A shrill beeping woke Charles Gunn up from a particularly pleasant dream involving Angel begging for his help, two perfectly good legs making acrobatic leaps off of insurmountable heights, and (rather incongruously) Buffy dressed as the woman from the Swiss Miss boxes, holding up a giant mug of frothy beer.

He smacked his hand against the alarm clock and sat up awkwardly.

Like every morning, it took exactly 15 seconds for his left leg to start itching, and it took him 18 seconds to realize he couldn't do a damn thing about it. The leg sat there, a big plastered lump jutting out from his body. The limb was dotted with pins meant to keep everything screwed in place so things wouldn't get more injured than they already were.

The doctors had explained the situation, but Gunn hadn't really been paying that much attention. What he had gathered was that the bones in his left leg were mostly gone - shattered. Worse, the injuries had ripped through the muscle, leaving it all but useless. The doctors had said that there was a chance that Gunn would be able to leave the wheelchair, but he would never walk without the use of a cane.

Gunn peered into the darkness. His room was really just an extra office off the back hallway. Angel had been kind enough to stick in a bed and a dresser. There weren't any windows to the outside, so the room was almost completely without external light. The alarm clock displaying 9:30 AM in large LCD numerals was the only indication that it was morning.

He pressed his head against the unpainted wall and looked at the ceiling for a while. At least he dragged himself into bed last night. There were times when he had slept in the chair, not bothering to change his clothes the next day. He would watch Dawn try hard not to say anything about it.

He wished she would.

"Time to get it goin', man," Gunn said to himself. He lifted his body off the bed with his arms, turned his body slightly, and eased into the wheelchair that was pressed against the side of the mattress.

His injured leg still lay on the bed. Gunn reached over to the pair of shorts hanging over the edge of an open dresser drawer. They were designed for people who couldn't pull them over their legs; they snapped on just like diapers. Buffy had been there when they showed him. Girl looked like she had a wisecrack ready.

Gunn probably would've laughed, too. But it never came.

The shorts were snapped in place, and Gunn threw on a maroon t-shirt bearing a rather unhappy looking metal skull on the front. Andrew brought it to him from ComicCon. The shirt was too big for the kid, obviously, so he handed it on down to the guy in the chair. "Can't buy my own stuff," Gunn muttered. "Gotta get freebies from the geek machine."

He secured his left leg to the apparatus that kept it off the ground. He looked like a fool with the big-ass cast just jutting out, but what was he gonna do? World was against him. Bluebird tells him he won't last ten minutes, and here he is months later. Nothin' goes to plan.

Wheeling around, he finally hit the light switch by the door. The single bulb flickered on, illuminating Gunn's paltry accommodations.

He heard some sort of light scuffling outside. Maybe Dawn was coming in late. No, she had the day off to visit the UC San Diego campus with Buffy. Illyria usually made more noise, and Andrew always came in the front way. Sure as hell wasn't Willow; Dawn said that the witch had passed out from one attempt at walking on her own. Willow was okay, but she wasn't goin' anywhere for a while. Could be Angel or Spike, though.

Gunn grabbed the knob and pulled open the door. Lights flashed, blinding him. He threw his arm in front of his eyes and wheeled backwards into his room. He grabbed the baseball bat in the corner, gripping the handle tightly. If some demon was coming after him, they were going to be badly bruised.

He slammed his wheels forward swinging the bat blindly at his opponents. He heard them jump back; there were at least five.

"Charles Gunn," one of them said.

"Who wants to know?" Gunn asked, still making wild swings.

"Jeff Goodham, E! Entertainment News. What can you tell us about your pitched battle against the Senior Partners? And is it true that you're signed on for a remake of House of Wax?"

Gunn dropped his bat. His temporary blindness was lifting, and he saw that that "monsters" were the members of a camera crew and a suited man nervously holding a microphone.

"What the - "

"Nah, Wil. You'd love the place," Xander said. He held up the disposable camera, pointed it at the kitchenette, and clicked. "I still haven't unpacked everything, so it's a little messy. But you should see my bedroom. It's way bigger than I need it to be."

