Episode 88: Unprofessional Therapy
Episode 88: Unprofessional Therapy
by 3D Master (firstname.lastname@example.org)
Disclaimer see Episode 79.
Author’s notes: Well; I’m back! Finished the newest episode of Buffy Z; I hope you all like it. Sadly, my mission to the US to get hired as a professional writer failed, but alas, you can’t have everything in life. Will be looking for a job her in good old Netherland in a short while. Anyway, Americans are nuts; who eats potato chips and lunch along with bread and not the cinema! :) The food wasn’t exactly good - read bad, and LA looks like third world country, but I had a good time. Universal Studios was a lot of fun. Anyway; feedback at the above e-mail address as usual! And happy reading.
Dawn’s comment summed it up quite nicely. She was sitting next to Li-Huei on the Summers couch. Xander was sitting next to him. Buffy and Willow were sitting closely to each other on the second couch; the one lining the window. They were watching the news, and on it was the news of LA. A rain of fire had descended on the city, while what seemed a like a vortex had for a short time appeared in the sky. Jesse, or his ghost at least, was floating outside the small square made up by chairs and couches.
Willow was pouting at the scene, while Xander took the scene on the tv in stoicly. After a moment, Li-Huei asked, “So, aren’t you guys going over there to kick some ass.”
“No,” Buffy answered slightly on edge. One of her hands was balled into a fist, her eyes were obviously full of concern. A large part of her wanted to rush out, blast to LA, and smash everything evil to pieces. “Angel and the others will be on the job, and we can’t rush over to them every time something happens. They have to stand on their own; right?”
“Yeah,” Xander agreed, nodding his head. He then reached into his pocket and got out his cell phone. “Can’t hurt to check whether they think they need backup, though.” He dialed up the number.
Buffy jumped up from the couch, no longer able to take it, and said, “I’m calling Chris.” She then ran to the kitchen; straight through a visible Jesse, not even paying him any heed, leaving the spirit bewildered.
After a quick conversation, Xander hung up, and nodded, “They say it’s a temporary set back. They already know who did it, and what it looked like, and they know they can take them down, it’s just a matter of finding them.”
“Pick up, pick up, pick up,” Buffy whispered worried. She walked back and forth next to the kitchen counter. Worry gripped her heart. She couldn’t bare to think that the guy she fallen hopelessly in love with, the guy who had made her feel in a way she hadn’t in a long time, without any moment of pain, would have gotten hit by a stray plume of fire and was burned to death. Multiple visions of a burned Chris, either dead or hurt kept flying through her brain. She rubbed the palm of her left hand, which she had stretched wide open, nervously up and down her jean-clad thighs. “Come on.”
#Hey, Buffy, what’s up?# Chris voice sounded, cheery. Weirdly cheery, especially given what was going on over there. But Buffy ignored it, focusing on her worry, which she released with a sigh.
“Oh, thank god! Are you okay!? I saw the news. You didn’t get burned? Why didn’t you pick up sooner!” Buffy blasted out in rapid succession, her heart still beating in her chest. Although Chris’ voice told her, he was still alive, that didn’t mean he didn’t lay burned to a crisp in a hospital, especially given how much time had passed before he finally picked up.
The smile in Chris’ voice as he answered was both reassuring and infuriating. #I’m fine, Honey Blue, I’m in the car, I had to stop it first, before I could pick it up.# Chris answer sounded almost casual, another edge of Buffy’s worry came off, and she silently gave thanks to whatever deity that might be listening in; even if she was bent on their destruction.
“Damn it! You need to get one of those hands free thingies!” Buffy admonished him angrily, worried still as hell.
#Yeah, you’re right,# Chris answered, a smile still in his voice, and now the sound of something falling on metal came through the phone. Buffy’s worry flared right back up, but Chris had started to continue though, saying, #I’m coming to Sunnydale actually. I figured I’m a lot safer close to my super powered girlfriend, not to mention a place where the sky didn’t open up, and fire isn’t falling from the sky.#
“Good idea, but . . . didn’t I just hear something falling on your car?” Buffy asked him as her heart was once again beating worriedly in her chest.
#Well, yeah . . . I’m in LA and it’s raining fire,# Chris spoke casually.
“GAH! Are you crazy!? Are you trying to give me a heart attack!?” Buffy yelled with wide eyes, her free hand flapping up and down with the sudden fear that gripped her heart again. “Keep driving, you lunatic!”
#Okay, it’s already very late, I’ll get out of the city and then get a motel for the night. See you tomorrow, Buffy. Bye,# Chris said, and hung up.
Buffy suddenly pulled the phone from her ear, and looked at it with fright, realizing that now her connection was gone. She hesitated for a moment, and then she rushed into the living room, wide-eyed. The conversation that her friends, sister, and one ghost were having was cut short as she interrupted them by barging in, and blurting out, “Chris is driving here, with fire raining down on his car. Should I go get him!?”
The four occupants of the living room had their hands turned to her, letting that information sink in, while Buffy remained looking at them, waiting impatiently for some advice. “Did he sound worried?” Willow asked after a moment.
“No,” Buffy answered, and frowned as it sunk in how cheerful he had sounded for some driving through a rain of fire. “He sounded strangely cheerful in fact.”
“Than he’ll be fine, Buffy, just fine,” Willow said, her head down cast.
“Yeah,” Jesse piped up, smiling. He had gotten damn lucky as far as he was concerned. This house, his old friends, and the new people, if he wasn’t a ghost, it’d be perfect. “You gotta let the guy be a guy and your equal now and then, Buff, even if you’re a hundred thousand times stronger than him. Trust him to get here, you can’t make him feel like he’s useless, pathetic, wimp, by rushing in whenever there’s a tiny little problem.”
“That’s actually really good advice,” Dawn said, and pressed herself satisfied against Li’s chest. She saw so little of him lately, with him doing his sports thing.
“Same thing you just said about Angel and his team, by the way,” Xander pointed out with a wry look.
Buffy deflated a little, took a deep breath, and said, “Fire is raining from the sky, I don’t think that’s ‘a tiny little problem’.”
“Well, obviously the fire isn’t melting through his car, or he wouldn’t be unconcerned,” Willow pointed out logically. Buffy looked at her best friend, and then calmed down, telling herself that things would be okay.
Jesse said then, rather suddenly, raising his voice with indignation, “Hey! What’s that supposed to mean? ‘That’s actually good advice.’”
“You’re a ghost,” Dawn answered him as if it was obvious. “Who expects good advice from a ghost?”
