I wouldn't blame you at all." Oz looked up as Buffy and Xander came pounding through the park gates. "Over here!"

The teenager staggered to his feet. "I have to get home," he chortled. "Someone must've slipped LSD in my soda, cause that was one FREAKY hallucination. Smelled bad, too."

"That's right," said Xander helpfully, "And boy, aren't your friends going to feel stupid tomorrow when they try to convince you that this REALLY happened?"

"Dorks," the boy agreed.

Oz patted his shoulder. "You live close by?" The boy nodded. "I've got my van just over there. Why don't I give you a ride? I'll meet you guys back at the library, okay?" He led the still snickering boy away.

"You know," said Xander, "I must not be looking at things in the proper perspective. I NEVER enjoy almost being eaten." He paused. "Well, not like THAT, anyway." He sighed. "And trust Ozzie to dodge cleanup detail. Well, Deadboy is helping on THIS one." Xander looked down. "I'll be damned if I'm going to strain my back to dispose of the demonic equivalent of the Jack-in-the-Box clown." The creature started to steam and foam. In a few seconds there was nothing but a pool of brown sludge. "Why can't all demons be so considerate?" He kicked leaves over the mess.

Buffy, frowning, was looking around. "Where IS Angel?"

Xander turned, scanning the area. There was no one else in sight. "He has apparently boogied."

Buffy paced the area, agitated. "We'd better search. He might have been hurt."

"Buff, Oz would have said something, right? And if it was anything major, I'm pretty sure he'd have left us a blood trail. I mean, he's been drinking his daily quota of the beasty hemoglobin, so he WOULD bleed if he got a serious owie. I think we need to get back to the library and inform Giles that once again we've done the courageous thing."

"You mean arrived on the scene after it was all over?"

"Well, I thought we might downplay that a bit..."

***

Oz was at the library when they arrived, in the middle of telling the two who'd been left behind about the fight. "Damn," Xander muttered. "No time to get the stories straight."

Oz was gesturing to his hip. "...something right about THERE. I dunno, Giles. I didn't get a really close look at it. It sort of reminded me of a tail, or an elephant's trunk, but it was in the wrong place for either one of them, and," he frowned, unconsciously baring his teeth, "it felt BAD, you know? For some reason I keep thinking of a scorpion I saw once out in the Mojave."

Giles started. "Oh, dear. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear!"

Willow looked worried. "The last time we had more than two 'oh dears', we almost lost half the senior class."

Giles had gone back to a tattered book, pulling it from the bottom of a stack without bothering to catch the others that had been stacked atop it. As they fell, Xander said, "This is serious! He's letting research books hit the floor without even straining his back trying to catch them."

Giles was flipping through the volume frantically. "Oz, would you say that the creature had a rather clownish appearance."

"Well, if you're talking that LSD, through the wicked looking glass Killer Klowns From Outerspace kind--yeah."

"Oh, dear."

Buffy twitched. "That makes five. Now I'm worried."

"It's... it's probably nothing." Giles didn't seem too convinced himself. He tapped a page, then handed it around. "I believe it was one of these."

Willow read. "Mactabilis Iocus?"

"It means 'lethal joke'. This is a carnivorous creature that immobilizes its victims by rendering them oblivious to danger through a glandular secretion. It is delivered through a stinger that is located on that hip-appendage. While the victim is literally limp with gaity, the creature devours them alive."

Xander winced. "It gives a whole new meaning to the saying, 'Laugh? I thought I'd die.' But the sting itself isn't dangerous?"

"No, the effects are believed to wear off in a short amount of time."

"Believed?" said Buffy.

"Buffy, very few victims of the sting have survived long enough to worry about that. They're usually being digested in short order." Giles looked around anxiously. "Where is Angel?"

Xander said, "He skipped. Probably wanted to go wash that Psycho Bozo blood off."

Giles was looking very pale. "Daniel, you say that the creature struck at Angel with its tail?"

"Yeah," replied Oz. "Had me kind of worried there, the way it smacked him. But said he wasn't hurt."

"Are you certain?"