"Then give it to me," Spike said from the couch, barely looking up from his Game Boy.

Xander turned away from his new roommate. "No. What? Oh. That was just Spike." He nodded. "Yeah. Okay." He put his hand over the mouthpiece and turned back to the vampire. "Willow says 'hi.'"

Spike smirked.

"Yeah, Wil. We're getting along okay. Nothing in the way of a major blowout."

"Though there was some contention about who got the bottom shelf in the kitchen cabinet," Spike called out.

"Though there was some contention about who got the bottom shelf in the kitchen cabinet. ... Yeah, no. I let him have it. I get the other two anyway. ... No, we haven't really gotten into fridge rights yet, 'cept for my beer. And - what? ... Yeah, we still have to talk about the blood." Xander listened for a little bit. "I know you want to see it, Wil."

Xander lifted his camera up and took a shot of Spike on the couch. "You'll get to. Sooner than you think."

Spike rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, I'll talk to you later, Wil. Feel better, okay?" Xander flipped the phone shut and put it in the charger.

"How's Red doin'?" Spike asked.

"What? Oh. Better. She's getting better every day," Xander said. "That's the good news."

"And the bad?"

"Everything's still pointing to magick-related. She does a spell, and she's completely knocked out. Locator, pencil floating, you name it."

"Huh," Spike said. "Sorry to hear. Know the magick's been important to her. Been important to all of us at one point or another."

"Yeah." Xander gave the kitchen's doorframe a light pound with his fist. "I just wish there was something I could do, y'know. Like -- Wait, are we having a real conversation?"

Spike arched an eyebrow. "Oh, bloody hell."

Xander shuddered comically. "It's like Armageddon."

"Can't have that. Wanker."

"Peroxide breath.

"Bricklayin' nancy-boy."

"I feel better about this now," Xander said. His cell started ringing.

Spike smirked. "Is that the Indiana Jones theme music?"

Xander ignored him and flipped his phone open. "Hello?"

There was girlish laughing on the other end.

"Willow?"

More giggling.

"Hello?"

"Shut up, shut up," a voice said to somebody not-Xander.

"Uh..."

"Is this Spike?"

"No."

"Ohmygod, is this Xander Harris?"

"Uh, yeah."

The girl on the other end of the phone called back to somebody (or many somebodys), "Hey, it's Xander!”

"Can I help you?" Xander asked.

"Oh, like, I'm so sorry to bother you, I know you're probably, like, super-busy and everything, Xan- Mr. Harris, but me and my friends are all, like, your biggest fans."

"Biggest whats?"

"The way you've just been the heart of the Scoobies for all these years... Susie just has the biggest crush on you, ever."

A voice in the background yelled, "I do not!"

"Who is this?" Xander asked, somewhat incredulous.

"And we're all really sorry about how you lost Anya, too."

Xander gritted his teeth. "Don't call this number ever again." He hung up on the girl and squeezed the phone until his hand turned red.

Spike put down his Game Boy. "What was that about?"

The cell phone split into several pieces, as cell phones tend to do when they're thrown against walls with great force.

"I have to find Buffy. Something's very, very weird."

Buffy ambled down a sidewalk, her sister by her side. The Slayer's brow furrowed. "There's something bothering me."

"What's that?" Dawn asked.

"Okay, so we're at UC San Diego. And we're in La Jolla."

"Yeah?"

"So why isn't it UC La Jolla?"

"It's sorta still San Diego," Dawn said. "There's this whole thing. The guy at the bookstore explained it to me."

Buffy grinned. "The one you were flirting with?"

Dawn blushed. "Was not. Much."

"I'd mock you," Buffy said, "but if he so much as touches you, I have to kill him. It's my sacred duty as a slayer to protect the world from vampires, demons, and libido-driven college boys. Trust me, that last one's probably the worst."

"I know, I know. If a guy ever tells me that I need to seize the day, use the tazer."