Jesse narrowed his eyes at her, while the others watched him. He lifted his eyes, and said with an insulted tone, “I’m dead, not stupid.” He then turned around and walked away, straight through a wall.
“Wow,” Li-Huei muttered surprised, and everyone turned to him. With a astonished face, he said, “A ghost who got his feelings hurt, that’s not something you see every day.”
“I’M A GHOST! NOT MR. SPOCK!” Jesse yelled from somewhere unseen. Then the group of people laughed softly. “HARDY HAR HAR!”
Not long later, Willow sat on her bed; the two-person bed, that only a short while ago had been ‘their bed’. She looked sadly at the large bed, that she had already found felt so empty when she tried to sleep. She missed Tara so, she wished she move her fingers through the blonde hair again, to feel the warm soft body against hers.
Willow looked up at the interruption and saw Xander standing in the doorway. She looked down, and he stepped inside. “How are you holding up?” he asked gently.
“It hurts. I don’t understand why she just packed up and left all of a sudden. I’m in therapy, I haven’t done anything wrong, haven’t abused the magic . . .” Willow trailed off, and then looked down at the floor sadly. “I tried contacting her, but she won’t pick up when I call, and I think she deletes any messages I leave without reading or listening to them.”
Xander sighed, and sat down next to her. He slowly slung his arm around her, and said, “I talked to her, looked her up.”
Willow’s head snapped to her right and up to look in her best friend’s face, “You did? Is she okay?”
“She’s fine,” Xander said with some finality, then looked down at his childhood friend. Willow looked up at him, a face full of anxiety and hope. “She explained quite a bit, Willow, and although I think she’s overreacting, I can’t exactly say she’s wrong.”
“What!?” Willow asked, both disbelieving as well as shocked and afraid Xander might think less of her.
Xander thought about how to broach the subject with Willow, and finally spoke softly. “She’s been with a lot more sessions, Willow, she got to look at what the psychiatrist is doing with you, got to see you tell him things about you. If you just misinterpreted his words, than that’s just that, but if the very thing your seeing him for . . .” Xander touched his free right index finger to Willow’s forehead, “that superiority complex of yours - is deliberately twisting his words to suit it, you’re not being treated.”
“It’s not true!” Willow said desperately, shaking her head, “I don’t feel superior, I have no interest in abusing magic, and I certainly won’t hurt her.”
“But you did, last year,” Xander told her sternly. He pulled her head back up, and said, “What you did to her, when you tried to wipe her mind, it left deep scars, Willow. You tore out her self-esteem and her place in the world. She tried to explain, but her words couldn’t really convey what she went through.” Willow looked down ashamed. “A lot of her reaction is blind panic; fear, she doesn’t ever want to go through that again. Even if she’s stronger now than you, and it would be even easier to repel the attack; she doesn’t even want to risk the chance you’d try again; never again, she said.”
Willow’s body shook, and then she lifted her hands to her face as tears started to appear from her eyes. She gasped out a sob, and then cried. Xander held her, as she cried at her own stupidity, the damage she had done to her loved one, wishing she could go back and do things differently. Willow didn’t cry for very long, remaining silent in Xander’s arm afterwards.
“You should talk to the shrink, Will,” Xander said gravely.
“My appointment is set for Friday,” Willow said, a little pout and annoyance in her voice.
“I mean sooner,” Xander said, and then slowly got up. Willow remained silent.
Next morning, early
Hank Summers opened the door after the bell rang, and looked at a familiar figure. “Chris,” he said a little surprised, then his eyes flickered and he had to force himself to put away the irrational anger and jealousy at the man who had taken away his first born daughter. In Hank’s eyes, no man would ever really measure up enough to deserve his daughters; but he’d seen Li-Huei enough that he had learned to appreciate the young man; Dawn could have done far worse. Chris though, resided in Los Angeles, and he had seen him but a few times. “What are you doing here?” Hank winced slightly, glad the sentence had come out with the surprise he felt to find his daughter’s boyfriend standing his early in the morning in his doorway, and hadn’t sounded like something else.
“Mr. Summers, I’m glad that I got here before you have to go to your work; could I come in? We need to talk - about Buffy,” Chris said, attempting to sound like a man in charge, but afraid his nervousness was coming through too easily.
“Come in,” Hank said, both concerned for Buffy, and vowing Chris something wrong he’d beat the shit out of the guy.
“Thank you, sir,” Chris said, and stepped inside, past Hank who had taken a step inside. Hank happily did not correct the young man on what he called him. Hank led Chris to the kitchen, where he continued preparing his lunch, after gesturing to Chris to speak.
Chris looked around the small brown-toned kitchen for a moment, and then said, “You’ve probably noticed too that Buffy . . . has been losing more weight than she should.”
Hank paused his smearing of sandwiches and took a moment to look at his daughter’s boyfriend. Then he nodded slowly. As he continued preparing lunch, he said gravely, “I have. I’ve tried to talk to her about it, sneakily; Buffy and me, we’re not exactly best of friends. But she seems not to notice, and just ignores it. I . . . I have no idea how to really broach the subject, not with her, not with her friends . . . especially not with that whole First business; I spent most of my time making sure the girls staying here didn’t tear down my house.”
“Yeah, they’re handfuls,” Chris said, thinking of Buffy. “Well, I didn’t know exactly how to go about this either; until now. By this afternoon, Buffy will either be eating again; or we’re no longer a couple.”
Hank paused again, and this time turned around to listen more closely, reserving judgement. Chris laid out his plan, and finished, “This will only work if you and her friends help out, though. I’m assuming LA will still be standing afterwards, and I’ll be going back, in which case you’ll have to keep an eye on her.”
“Yes, I’ll help,” Hank said gravely.
“Thank you, sir,” Chris told him with a smile.
Hank looked at Chris for a moment, and added, “If this succeeds, call me Hank.”
A little later
1630 Revello Drive
Xander opened the door and without seeing who it was, said, “Hey, Chris. You missed Buffy, she just left for school.”
Chris nodded, “Good, then I timed it right.” He stepped inside, and asked, “Is everyone else still here?”
“Yeah,” Xander said casually, and closed the door. He turned around and walked after Chris who went to the living room. He was curious; Chris seemed to walk and talk with a new found confidence - or perhaps more accurately purpose - then before. Willow and Dawn were in the kitchen, finishing up their lunches.
“So, Buffy . . . I’ve got a plan,” Chris said, and explained his idea.
When he was done, everyone looked a little skeptical, Willow especially. The redheaded witch said, “I’m not so sure, it’ll work. Buffy’s stubborn.”