"I think so. In fact, he was smiling." Oz shrugged. "I guess he was feeling pretty good about himself, offing the thing like that."

Giles sat down heavily, putting his head in his hands. "Oh, shit."

Everyone blinked in alarm, but Willow spoke for them all. "Giles! What could move you from 'dear' to 'shit'?"

He looked up, and his face was strained. "God, I hope I'm wrong, but I fear..." He took a deep breath. "Children, haven't you been listening. The creature's weapon was a substance that caused the victim to experience not just good humor, but over whelming euphoria. In other words, complete and utter happines and contentment. If Angel felt that for even a split second..."

He trailed off, and there was horrified silence in the room, as everyone recalled what had happened the LAST time Angel had been truly and completely happy.

There was a smashing sound as something heavy crashed through the window. It rolled across the floor, fetching up against Willow's foot. Her scream rang out more shrilly than any of the others.

It was the head of the boy that Oz had dropped off in front of his home. It stared up at them, still smiling faintly above the ragged stump of its neck. Willow fell, sobbing, into Oz's arms, and Xander threw up in the wastepaper basket. Buffy, pale faced, was chewing her lip so hard that she drew blood. Giles forced himself to lean over the object, examining it, and Xander croaked weakly, "I don't think that CPR is gonna help, Giles."

"There's something written on his forehead," said Giles faintly. He reached down and forced himself to brush the hair up off the cool forehead. "It's written in felt tip pen, I think."

They leaned closer.

GUESS WHO'S BACK IN TOWN?

There was no need to say it, but the word fell unbidden from Giles' slack mouth. "Angelus."

Document--Angelus, 5

Giles looked at Buffy. "Where is he staying?"

She was very pale, staring at the severed head. "I don't know."

"Buffy!" Xander growled.

"I don't KNOW!" she snapped. "He moved awhile back. I went to his old place a couple of times, and he wasn't there, and he wouldn't tell me where he'd moved. And even if I knew, do you really think that he'd go back there now?"

Willow had her face hidden against Oz's shoulder. She whispered, "What... what are we going to do?"

Giles took a shaky breath. "We're going to call the police immediately."

"We can't do that!" protested Cordelia.

"We can't NOT do it. Knowing Angelus he has left the rest of this boy where it will be easily found, and the police will be very hot to find the head. With the forensics available these days, there is no way we can be sure that they won't find some trace, and it will be much easier to explain how it came flying through the window, courtesy of the murderer, than it would be to explain why we hadn't reported it. You lot get your stories straight among yourself. I can't say what you were up to, since I was back in the stacks doing research."

He went to the desk and picked up the phone. "We have been having a study session--chemistry and literature, I think. We have textbooks over there for both. Go spread them out. When they arrive, we tell them exactly what happened--since we have been here, but we have no idea who did this hideous thing." He punched in 911. "Officer? This is Rupert Giles at Sunnydale High. Something hideous has happened. Someone has been killed. No, I didn't see it. Oh, God!" His voice was genuinely distressed. "A head... A human head was thrown through the library window. Yes, a HEAD! I'm supervising a study group, and I'm worried about the students. Please, get someone here immediately. That maniac may still be nearby. Yes, I'll stay on the line."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Drucilla was staring up at the ceiling of the factory, her piquant features set in a pout. Spike came up behind her, putting his arms around her waist. "Dru, luv, you aren't sulking again about the same old thing?"

The dark haired vampiress glared at the thick planks that made a large, rough square on the metal ceiling. "I can't see the stars, Spike. I can hear them, but I can't SEE them." She turned in his arms, pressing against him and purring, "Take down the nasty planks."

Spike sighed. "We've been over this before. The skylight has to be blocked."

Drucilla stamped one dainty foot. Spike couldn't swear that she had intentionally caught his toes, but there was a possibility that it hadn't ENTIRELY been an accident. "But I feel stifled! I want to see the sky, and with that lovely glass in the ceiling the star shine could come right through."

"And so could the sunlight," Spike said bluntly.