"That's my girl."

Out of the corner of her eye, Buffy saw a pair of girls stare at her and then walk away, chattering to each other and sneaking quick glances back.

Dawn moved closer to her sister. "Buffy?"

"Yeah, Dawn?"

"Do you get the feeling we're being watched?"

"Just a little."

More eyes turned to them and looked away quickly. A group of frat boys stopped and ogled them. Conversations suddenly died to hushed whispers as they passed.

A mousy girl with brown hair approached the pair. "Hi, you don't know me. I mean, why would you know me? I'm nobody. I mean, if you wanted to know me, you... oh, I'm babbling..."

Buffy looked the girl over; she didn't seem to be a threat. "Can I help you?"

"Uh, well. This is silly. You don't have to if you don't want to, but I was..." The girl reached into her massive purse and rustled through the contents until she found what she wanted -- a pink notebook with sparkles on the cover. She opened it to a blank page and proffered a pen at Buffy. "I was wondering if I could get your autograph, Buffy. You and Dawn."

"How do you know my name?" Buffy asked.

"Oh! I'm sorry. Is this not what you're supposed to do? I never get these things right. I just babble and make myself look like an idiot and here I go again." The girl started to put away her notebook. "So sorry. I didn't mean to --"

Buffy grabbed the girl's arm. An outside perspective would see a gentle, reaffirming touch of friendship, but the person being grabbed felt a hand squeezing their veins closed. "I don't care about the autograph book," Buffy said. "How do you know my name? How do you know Dawn's name?"

"I - I... I'm sorry. I just... I'm a big fan, is all. I'm a posting member on Buffy-Summers.net and everything."

Dawn touched Buffy's shoulder gently. "Buffy. I don't think she knows what's going on anymore than we do."

Buffy glanced over at her sister. "How can you tell?"

"The students. They've -- they've formed a line."

Buffy let go of the trembling autograph hound and looked behind her. There were at least thirty people, all waiting patiently with autograph books and pens at ready. "Why?" she asked.

Dawn had the look of a girl who reality had left on the doorstep. "They're waiting. For us."

"And don't be scarin' a brother like that first thing in the mornin'!" Gunn said before slamming the front door behind the E! camera crew.

He spun around and headed back to his room. "Damn. Hell of a thing," he muttered to himself.
Entering the back hallway, he saw Angel descending the stairs, chatting excitedly with somebody.

"Well, yeah. I mean, they were *evil,* the vampire said, "but it was still a business. Still had to meet a certain profit margin in order to keep it less evil."

As Angel stepped down into the hallway, Gunn saw that, behind him, was a good-looking young blond woman in a stark business suit. "Fantastic, Mr. Angel," she said, scribbling notes on a little pad.

"Please, call me Angel."

The woman blushed. "Okay... Angel."

Angel turned toward the office and finally caught sight of Gunn. "Ms. Kurtz. I'd like you to meet my associate, Charles Gunn."

Ms. Kurtz walked over and extended her hand. "Very pleased to meet you, Mr. Gunn. I've heard so much about your valiant efforts in that terrible battle against the Senior Partners."

Gunn took the hand. "Oh, have you now," he said, looking at Angel. "Can't imagine how."

Angel's jaw tightened a little. "Eloise, why don't you go into my office? We'll continue the interview there."

After Eloise was out of earshot, Angel grinned. "Did you see? Forbes Magazine! They want to interview me about my brilliant way of handling overhead interference. They're calling it the 'Angel Corporate Violence Strategy.' I'm gonna be on the cover."

"That's really great," Gunn said, indicating it wasn't. "I nearly knocked out an E! Camera Crew this morning, and now I got some chick from a magazine I ain't read since February condescendin' to me."

"Hey, look," Angel said. "If they want to give a little appreciation for the hard work we've put in for saving the world..."

Gunn's left eyebrow flexed upward and his mouth twisted down. "You really think the world just sat up and noticed us?"

"Okay, it's a little off," Angel admitted. "But it's Forbes Magazine!"