“Today, I’m more stubborn,” Chris answered to that with a sense of power and truth. “So I got your help, right?”
“Of course,” Xander said, with an evil smirk.
Chris narrowed his eyes at the taller man, and told him, “Don’t ogle my girlfriend.”
“How could I possibly do what you want me to do, without ogling her?” Xander told him with a grin.
“Oh, god,” Chris said, sighing deeply, for a moment he seemed to deflate, that inflated back up. “Girls, when you’re around, could you do me a favor and make sure he’s not the one who does it?”
“Sure,” Dawn said with a sudden evil smile of her own, “it’s a perfect way to annoy and embarrass, Buffy, and I can never pass up a chance to do that.”
“That’s not nice,” Willow said a little sad.
Dawn grinned at the witch and said, “I can’t help it. I’m a little sister - it’s genetic.”
Another while later
The door slammed shut loudly. Considering it was the stone slab door of a tomb, which grinded across the equally stone floor, that couldn’t be good; for the tomb that is. “SPIKE!”
“Bloody hell!” Spike exclaimed, slowly extricating himself from the covers of his bed. He felt his head pounding, and grabbed it - by grabbing his ears. He hoped for better, as both stone slam, stone screeched grinding, and female screech attempted to squeeze his brain out through those very ears. Drowsily he looked left and right, and noticed the many empty liquor bottles lying about,, the once contents of which had produced the mother of all hangovers he was feeling now . . . and truth be told, he had been feeling for a couple of days now as he had been drinking himself silly. Ever since his defeat at the hands of his present guest . . .
. . . and scorned object.
“Dawn! Quiet down, you stupid bint,” he grumbled annoyed with everyone and everything in existence . . . but mostly his present guest.
The annoying brunette peeked past the drapes to his makeshift bedroom, took in the mess, and she asked cutely, “Were you still sleeping, this late in the morning?”
“I’m a vampire, we’re night creatures, we sleep during the day,” Spike groaned out annoyed, and pulled back the covers, revealing he still wore the clothes of yesterday . . . stinking of alcohol. “What do you blood well want? And shouldn’t you be in school instead of waking the bloody dead . . . literally?”
“Free first period,” Dawn said dismissively; too dismissively to be a lie. If only Xander wouldn’t kill him if he hurt Dawn - if only Dawn wouldn’t kill him as he tried. He was the weakest of the fuckin’ lot, barring the remaining potentials and Dawn’s boyfriend, but they didn’t count in Spike’s opinion . . . in fact, it used to be that Dawn didn’t count. “I need to talk to you,” Dawn said, starting to pace back and forth; the hips in tight jeans swaying invitingly.
Spike groaned in annoyance, and shook his head to clear it. “Ah! Damn!” he exclaimed, grabbing his head from the sudden pain. Dawn paused her pacing for a moment, and then continued. Spike hated himself; this was the bitch, the weak human bitch that should be food to him, but had kicked his ass . . . in a friendly spar . . . she didn’t even have the decency to shove a stake through his heart to end his misery. To make it worse; she was now talking to him for advice, and counseling, and friendship; like he meant nothing, wasn’t worth the evil he was created from - she was saying something about not being able to go to anyone else for various reasons; don’t believe her, don’t understand, don’t take her instincts seriously, mother forbade it; he barely noticed her suffering speech. No, Spike had been zoned in on those hips and what was behind them; good-looking hips for sure, even better ass, but he had still been looking longingly at one of his (newly) sworn, humiliating enemy, that would have to pay for what she was putting him through just like the others.
Dawn sat down on his bed with a sigh, stood half back up, and brushed a bottle off of the bed with a frown, then sat back down. “So, will you help me, Spike?” she asked him with frank eyes.
Spiked sighed and then grumbled indecipherably, “Bloody pain in the arse.” He paused for a moment, and told Dawn clearly, “Fine, but talk quietly, and quickly.”
“Promise me you won’t tell anyone else?” Dawn asked him, still looking at him.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I promise on Buffy’s future grave not to tell anyone. Now bugger well hurry up,” Spike told her, extricating himself further from the sheets and sitting up to pay attention since he wasn’t going back to sleep anyway.
“My history teacher is an angel . . . apparently,” Dawn said, looking at Spike for a reaction.
“What?” Spike asked in his characteristic British accent, actually surprised at the statement, and instantly fully awake, despite that his head was still pounding.
Dawn sighed and looked down, then turned her head back at Spike. “I went to talk to her; you know, because she seemed knowledgeable about god and angels and stuff and nobody else even entertainment my idea about mom . . . and then she said she didn’t know if mom really was an angel, but that she knew angels and god existed because she was one. Then she glowed with the same light mom did,” Dawn explained with anxiety plainly in her wide eyes.
“Bugger,” Spike muttered, still stunned. He focused his eyes on Dawn, and said, “So, what do you want from me?”
Dawn looked up silently, putting her arms between her legs for a moment, nervousness radiating off of her in waves. She turned back to Spike, and asked, “Spike . . . what do I do? I mean, I’m not even sure if she’s telling the truth. She could just be trying to manipulate me. And what if she isn’t? What if she’s really a fucking angel?”
“How the bloody hell am I supposed to know?” Spike spat out, and the pitiful look Dawn gave him, touched even him in his black heart . . . if only he could do something about it in the manner he preferred. Spike sighed, and readjusting himself, setting with his legs over the edge of the bed, right next to Dawn. “So what did you do after she told you?”
“I panicked and ran,” Dawn said dully, looking down dejectedly.
“May have been a brilliant idea,” Spike grumbled at a loss for words. Dawn looked up at him a little surprised. “You know, put distance between the bitch and you, give you time to process things instead of jumping into whatever it is she wants blindly.”
“You think she wants something from me?” Dawn asked him with eyebrows crunched in thought.
“Tossers always want something from ya,” Spike said softly, thinking this over, and coming to the conclusion he had no clue himself. Dawn looked over at him. “Look, I think this some bollocks you need to figure out for yourself. Probably find out what the bitch wants, and then go from there. When it comes this religious crap, it’s all personal. Me, I don’t give a bloody fuck one way or another and just blast the bint into tiny little pieces, but that’s just me.”
“But what if this god exists; and not some being having delusions of grandeur, but the real thing; omnipotent, creator of the entire universe and all that? If you go against that, don’t you get sent to hell, are you not afraid of that?” Dawn asked him with worry in her eyes.
Spike grinned evilly, and said, “Hey, if the wanker exists, I’m doomed to hell anyway; demon remember? Makes no difference for me.”