Drucilla sighed. "Feh. Nasty sunlight. I wish I could send it away, so that we'd only have lovely, lovely moonlight, all the time." She looked at the doll cradled in her arms. "Yes, Miss Edith? Some day, perhaps." She looked back at Spike. "Spike, when will we meet others of our kind here?"

"I dunno, pet. Soon, I suppose."

"But why don't we seek them out? There must be others here." She pulled away and twirled slowly, hair swirling about her shoulders. "I can feel them, all around."

"Yes, but they're not our kind, luv. Nothing but half-brained minions and fledges, most of 'em."

"Not all of them, Spike."

The voice was deep, dark, and very familiar. It made Spike freeze, but Drucilla seemed suddenly energized. She almost vibrated with eagerness as she looked about eagerly. "Daddy?" Angelus stepped from the shadows, and the vampiress ran to him, leaving behind a still, silent Spike. She threw herself into Angelus' arms with a glad cry. "Oh, Daddy, you're back! You've come back to us, haven't you?"

Spike approached more slowly. "Hang on, Dru. How do we know it's Angelus, and not that self-torturing git, Angel?"

Angelus smiled at him, flashing his game face. He set Drucilla aside and lifted his hands. They were coated in blood past the wrists. "I could have brought physical proof, but I used it to send a little announcement to the Slayer and her entourage."

"And how do we know that isn't from some demon, or another vamp? How do we know it isn't that cow or pig swill you drink?"

Angel glided over to him. "Well, there are a couple of ways to find out." He suddenly grabbed the back of Spike's head and clamped his free hand over the other's mouth and nose. Spike scrabbled at Angelus' arm, but couldn't pull it down. "You can tell by scent," he scrubbed his hand hard over Spike's mouth, "or you can tell by taste." He released him with a push."

Spike's game face had emerged, too. His nostrils flared, drinking the scent, and it was unmistakable as human blood. His tongue darted out, swiping at the sticky, gelid maroon smears, and his fangs slid out. "Yeah, it's human. A bit cold, but human. Whose is it?"

Angelus shrugged. "I didn't catch his name. Does it matter if it isn't one of those idiotic Scoobies?" He smiled at Drucilla, who was sniffing hungrily. He offered her his hand. "Dearest?" Drucilla gripped his wrist and began to lick his hand clean, pink tongue working industriously.

"Well, what brings you back?" said Spike, trying to ignore the low purr that Drucilla had started to make.

Angelus shrugged. "The usual--a moment of unadulterated, sheer happiness. This time it was chemically induced, but apparently it still counts." Drucilla had slid one of his fingers into her mouth and was sucking it softly. "I can't tell you how happy I am that you two are still in town. I was afraid I was going to have to go look for you, and since I REALLY want to stay and fuck with the Slayer, that would have been very irritating."

Drucilla pulled back, giving Angelus' now clean hand a final, lavish lick, and leaned her cheek into his palm. "Will we be playing with the nasty Slayer, Daddy? Will there be games?"

Angelus caressed her, hand sliding sensually back into her hair. "Oh, yes, pet. Her, and her little friends. Do you remember the Watcher?"

Spike snorted. "The one who pinned you to the wall, then beat you silly with a lit torch? Yeah, he kind of sticks out in the memory."

Angelus snarled. "I owe him heavily, and I know just the way to pay him back." He gave a feral smile. "While giving myself an enorous treat."

Dru danced excitedly. "Tell! Tell!"

"Oh, no! This is going to be a surprise, all the way around." He smiled. "Well, I think the Watcher may be expecting something along the lines of what I have planned," he gave Spike a fanged grin as his hand suddenly tightened in Drucilla's hair, bending her back till her throat was a pale arch, "but I believe I still have trick or two to keep me ahead of him. I'm good at keeping people off-balance." He bent and bit Drucilla.