"Yeah," Gunn said. "You have fun with that. Let me know when you're ready to get down to business." He grabbed his wheels and pushed himself into his room, shutting the door behind him.

Dawn and Buffy ran into the apartment, slamming the door behind them and locking it. They slumped down on the couch, catching their breath.

"What the hell was that?" Buffy asked.

Dawn's head lolled back. "Paparazzi, I think."

"Were they just, like, lying in wait?"

"Don't know," Dawn said. "But I'm having weird flashbacks about that Jonathan guy and a swimsuit calendar."

"That's crazy." Buffy peeked out the window at the gaggle of photographers, who immediately started snapping pictures. She pulled back quickly. "Then again, this is pretty high on the insaneo chart, too."

"Do you think it's weird that the monks put in memories of the super-Jonathan reality?"

"What? No. Not at all," Buffy said. She stood up and walked back to Willow's room. Dawn followed.

Xander was there, sitting at Willow's bedside and obviously upset about something.

"Xander," Buffy said. "We tried calling you on the way home from the school, but..."

"Yeah, there was an incident with my phone," Xander said quickly. "You guys wouldn't happen to have noticed a sudden boost in the public appeal factor, would you?"

"And how." Buffy brushed some old issues of Scientific American off the edge of Willow's bed and sat down. "We were surrounded. What about you?"

Xander frowned. "Some girls got my cell phone number and used it. They talked like I was some kind of heartthrob superstar. Mentioned things people have no right to mention."

Willow gestured at her laptop. "My e-mail box has been flooded with messages telling me my slayer-activating mojo has been a huge inspiration to them. How could they have known about that? How could they know what a vampire slayer is?"

Buffy stared at the floor. Then, she snapped up. "Website!"

"Website?" Xander asked.

"The girl! At the university! Website!"

Dawn jumped. "Oh! Website!"

Willow looked at the two sisters. "Hey, did those you-lovin' folks happen to take some of your brains while they were hounding you?"

"We met a girl on campus," Dawn said. "She mentioned something about a website... Buffy-summers.net."

Willow grabbed her laptop from the nightstand and opened it. She tapped out the URL. "Is that with a hyphen?"

"Might be," Buffy said.

"Oh, yeah. It's hyphenated," Willow said. She turned the screen towards her friends.

Buffy gaped. Dawn gawked. Xander's eye widened.

It was a fansite. Devoted to them. "Buffy-Summers.Net - The One Stop for All the Scooby News and Rumors!" A big group picture, pasted together from various photographs, featured all four of them, plus Angel, Spike, Andrew, and Gunn.

Xander's mouth, moved but he completely failed to make any noise.

"I feel icky," Buffy said.

"I think it's kinda cool," Dawn said.

Xander's eyebrows shot up. "What? Cool? They've got our picture pasted on the Internet. We - This - "

"Well, I think it's time we started getting some recognition for all the work we do," Dawn said. "We lost a hometown, most of our possessions, a lot of our friends. Our family. The least the world can do for us is say 'Good work.'"

"There's something not right about this, Dawnie," Willow said.

"We don't need acknowledgment," Xander said. "We do our jobs. That's enough. We can't have people calling us up and talking to us like we're heroes."

"Aren't we?" Dawn asked.

Buffy rubbed her temples. "I can't deal with this right now."

"Hate to break it to you, Buffy, but 'this' is kinda happening 'right now,'" Willow said.

"Maybe it'll blow over," Buffy said. She sighed. "Look, just - try to find out who started the website and why. We'll deal with this."

Andrew rushed in the door. "Have you seen the crowds out there? It's almost as bad as downtown during ComicCon!"

"Yeah, something weird-but-cool is going on," said Dawn.

"I know," said Andrew. "My cell phone's been ringing like crazy! I think I've used up all my minutes for the month. And, uh, we should probably clean up this place a bit."

"You're telling me to clean up? I've seen how you live!" said Buffy.

"I'm not complaining - it's just that I kindofbookedaninterviewwithE."