“Huh,” Dawn said, unable to keep a light smile off her face, her shoulders making a single jerk. “Never thought I’d ever wish to be dead and a demon taking root in my corpse.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Spike muttered.
Dawn suddenly stood up. “You’re right, I should go find out what the damn angel wants.” She turned her head to look at Spike and asked, “You’ll help with any research, right? Don’t want this to get to the others.”
“Just bugger off already,” Spike said, nodding his head and waving Dawn away. She smiled and then walked to the exit.
Sometime later that morning
Buffy had finished a class and was glad she had a break. Other students walked around as she exited the building, and found Willow waiting for her. “Hey, Will,” Buffy greeted with a smile, “we spending break together?”
Willow nodded, “Yep.”
“Okay,” Buffy answered and joined the redhead. The two walked toward the building that held the cafeteria, and Buffy asked, “Xander?”
Willow shook her head, and said, “Busy with an experiment, said he probably wouldn’t make it. Chris is here though.”
“Really?” Buffy asked exited, looking around.
“Not here here; he caught us at home this morning just before we left,” Willow said Buffy, no smile on her face. “He said he was going to take you out for lunch though, so you should find him waiting for you then.”
“Oh,” Buffy said, a little disappointed, yet exited all the same. Willow froze, and being arm to arm, Buffy half walked into the redhead. “What is it?” The Buffy saw. Some thirty meters onward, at another building, past some milling students, a familiar girl, also student, stepped out in the open. She was accompanied by her class mates, and were casually talking about something, soft enough that even Buffy’s Slayer hearing couldn’t hear. It was Tara. Buffy couldn’t exactly sense the blonde witch; but she wasn’t completely gone from her chi sense either. Tara had to be suppressing and/or masking her power somewhat. Enough that the other scoobs wouldn’t be registering her automatically especially at close range; not enough to truly hide. It was a rather big message; ‘I don’t like to be bothered - especially not by you Willow - with trivial things, but you need me, you know where to find me.’
Buffy turned to look at Willow, and the Slayer could see that the unspoken message hit her friend hard. Willow turned to Buffy, and with pained eyes, asked, “It hurts. Why is this?”
Buffy stayed silent for a moment, and looked down at her shoes. For several moments she thought of what to say; how to say it. Ease Willow into it, or just be blunt. In the end, she decided to let Willow make the decision. She looked back up, and turned to Willow, asking, “The truth.” Willow’s eyes widened a little with apprehension, then nodded. “You tore out a piece of her mind last time, didn’t you? Or at least tried to?” Willow looked down ashamed. Buffy nodded and said, “Well, if that happened to me and I heard you say it wasn’t your fault when you did that, I’d probably run away scared as well.”
Willow’s head shot up, and looked pained. “You heard Xander and me last night?” she asked, because Buffy knew Tara was scared and not just angry. Buffy shrugged. She had, but she had had a pretty good idea why Tara had bolted herself before that. “You’re with Xander then, right?”
“If you mean I think you’re nowhere near done with the therapy, yeah,” Buffy said painfully. She looked as Willow’s eyes grew bigger, while she started taking sharper shorter breaths. Buffy hated seeing her best friend like this, hating that she was partly the cause of it. She liked it even less when Willow was on a murderous spree of mayhem, violence, and chaos.
“I- . . . I- . . .” Willow trailed off, and forced herself to take a few breaths, while felt as if the whole world started to crush her totally. “I guess if my girlfriend, and my two best friends think I’m not yet fit to out here, I should go see my therapist - like right now.” She then turned and briskly, but defeatedly walked away.
Buffy could see it easily. She quickly caught up, and tried to comfort Willow. “It’s just that . . . Willow, I don’t think you’re a bad person or anything . . . no anymore.” Both paused as a few students walked close past them. Then Buffy added, “You were pretty twisted last year. I still love you as my best friend, okay?”
“Yeah,” Willow answered, looking down dejectedly again. She looked back up, and said, “I should see if my psychiatrist is free anyway.” Buffy smiled while shrugging, giving her ascent. Willow then walked off.
Buffy walked out of the school building, having had an interesting class. She was already scanning around, and found her boyfriend standing down below at the bottom of a few steps that led up to the entrance of the school building. He was casually holding the railing with his left hand, and Buffy’s face instantly went into a smile. As other students milled about, Buffy give a light squeal and ran down the steps, then jumped in Chris’ arms. She kissed him ferociously, and he kissed back, much to the surprise of some of the other students.
“I’m guessing this is Chris,” a male voice said.
Buffy let herself touch the ground again, and slightly flustered looked up at her fellow German classmate. Her classmate was as plain as Chris was, with the exception of having less pounds. A checkered blouse, a beige pair of pants, and a pair of glasses finished the perfect student look. A few more of her classmates joined him right behind. “Yes, Chris, this is Dean. Dean, Chris. He’s in my German class,” Buffy introduced with a smile. The young men shook each other’s hands, and then Buffy introduced Chris to the others, a mixture of male and female students.
“I like my weather LA hot, but raining fire is a little too hot even for me, so I thought I might as well spend some with my girlfriend,” Chris told Buffy’s classmates with a smile, and looked at Buffy for a moment. “I’m taking Buffy out to lunch today, she won’t be joining you.”
“Good decision,” Dean said, and nodded at the other students, remembering the news feeds. The others nodded and said their agreements. Chris and Buffy gave a short goodbye and walked away.
Chris lead Buffy, arm in arm, to his car, which he had parked close by. “Lunch huh? Any ideas, or are we just going to share my sandwich?” Buffy asked Chris with a smile.
Chris winced; a single sandwich. “No, I’ve got a better idea,” he said, as they reached his car.
“Ooh, a mystery. What do I get when I guess right?” Buffy asked him with a smile as she disengaged and walked to the passenger side of the car.
“A kiss,” Chris smiled with silliness, and unlocked his door.
“Wouldn’t I be getting that if I didn’t guess right?” Buffy pouted.
Chris grinned at her, and got in the car, unlocking and opening the passenger side door from inside. Buffy climbed inside, locked the door, and put on the seatbelt. Chris did the same, and said, “Probably. Thing is, if I reward you for every right guess over everything, I’m going to spoil you.”
“Isn’t that the idea?” Buffy asked him with an even bigger pout.
“No, it isn’t,” Chris answered with a smile as he started the car. While he backed the car out its parking spot, Buffy folded her arms across her chest.