Spike stiffened in anger shock, and started toward them. But after the brief cry of pain, Drucilla gave a low, liquid moan, and reached up to hold Angelus, giving herself over to the sensual pain of her master's violent caress. Angelus didn't need to drink from Drucilla--he'd obviously fed well recently. But he had been gone for awhile, and felt that Drucilla, and especially Spike, had begun to feel too independent. He was asserting his ownership, and power, in the most primal way that a vampire could. *If they have any sense,* Spike thought sourly, *They'll clear out--the lot of them.*

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The time spent with the police had been tense, but there didn't seem to be any suspicion that one of their group was in any way responsible for what had happened. As Giles had predicted, the boy's body had been left where he would be easily discovered--spread out on his front lawn. Since this was a fair distance from the high school, the authorities thought it unlikely that the group had been involved in any manner but the obvious one.

All of them professed bewilderment at what could have possibly have caused such a horror. All save Xander. He stated loudly and clearly that he was of the opinion that it was casued by UFOs. He was promptly ignored. When Cordelia had hissed at him about this, he'd whispered back that the cops in Sunnydale made careers out of ignoring supernatural happenings, and he figured that the surest way to get them to stop paying attention was to attribute an incident to something out of the ordinary.

After giving their statements, they'd adjourned to the town's only all-night coffee shop for a brief consultation before heading home. Huddled in a booth, ignoring cooling cups of coffee, they tried to decide what to do next. Giles said, "We will escort the girls home, of course. And as much as I hate to bring this up, I must. What about our families?"

"Giles is right," said Buffy grimly. "It's one of Angelus' favorite tactics, going for his targets' loved ones. Mom had to go out of town on business, so I don't have to worry about her."

"My parents are gone, as usual," saif Willow. "Egypt this time, I think. I'd have to check the list of numbers they left."

"Willow, I believe you should stay with Buffy untill this is settled. The fewer areas that have to be secured, the less chance there is he'll find a weak spot," said Giles. "Cordelia?"

"There's no way Daddy would agree to that," she said flatly. "But I never invited any of the Fanged Fiends into my home, so I just have to be careful coming and going. They won't be able to get in without permission, and I'm damn sure not going to give it, and as for my Dad..." She snorted. "Someone who looked like Angelus? He'd let Charles Manson in first."

Giles looked at Xander. "Xander?"

"He's welcome to whatever he can find in my house," said the boy tartly.

"Xander!" Willow protested. "Your Mom and Dad."

He gave her a bleak look, but shrugged. "I carved crosses into all the door and window frames awhile back. I'll lay a holy water drip at the entrances for added safety. They might not even be home much the next couple of days. The income tax return check that had been delayed finally came in, and they haven't had a chance to drink it up yet. Oz, that place you're staying at can't be counted as a private home, and I doubt you could vamp-proof it, at least not without having the owners have you hauled away for either lunacy or destruction of property. I have a couch in the basement, if you want to stay." Oz nodded his thanks.

"Well, that covers everyone who might be in danger," said Cordelia. Giles cleared his throat. "What?"

Xander had noticed Giles distressed expression. "For someone so fluffy, you can be pretty dense. What about Giles' near-and-dear?"

Cordelia frowned. "Angelus isn't likely to fly all the way over to England to... Ow! Who kicked me?" She glared around accusingly.

No one confessed, but Willow looked at Giles. "Do you really think he'd go after her?"

Giles looked grim. "He's tasted her blood. I'd be shocked if he DIDN'T go after her."

"Her? Who do you...? Oh." Cordialia sat back, looking a little blank. "Miss Scribe? You think that Angelus would go after an ENGLISH teacher?"

"The last I had heard," said Giles dryly, "a person's profession did not affect their desirability as vampire prey. We've got to do something to protect her, but what? We can't very well just show up and begin nailing up crosses."

"But she knows about vampires," observed Oz.

"Yes," said Buffy, "But she isn't prepared to deal with something like Angelus. We don't want to scare her."

"Do you know what you sound like?" said Xander. "You sound like every idiotic cop, sheriff and government agent in every horror, science-fiction, or murder movie who ever refused to alert the public to danger because they might panic. It's STUPID!"