"Stop mumbling," said Xander.

"I booked an interview with E!" Andrew said. "Not for me! For you," he said to Buffy. "And they might want to talk to a couple of other people - it's this whole thing. But they'll be here pretty soon, and I don't think you want the whole country to see your undies." He reached into the laundry basket sitting on the couch and pulled out an article to illustrate.

"Nice," said Xander to Buffy. "Black lace thong. Isn't that a Frederick’s of Hollywood item? Feeling naughty?" He grinned lasciviously.

"Um. Those are mine." Dawn snatched them out of Andrew's hand, stuffed them in her pocket, and took the laundry basket to her room.

"Oh," said Xander. "Good to see I haven't lost my touch for inappropriate suggestive comments."

"Hello? E! will be here in, like, twenty minutes!" Andrew said.

"What gives you the right to book interviews for me?" demanded Buffy. "And where is all this coming from, anyway?"

"You know that video I shot back in Sunnydale?"

"The one that you destroyed? Like I asked you to?"

Andrew squirmed under Buffy's glare. "Well, I didn't actually destroy it. I sort of hid it."

"Hid it where?"

"I tucked it away in an old backpack in the basement. I thought it was lost in the rubble!" Andrew backed up as Buffy glowered at him.

"I guess not," said Willow. "Someone knows all about us."

"Come on, Buffy. You're not in the middle of a life-or-death battle right now. Why not take some time and appreciate your fans?" suggested Andrew.

"I can't now! Willow's sick, and there's some big evil thing out there --"

Andrew's phone rang. "Andrew Wells," he answered it. "I'm sorry, it looks like we'll have to cancel... well, she's got a friend who's pretty sick... no, I don't think that would help... yeah, kind of... really? Maybe. I'll check with her, and call you back." He hung up. "Kristina at E! has a friend who owns a holistic healing center. There's normally a waiting list years long, but she said they could look at Willow - if Buffy does the interview."

"No way," said Buffy. "You can't blackmail me into it."

"It's not blackmail!" protested Andrew.

"Technically, I think it's bribery," said Xander.

"Whatever! I'm not using Willow as some kind of bargaining chip," declared Buffy.

"Um, hello? I'm sitting right here," said Willow. "Andrew - what's the name of this place?"

"Spirit of the Mother Healing Center."

"Oh, they're supposed to be really good!" exclaimed Willow. "Not that I need that," she added hastily.

"I thought magic couldn't do healing stuff?" asked Xander.

"It depends," said Willow. "Magic can't cure cancer or anything, but it can often accelerate the normal healing process. Even give it a jump start. And if this is a mystical illness, magic may be the only way to cure it."

Buffy sighed. "Fine. Book me, Andrew. But you're cleaning up the place."

"Buffy, you don't have to --" said Willow.

"It's fine. No big. Oh, I need to pick out an outfit!" She dashed into her room.

Andrew picked up his phone and dialed. "Kristina? Yeah, we're on. Can someone from the Healing Center come over today?"

Buffy popped out of her room, holding three skirts and a pair of shoes. "Andrew! See if you can get someone to do my hair and makeup. I'll never have time to get ready by myself!" She dashed back inside.

"Whoa," said Willow.

"Uh-oh," said Xander. "What now?"

"Nothing major," she said. "I just - well - the posting board on the website has a section for fanfiction."

"Fanfiction?" Xander asked. "Like those Doogie Howser stories you wrote?"

"Kind of. These seem to be a little, uh, different."

"Wil? What's going on?"

"People wrote stories about you and Spike," Willow admitted.

"So, they didn't write any about you guys? That's too bad," said Xander.

"No," said Willow. "They wrote stories about you and Spike. I guess they found out about you guys rooming together."

"Oh!" said Andrew, who'd just gotten off the phone. He leaned over Willow's shoulder to read.

"Oh, so, like Odd Couple stuff?" asked Xander.

Willow sighed. She pushed the laptop at Xander.