After a moment Buffy unfolded her arms and turned her head to look at Chris. She smiled and pushed herself up to look at the hood of the car. She had seen on the way in, but now she took a better look at the black spots. “Was it scary getting fire rained down on you?” Buffy asked him seriously.
Chris looked at Buffy for a moment, taking in her too thin physique. Then looked back at the road, answering her, “Strangely . . . no.”
“Really?” Buffy asked her voice low, a little amazed. “I would think I’d be scared; at the very least at the creepiness, and I’m a Super Slayer.”
“Really,” Chris answered, while looking left and right before crossing side streets.
Buffy looked at him, eyes frowned. He seemed to tell the truth: but fire rained down from the heavens in LA. Chris turned the car right, and Buffy said carefully, “My brave knight.”
Chris looked at her by just moving his eyes, smiled and said, “Haven’t felt like one lately though, do now.”
“You’re talking strange,” Buffy told him quite frankly, and a little worried.
“I don’t think I am, and we’re just about there,” Chris said, and pointed forward with his right pinky without letting go of the steering wheel.
Buffy looked outside, straight ahead, and frowned. “McDonald’s?” Buffy asked confused, looking back at him. “You wanna eat lunch at McDonald’s?”
“Yep,” Chris answered, and Buffy stayed put looking at him with a frown. She checked her senses. It felt like Chris. She focused her senses, trying to see if she could sense any magic, an illusion, demon sense underneath a fake Chris chi . . . nothing.
Chris parked the car, and the two went toward the fast food restaurant: Buffy a little weary, Chris with cool certainty Buffy hadn’t seen in him before. He had been plenty cool enough; but now . . . it alternately gave her the chills, or the hots. Once inside the partially full fast food joint, Chris turned to Buffy and said, “Go find a place for us to sit, I’ll order.”
“Uh . . .” Buffy tried.
“Go on, before someone else hijacks the table,” Chris said, gently pushing Buffy right in the direction of the tables.
“I want the salad,” Buffy added a little forlorn and lost as she was separated from her boyfriend. He gave her a nod and waved her off. Buffy began to get worried now, but did as directed.
She walked over, found an empty table for two at the window, and sat down. She looked over and watched Chris standing in line; which was regularly, not too slowly, moving a place onward. Not long after, Chris was at the front of the line ordering. To Buffy though, uncertain as she was about Chris’ odd behavior, it seemed like an eternity. She frowned; packing the serving plate seemed to take long; and wasn’t the waitress packing more and more food?
Finally Chris payed and came over; holding two plates. One plate should really be enough for the both of them. Frowning Buffy waited for him to reach their table, and he placed the plates on the table. Buffy’s frowned to turned to light surprise and concern as she quickly took in what was on the plates; her salad, two drinks, two french fries, and six Big Macs. “Bon appetite, Buffy,” he said, as he opened one Big Mac box and pulled the double cheeseburger out.
Buffy blinked for a few moments. “Uh, Chris, not that I think it’s bad or anything, if you want to do it; but are you certain you want to eat all that?”
“Hmm?” Chris asked, chewing away. He moved his hands down so the Big Mac minus one bite wasn’t in the way, and looked at the feast, chewing powerfully. After swallowing, he indicated the entire mountain of food, and asked, “/All/ that?”
“Yes, all that,” Buffy said uncertain, mimicking his gesture, and just a hint of annoyance slipping in her voice.
“No, of course not,” Chris said with very well feigned bewilderment. “I’m going to eat my Big Mac combo. You are going to eat your salad, your Big Mac combo, and the four extra Big Mac’s your ordered, of course.” Buffy blinked, and watched stunned as Chris took another tasteful bite of is Big Mac. With a full mouth, he said, “Eat up, Buffy, or it’ll be cold before you finish.”
“Chris,” Buffy said utterly confused, shaking her head and gesturing at the food with her hands, shoulders hunched up, “I just wanted the salad.”
“And the Big Mac combo, and the Big Macs,” Chris added, and took another bit.
“No, I didn’t,” Buffy said again, agitation and desperation sending the tone of her voice up.
Chris looked at the food one more time, “Yes, you did, I distinctly remember you asking for it; in fact, you heard you screaming for it when I was still in LA?”
“I did not! You didn’t!” Buffy exclaimed straightening up, and then quickly hunched down, looking around to see if she hadn’t disturbed anyone, blushing.
“No,” Buffy said, desperate now, wondering what was wrong with Chris.
He looked down at the food, the half eaten Big Mac in his left hand, looked back up again at Buffy, and asked with a frown, “Are you certain?”
“Of course!” Buffy exclaimed again, but a little more careful this time.
Chris thought it over for a moment, and then said, “Then it must have been your stomach.”
Chris nodded, nodded more certain while looking at the height of Buffy’s stomach, and then looked back up at her. “Your stomach.” Buffy looked confused at him. “Your stomach, it’s been growling so often and so loudly, it must have learned how to speak.”
Buffy looked down at her offending stomach, a moment fearing something Hellmouthy had invaded her stomach, but then jerked her head back up. “That’s not funny,” she said quite annoyed.
“I know, what I see is not funny at all. You’re skin over bone, well, not quite, but soon,” Chris said coldly serious now.
“I’ve got muscles, big ones,” Buffy said, and pointed at he admittedly muscular arm.
“For how long? You don’t have a shred of fat left, Buffy, not even a molecule. The only thing your body has left to consume are those muscles, and with your activity schedule,” Chris said, all but ruthlessly.
“Wh-what are you saying?” Buffy asked him bewildered.
Chris placed his Big Mac down in the box, and said, “A couple of months ago, those jeans were skin tight, now they’re ready to slide down and leave you in your underwear.”
“They are still . . .” Buffy trailed off, confused. This didn’t make any sense. Her hands could easily grab the jeans and jerk them around; while her eyes told her they were wrapped tightly around a waste and legs that could loose some fat. Buffy looked back up at him, uncertainty and a little fear in her face. “A-are you saying I’m a-a . . .? I’m not anorexic.”
“If you’re not, you can easily eat all this,” Chris said, moving his head above the food, and then for a moment much softer, “Super Slayer, you’ll burn more than enough calories to get rid of that in two days, probably a whole lot less. Look at what the others stuff away without gaining an ounce.” Buffy looked down at the food. She couldn’t eat all that. She wasn’t a pig; a pig would eat all that. And she was not a lazy pig. “This is still about what was in that book, wasn’t it? Journey to the West? The way you were depicted?” Chris prompted her.
“I’m not a fat lazy pig,” Buffy blurted out softly, shocked at the statement, and wondering why she was trembling.