"There is a more sensible reason to refrain," said Giles. "She's only known him as Angel, and she's irritated with us right now..." Xander and Cordelia cleared their throats. "Oh, all right--she's irritated with me. And besides, she wants to HELP. I doubt that we'd be able to persuade her to stay safely behind thick, cross decorated, garlic festooned walls. No, we need to get her out of town for a few days." His eyes lit up. "And I know exactly how to do it."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Scribe finished erasing the board, grateful that she'd done her paper grading at lunch. That left her whole weekend free of school work. *Not that THAT means anything,* she thought wryly. *It isn't as if I have a social whirl planned. I just hope that they change the features at the closest movie theater. I swear, if they hold over that noisy action shoot-em-up, I'll just beat my head against a wall. I'll get the same effect as going to see it--numbness and ringing ears.*

Giles appeared in the doorway, and hesitated there. She felt a brief flick of irritation, followed immediately by a stronger stab of annoyance with herself. She had quickly realized that she was, in effect, punishing him for worrying about her. After all, she had yet to prove to them that she wouldn't be a liability. Yes, she'd realized that, and held no resentment toward him or the children, but her pride hadn't let her go to them to make ammends.

Giles said, "Scribe, I need to speak to you."

She wanted to make ammends, show him she was willing to try, so she said lightly, "Well, it's Friday afternoon, so I hope this doesn't mean I'm going to be stuck with school business."

"Er... actually..."

She stopped in mid-stroke, lowering the eraser. "Oh, don't tell me, let me guess. There's an emergency drama competition, and they need me to ride herd on three or four drama clubs."

"Good God, do I really seem that cruel? No, it IS important, and a bit of an imposition, but it shouldn't prove an unpleasant one. I need you to go to the librarian conference in San Francisco this weekend."

She blinked at him. "Several questions come to mind. To start with, I'm not a librarian."

"That's all right--you're staff, and having a degree in literature is a plus. You'll basically just have to tape record lectures and bring me piles and piles of brouchures, leaflets, and otherwise useless bits of paper. The main thing is having a representative of Sunnydale present."

"But I thought you were going?"

"I was. I can't. Long story."

She blinked again. "Now you're channeling Ernest Hemmingway, and I have to tell you that he's pretty much my least favorite author. I don't mind quiet, but terse rankles."

He rubbed his forehead. "I'm sorry, but it really would be difficult to explain. I need you to attend that conference in my place."

"But a weekend trip... And it's a three day conference, starting Saturday. I have classes Monday."

"Which I will happily take for you. I've already spoken to the principal, and he's given his approval. Actually, that wasn't really in question--we have to have someone attend this conference, or our funds for library operations and book acquisitions will drop by a hefty thirty per cent. Scribe, I know that we haven't exactly had smooth relations lately, but this is important."

She looked at him shrewdly. He looked very tired, the skin around his eyes tight with strain. "Does it have anything to do with the rumors that have been circulating about what happened in the library last night?" Giles was silent. "No, I don't know exactly what happened, but the rumor mill has been going wild. Some claim that it was nothing more than one of the windows getting shot out. Someone else says that a body was dumped. Someone ELSE ammended that to say that it was body PARTS that were dumped, and speculation has been rife about WHICH body parts it was. Genitalia is being highly favored, but most people don't believe those would be heavy enough to break the glass, so..."

"Scribe, I can't discuss this with you. For one thing, the police would object, and for another... I'd really rather not be responsible for your next week or so of nightmares. Let's just say that having you out of town for the next couple of days would relieve a lot of anxiety, and probably make it much easier for me to deal with what's going on."

She nodded slowly. "All right." She smiled. "And I don't suppose I'll get many other offers for a paid weekend in one of the tourist capitals of America. When does my plane leave?"

Giles looked at his watch. "Three hours. It only takes twenty minutes to get to the airport, so that leaves you..."

She snatched up her purse. "Not nearly enough time! Jesus, Giles, you're lucky I'm not the clubbing type, or I'd never make it."

As she slid past him he turned to follow her, saying, "I'll come along, to make sure you get there on time."

"Fine, tag along, but if you think that you're going to stand there and watch me shove my undies in the case, you're sadly mistaken."

As he followed her he thought, *It's a measure of how disturbed I am that that comment didn't even raise the slightest bit of titilation.*