"Wow, that is so --" Andrew saw the look on Willow's face. "...inappropriate. And disturbing."

"Oh my God!" Xander yelped. "Oh my God!" He shoved the laptop back at Willow. "Burn it, Wil!"

"It's on the Internet," she replied.

"Burn the Internet! Ew, ew, ew, ew, and did I mention ew?!"

"You want me to destroy the Internet? Bring down a major worldwide communcations system because you don't like a story?" asked Willow.

"Did you read it, Wil?"

"Yes," said Willow seriously. "I thought the part with the banana split was rather creative."

"Banana split?" asked Andrew. "Let me see!" He reached for the laptop, but Xander closed the lid.

"No! No seeing! Wil, please make it go away!" begged Xander.

"It's just a fad, Xander," Willow said. "They'll forget about us soon, and it'll all go away."

"And if not, we could send them a Cease and Desist letter," said Andrew. "Gunn's, like, the Uber-Lawyer. He could totally shut down the whole site."

"I don't know," said Willow. "Isn't that censorship?"

"Wil!" cried Xander.

"Or, we can close the browser and pretend it doesn't exist," offered Willow.

Andrew nodded. "We shall never speak of this again."

"It's a start," sighed Xander.

Someone knocked on the door.

"Oh, no! They're here early!" Andrew ran for the door.

TUESDAY

"No, she's all booked up today, and tomorrow's filling up quick." The house phone rang. And rang. Andrew covered his left ear with his hand so he could hear the person on the other end of his cell phone. "Really? The Daily Show?"

The house phone kept ringing. "Someone get that," yelled Buffy from the bathroom, where the shower was running.

"New York? Yeah - hang on a parasec." Andrew set down the cell phone and picked up the house phone. "Summers-Rosenberg residence.... She's not available, but I can take a message.... Six o'clock? A.M.? ... I don't know..." There was a knock at the door. "Can you hang on?" He set the phone down and answered the door.

"Hi!" A cheerful Asian girl waited outside. A black Lincoln Continental waited at the curb.

"Hi," said Andrew, confused. "Uh, who are you?"

"I'm Christa? With Jane magazine? Is this the Summers house?"

"Oh! Oh no! I thought you were coming at twelve!" Andrew exclaimed.

"That's a little late for brunch," laughed Christa.

"No, I thought it was lunch - or is that with the girl from MTV?" Voices came from the abandoned phones, calling Andrew's name. "Come in - I gotta get the phone." He left the door open and grabbed the house phone. "Listen, can I call you back? Ok, cool." He hung up the phone, then winced. "I forgot to get the number!" He picked up the cell phone, but the caller had hung up. He sighed.

Buffy appeared in the doorway wearing a bathrobe, her hair wrapped in a towel. "Andrew, can you run down to the dryer and -- Ack! Who are you?" she asked Christa.

"Sorry! I got the times wrong!" said Andrew. "This is Christa, from Jane."

"Nice to meet you," said Christa.

Buffy gave a quick wave. "Uh, I'm not ready. Fifteen mintes? Please?"

"No problem," said Christa. Buffy disappeared back into her room.

Andrew dropped onto the couch and sighed.

"Looks like you're having a tough time," said Christa.

"I can handle it," declared Andrew.

"I'm sure you can," she replied. "But if you need some help - I've got a friend who works at the Patterson Agency. She's usually got a full client load, but I think she just lost a couple people to another agency. Might be able to help your guys out."

"I'm doing fine," said Andrew. The cell phone and house phone both started ringing. He glared at them.

"You sure?" asked Christa, when he didn't make an effort to answer them.

"Okay, maybe I could use a little help."

She nodded and handed him a business card. "Give her a call. She's got a full staff to handle this stuff."

Andrew nodded and looked over the card as he got up to get the phone. Both of them.

A few hours later, a tiny silver BMW pulled up to the house. A stylish, yet unbelievably expensive pair of shoes emerged, followed by a perfectly shaped pair of legs, which happened to be attached to a well-groomed woman with short blond hair.