“No, you’re not. You’re a too thin, very active girl,” Chris agreed with her gently. Buffy looked down at the food. “Buffy,” Chris said, and Buffy looked up at him, “you’re going to eat all the food on these place except for my Big Mac combo . . . or I’m breaking up with you.”
Buffy’s eyes widened steadily with dread. She shook her head, and said, “No, n-no you’re not. I love you . . . you love me.”
“I do, and I won’t, /if/ you eat all the food,” Chris replied, drilling his eyes in hers, “and then, we’re going to set up a diet that contains lots of calories so you regain your weight and you’re going to follow it; with the energy you burn, that’s lots and lots of food. I’ve already talked about it with your father and your friends; they said they’ll help. When you go to the bathroom, someone will accompany you. If you don’t comply, we’re through. After I go back home, and they give me a call you’re not complying, we’re through. Understand?”
“I do /not/ throw up, even if I am, and I’m not saying I am, starving myself,” Buffy defended herself vehemently, angrily even.
“I’m not saying you are, in fact I’m saying you are not. I don’t think you are, but what isn’t, can still come. You will undoubtedly dutifully eat what you have to eat, but where you are now, will make you not like stuffing all that food down your throat, and you’ll look for a way to get rid of it,” Chris stated empathically.
“Why are you doing this? I’m not . . . I am not . . .” Buffy whimpered, pain in her heart, her eyes filling with tears. She didn’t want to lose him, she loved him, he was the one who at brought her back; the guy who showed her she could be in love with a normal guy, not just have sex wit one. The one who loved her back, and had taken her with all the faults she had, her bad history with relationships included. Involuntarily she looked down, and grabbed her loose jeans again, the jeans that seemed so tight. She looked back up, “Why are you doing this?”
“Remember how we got together, Buffy? I was attempting to kill myself remember?” Chris asked her, choking up at her sight, and the remembrance. Trembling, Buffy nodded. “I’m not strong enough to watch you starve yourself, see you die, and then bury you, Buffy. I’ll finish what I started then. I’m not letting that happen, I’m not going to let it get that far.
I’ve felt myself go down with every pound you lost, until I decided to take action. If you want to starve yourself, there’s nothing I can do about it. I can’t fly, I can’t catch you like you did for me, even you chose my more conventional method. You saved my life, and now I’m going to do everything in my power to save yours, and if you refuse, I will at least make sure that saving me, truly saved me.”
Buffy stared at him; a whirlwind of emotions burning through her: love, dread, fear, a little anger and resentment, gratefulness. She looked back down at her pants. “Eat, or we’re through,” Chris repeated solidly. Buffy then brought her hands back above the table. She looked at Chris; she didn’t want to lose him, and those pants were so lose. Trembling, she opened the first Big Mac box, and picked up the burger. Then she brought it to her mouth, hesitated again, and then forced herself to sink her teeth into it in one smooth motion. She chewed forcibly, and watched Chris slowly smile. She swallowed, and then paused. A moment later her stomach audibly rumbled; which oddly almost came out like a kitten’s purr. Chris face split in a huge smile, and told her, “Enjoy your meal, Buffy.”
Buffy nodded, a little embarrassed and continued eating, and continued eating, and continued eating . . . and continued eating. With every bit there was a revulsion, and she felt like she was inflating, but she’d rather be fat and have Chris, than be thin and lose him. Having finally finished nearly three quarters of the food; and finished fully her drink, she sat back. “Oof,” she muttered, and looked at Chris, who had finished his meal a while ago, and just sat looking at her with an encouraging smile. “Do I really have to finish it all? I’m stuffed,” Buffy muttered a little dejected. To her own disgust, a part of her looked at the food and still wanted to eat. She truly felt stuffed, and hungry at the same time.
“Yup,” Chris said with a smile that grew.
“I need to pee first,” Buffy announced, when her bladder rather suddenly protested from too much pressure.
“Alright, let’s go,” Chris said, and stood up. Buffy looked a little surprised.
“You’re can’t be serious about the bathroom thing,” Buffy said with wide eyes. Chris just looked down at her. “I can’t believe this,” Buffy muttered and got up, feeling apprehensive as Chris followed her.
Soon they were in the ladies room and entered. A woman who was finishing drying her hands looked accusingly at Chris. When he didn’t leave and stepped inside like he owned the place, she said, “This is the ladies room.”
“I know,” Chris said casually and placed himself against the edge of washing counter.
“You can’t be here,” the lady said again, and Buffy paused her waling toward a stall to look.
“Yes, I can,” Chris said almost casually, and the woman looked greatly offended when she started to leave. “Look at my girlfriend, and you’ll know why I’m here,” Chris added, gesturing to Buffy, who suddenly felt very self-conscious and continued to walk onward. The woman looked from him to Buffy and back again, and then left, without saying a thing. Started to close the door, and Chris said, “Buffy, leave the door unlocked.”
“You can’t be serious,” Buffy repeated once again, peeking out at him.
“Either that, or I’m coming in with you,” Chris told her, and Buffy looked at him. She realized he wasn’t bluffing and so she closed the door, keeping it unlocked. She grabbed some toilet paper, draped it across the seat and sat down. She felt a relief when the pressure quickly ebbed away, and as she sighed a burp came out along with it. She managed to cut it off so it wasn’t out loud, and felt the stuffed feeling in her stomach become much less. The excess air that had left had freed up some space. She finished peeing, wiped herself and stood back up. She turned around and reached for the chain to flush. She hesitated looking down at the pot, imagining all the thickly fattish stuff she had swallowed down, and she was still going to swallow down. She looked at her free fingers, and the thought of putting them down her throat occurred to her.
Her eyes widened in shock, and she quickly flushed. Then she rushed out of the stall. “Oh, god!” she exclaimed and grabbed a hold of Chris as she ran into him, hugging him tightly. “I just- I just . . . I just thought about . . . oh, god.” She whimpered against him as he held her, comforting her with sweet nothings. She sobbed, and cried for a minute, and he held her tight. When it was over, she looked up and said, “I really want to finish lunch.”
Chris nodded, “Good.”
Willow was sitting with trepidation in her therapist’s waiting room. The door to the therapy room itself opened and a young man exited. He went over to the desk, and had a conversation with the secretary while she prepared a new appointment for him. Once he had his appointment and left, the secretary looked up, and told Willow, “He’s got a hole now, Willow, you can go in.”
“Thank you,” Willow said, and got rapidly to her feet, then all but ran to her therapists office. “Hello, Mister Wade,” she greeted walking over to the chair in front of the desk. The desk stood to the left of the room, directly in front of the entrance. The short side faced the door, and the room stretched onward to the right of the door; where there were chairs, a table, a tv, mostly for group sessions.
Martin Wade finished putting some papers in a folder and looked up at Willow. “Hello, Willow, take a seat. A little earlier than expected I say? Did something happen?”
Willow reached her favorite chair inside the room, and turned to Wade, not yet sitting down. “Tara left me,” Willow said hurt.
Her therapist froze for a moment, and then as he quickly put the folder away, he said, “Yes, that would be a good reason to come see me in your case.” Having put away the folder, he sat down, and said, “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”
“Well, we were talking, and I was all happy we were back together, and . . . she heard something she didn’t like. She questioned me, forced me to answer her, and then she managed to get me to tell her about how it’s partially Faith’s fault I went overboard . . .” Willow explained.
“What!?” Martin asked her with a little surprise, “No, no, your fault - oh, Willow.”
Willow felt confused and trapped, and her face showed that easily. “That’s what we figured out, didn’t we?”
“No, no, this is all my fault, I apologize, Willow,” Wade said, sitting back dejected for a moment. “I should have seen; the very thing we’re trying to expose and exorcize has been twisting my words.” Willow looked with trepidation at her therapist, who slowly got up, and walked around the desk, to reach Willow. He slowly bent down, to get closer to Willow, and started talking, “I like to let people dig up their own problems, and recognize for what they are, instead of telling it outright; but it seems you leave me no choice, Willow. It is /not/ Faith’s fault that you went overboard. We are not uncovering /excuses/, Willow, we are uncovering /reasons/ for why /you/ did, what /you/ did. /You/, Willow, /you/ and no one else. If Faith hadn’t been the catalyst, something else would have been; or if there was no catalyst, you would have gone that place all on your own, it might just have taken a little longer. Xander keeping his secret is not an excuse, it’s a /reason/. Your parents leaving you home alone and ignoring you is not an excuse, it’s a /reason/. By uncovering these reasons, we can examine how and why you came to think of yourself as superior; that the rules don’t apply to you; that you can do all these things without consequence, and that because you also have an inferiority complex that makes you see yourself as a sweet, innocent victim, because you weren’t strong enough to defend yourself, you can do no wrong, and you should have all the power. Which, of course, is what’s making you twist the reasons we’re uncovering into excuses; see, sweet Willow could do no wrong after all.”
Through Mr. Wade’s speech, Willow had slowly pushed herself back and down into the chair. The words hurt like a giant sledge hammer slamming on her chest over and over again. Her heart broke, and pain infused her brain; along with guilt. Martin slowly stood up straight, and said, “And once you understand the reasons, you can understand the complexes you have, and with that one can battle them, cure them, make sure they never take over again. I have failed you, Willow; I read the signs wrong, I should have stepped in a long time ago.” Willow whimpered, and started to sob as she digested his words, to which he said, “Pretending to be a hurt innocent little girl is the wrong way to go, Willow, we both know you’re not.”
A sudden burst of anger make Willow look up and narrow her eyes at him, hands balled into fists. Instantly she deflated, sinking back, and looking down in shock at her once more open hands. “Oh, god,” Willow muttered, and simply stayed put, working through her emotions, and the things she’d been thinking. “I’m sick.”
“For the moment; for the moment, Willow. You’re here to get yourself treated after all,” Wade said, and sat down on the desk, folding his arms over his chest, and just thought, silently, while Willow did the same. Sometimes, he knew, silence was a better healer than words.
Later that afternoon
Dawn rang the bell on the second floor. A little later the door was opened revealing Delores. “Dawn,” the angel said a little surprised.
“Yeah, can I come in?” Dawn asked part nervous, part solid confidence.
“Of course,” Delores said, opening the door wider and gesturing in side. Dawn stepped inside and walked past the teacher slash angel. She examined the apartment as she walked in. It was rather standard; a small entrance hall with a coat rack mounted to the wall, left a bathroom judging from the color coded lock, right another door - Dawn guessed it was either a closet or a small work room - to the left there was a doorway without a door, leading to the living room; and straight ahead was the kitchen - visible because the door was open. Finally there was another right doorway, which, as it was the only remaining option, had to be the bedroom. Dawn stepped left into the living room, with Delores right behind her. The living room, kitchen and hallway seemed to be made with a single uniform color scheme: white walls, with contrasting dark grey tiles. The living room was comfy, Dawn noted, a leather couch and chairs to the left, a table in the middle and a small tv in the far corner. To the right was a book case with some books, and a higher eating table.
“Angels are allowed to read books other than the bible?” Dawn asked, half to break the ice, half genuinely surprised at the book case filled with books.
“Of course we are, Harry Potter books are my personal favorite at the moment,” Delores asked with a smile, coming to a stop just in front of the teen.
“Harry Potter? Aren’t followers of god burning those things regularly?” Dawn questioned incredulously.
“Some followers are; but God really doesn’t care what books you enjoy, Dawn,” Delores answered Dawn with a smile. “Take a seat.”
Dawn folded her arms below her chest, sat down, and asked, “Does he care whether you’ve killed?”
“Yes,” Delores replied, realizing this was going to become a religious, philosophical talk.
“Doesn’t he forgive you everything when you believe in him and ask for it?” Dawn asked rather annoyed; she had better things to do than talk with his self-confessed angel. But then she reminded herself; she had come here herself; she had to do this.
“No, you have to show true remorse, simply stating you believe in him, true or not, is not enough,” Delores explained with certainty.
Dawn nodded, and then asked, “So, God, he’s real, and the others, the false gods, are false, right?”
“Yes,” Delores answered, nodding, and realized something. “Would you like something to drink while we talk?”
“No,” Dawn answered smoothly and looked at Delores, “So how do I know when I’m talking with God and not some false one messing with me?”
Delores hesitated, searching for some answer. How did you do that? “You just do,” Delores answered finally, a little embarrassed she didn’t have a better answer.
“Not very helpful,” Dawn observed, and Delores shrugged apologetically. “What about Raiden?”
“Uh . . . one of the false gods, I presume?” Delores asked confused.
Dawn let out a breath, and then said, “No, Raiden is as far above the false gods, us, and I’m guessing you, being a mere angel, than we are above an insect. He’s pretty much omnipotent; he appeared to Faith, he can teleport to wherever, he can sentences made from lighting appear in mid ear, he can create a letter in anyone’s handwriting and place it wherever he wants.”
“That is rather impressive . . .” Delores said, obviously impressed. “But he too, is ultimately tiny in the face of the one and only true God . . .” Delores trailed of.
Dawn waited, her patience quickly wearing thin, and then said, “But Raiden was trustworthy, he was truly on our side.”
Frowning, now that she Dawn’s words struck a cord, “Unless of course, this Raiden was God in a disguise your Faith could wrap her mind around. Like you said, I’m just a lowly angel, I do not know every last bit of God and what he’s thinking.”
“Al right, so why me? Why do I get not one, but two angels after me? ” Dawn asked with bravado, bravado she didn’t really feel. She shifted in her seat, and said, “What’s so special about me?”
“Normally being human is enough, god loves his children after all. In your case however, there is a special reason, but I can’t tell you,” Delores stated, still uncertain, this was indeed a tough cookie to crack. A little light show was usually enough; Dawn, though, was made of sterner stuff.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dawn asked the Angel.
“It means that your faith can’t be false, it must be true. You can’t believe, or tell yourself and us you believe, just to fulfill a set of conditions to help make something happen or not happen. You have to believe in god regardless of that; you must truly believe,” Delores explained, hopefully enough.
“Oh . . . I guess that makes sense,” Dawn said, deflating a little, then staying silent for a short time - thinking things over. When she realized she had no questions anymore, she asked the angel half suspiciously, “You don’t mind if I go and think this stuff over more?”
“Take all the time you need,” Delores said, and got up, along with Dawn. The teacher lead Dawn to the exit, and after greeting Delores, Dawn left.
“Oh, bloody HELL! Not again!” Spike muttered, and looked longingly at the tv screen. Dawn came through the drapes of his make shift living room in his tomb, and with a long suffering sigh and turned off the tv with his remote. He dumped the remote back down on his stolen red couch, turned his head up to look Dawn, and asked darkly, “What now?”
“I’ve talked to her,” Dawn said, and walked over, sitting herself down in the couch without asking. Spike grimaced after Dawn frowned and pulled the remote from under her ass.
“And?” Spike muttered.
“Well, she can’t say why I have to be converted, because that would give me reason to fake out the faith and it has to be real,” Dawn answered him, rather annoyed herself.
“Why aren’t you talking to your father about this?” Spike asked, half curious, half annoyed.
“I already told you; he’s not good with the supernatural, he accepts it’s part of my and Buffy’s lives, but he’s still uncomfortable with it, nor is he very knowledgeable,” Dawn said with annoyed tone over having to repeat herself.
“Oh, yeah,” Spike muttered, half grumbled, vaguely remembering Dawn rattling on about various reasons she was here and not with anyone else that morning. “Bugger all, why do you want to believe the dumb bitch anyway?”
Dawn sighed. “If it’s true, then mom isn’t just gone, she’s in a good place somewhere,” Dawn explained pained.
“That’s nice,” Spike muttered with a tone that said he felt it was anything but. “Then why this whole questioning thing, just jump in it already and be done with it. Plenty people do.”
Dawn sighed, and looked up. Then she turned back to look at Spike, and said, “I’m not plenty people . . . plus, it doesn’t make sense.”
“Religions never do, pet,” Spike replied half-tired of the conversation, but intrigued.
“Not just the stupid faith, Spike,” Dawn muttered in annoyance. “Why the hell did mom come to me? What for? What does ‘she will not choose me’, mean? Why would Buffy have to ‘choose me’? She’s here, raising me, isn’t she? Why would another angel not know this? Why the hell even send another angel? And when you do send one, why do you send some ignorant low one? Hell, why would an omnipotent god even need angels? He can’t do it himself? Raiden could be bothered to come down to talk to Faith his own damn self, but the great almighty good has to send some dumb lackeys? Speaking of Raiden; if he’s so false, why the hell would God let the dude and others of his caliber come down to Earth to speak to us? I mean, how are we possibly able to see the difference between one omnipotent being and another? And if he does allow it; why the hell don’t we see him regularly to affirm his existence and that Raiden and his ilk are false?” Dawn sighed, taking a deep breath.
“Beats me, babe, I’m a vampire; a demon, I just like to bathe in blood, drink the stuff, and cause misery, death, despair, and destruction wherever I go. Gods are not our thing,” Spike told her casually.
“Shit,” Dawn said, and then sank to her left in defeat, leaning against Spike’s shoulder. Spike looked at her face and hair, and again was reminded how she and the others didn’t take him seriously. They were going to regret that one day he vowed; oh, they would regret it.
“Uhhhh . . .” Buffy muttered. She was sitting on the couch, with Chris next to her. She was slid down, with her lower back on the seat, and she lay dazedly looking forward. Her left hand was on her stomach, and she said, “My stomach hurts.”
Xander and Willow were sitting across from the couple on the second couch, and looking amazed at the blonde Slayer. “I still can hardly believe it,” Willow said, obviously surprised, “Ms. Stubborn done in.”
“I said I’d be more stubborn today,” Chris said with a self-satisfied grin, and looked at Buffy.
“When you marry you should change the name to Mr. and Mrs. Mulehead,” Xander half-quipped, still a little surprised himself. Willow giggled.
“Very funny, ugh,” Buffy muttered, and then turned her head right and up, looking at Chris. “I can’t believe you made me eat every last crumb. I’m so full I might throw up, and not because I put a finger down my throat at a toilet. I mean, the salad? After I ate fries /and/ five Big . . . uh . . .”
“Sounds yummy,” Xander commented with a smile. From Buffy came the sound of her almost throwing up, the slapping sound of her hand to her mouth, and her then forcing it back down with a swallow.
“See! What the hell would the salad have added to all that anyway?” she complained up at Chris. “Ugh . . . tummy hurts . . . I feel like that guy in that Monty Python movie,” she pouted, feeling her stomach again.
“You’re really cute now,” Chris said with a smile, and bent down to give Buffy a loving kiss on her lips.
“Well,” Jesse’s disembodied voice sounded, “I for one will make sure that Buffy eats lots of fattening greasy food. I’ll even deep fry chicken, and rice, and stuff in the frying pan if I have to.”
Buffy immediate let out a sound of getting ready to throw up, her hand slapped back on her mouth, and then she jumped up, and ran off. A little while later from the toilet there came the unmistakable sound of someone puking her guts out. “I told you, you bastard!”
“Sorry,” Jesse, and Chris replied in unison.
To Be Continued . . .
Next time on Buffy Z: Faith is out searching for the Beast, but can she handle the newest toy FakeCordy gives her pet?