She spotted Xander watching her from the front patio. "You must be Xander," she said.

"Eyepatch gave it away?" he asked.

"It's fabulous, sweetie. Very swashbuckling, which is quite popular right now."

"I guess," said Xander. "And you are... ?"

"Laurel," she said, offering her hand.

Xander shook it, but she let her hand linger in his for a moment before drawing it back. "Should I know you?"

"Mr. Wells didn't mention I was coming?" she asked, concerned.

"Who? Andrew? Oh, are you the agent?"

"Manager, actually, but that's close enough. Would you like to introduce me to the others?" She held out her arm. Xander was confused for a second until he realized she wanted him to escort her.

"Uh, sure," He awkwardly linked his arm with hers, and they headed into the apartment.

The rain spattered down on the alley pavement. Spike was soaked to his very bone, but he had other concerns. A dozen vampires surrounded him, circling closer and closer in a tight, fatal gauntlet of undead bodies.

Spike's mouth curled into a sneer. "Think you got the big and hairys to take on the biggest bad you ever seen?"

"You're going down, Spike!" one hissed at him.

Another bared her elongated teeth. "This rain will be the last thing you ever feel, souled one!"

"Least I got it where it counts, bitch," Spike retorted.

The threat of violence became a reality as Spike's opponents lunged at him from all sides.

Spike gave a joyful roar and grabbed two stakes out of the bandaliers hidden under his leather coat. He swung to drive the first into an oncoming vampire, when a streak of blue hair and red leather swooped in from above and threw aside all twelve assailants.

Illyria snatched the stake away from Spike and thrust it into the chest of one of the vampires. It bounced off harmlessly.

"CUT!"

The "vampire" looked up at Illyria and rubbed his ribcage. "Ow. That wasn't in the choreography."

The rain stopped coming down. A thin man in a t-shirt and jeans sauntered from behind the large movie camera and into the middle of the aborted fracas. "Spike, man? Uh, what the hell?"

Spike rolled his eyes. "Sorry, Denny. Uh, this is Illyria."

"Who?"

"Illyria. Friend of mine? Part of the whole gang?"

"Sorry. Must've missed that part. Is she one of those new slayers?"

Spike shook his head. "No, mate. Look, she's... Wait a minute. Illyria what the bloody hell are you doin' here?"

"You were not at your abode. Something strange has happened to reality, and I wished to see if you or Xander had also noted this." Her head twitched to one side. "And now I find you in some curious game."

"It's called acting, love," Spike said. "Andrew rang me up, said I should do a demo reel for the studios." He smirked. "I'm 'sposed to be a hotter commodity than that Farrell wanker."

"De-mo reel?" Illyria inquired.

"Yeah, blue. Cinema."

"I know this. Xander showed me the moving story with the small blue creature who destroyed things. I found him amusing." She regarded Spike for a moment. "You do not appear to be as brightly colored as he."

"Well, no, but I expect my language is a touch more vivid," Spike said, smirking.

Denny burst in between the two of them. "Hey, guys, while I find this little reunion touching and all, we have work to do still." He put his arm around Illyria's waist. "C'mon, babe, I'll walk you - "

Spike cringed. "Mate, I wouldn't..."

Illyria grabbed Denny's offending arm, twisted it around, and then gave him a demonstration in extreme person flinging. The director crashed into a group of stuntmen in vampire makeup, knocking them all to the ground.

"He had the audacity to -- "

"Yeah, yeah. No mortal may touch you without your supreme written permission." Spike put his hands on his hips. "Look, I've got to get back on this, on top of sorting this new mess out. I'll catch up with you later, yeah? We'll have coffee and petri dishes on Friday or some such."

"Whatever is affecting reality is affecting you as well," Illyria said, "and yet I cannot sense any change in your fundamental presence."

"Nothing's changed. I'm just me. With fame," Spike noted. "Which, all told, is more than a little fun." He turned to the stuntmen. "Sorry 'bout the delay, all. Denny, can we take it from my joyful roar? Don't think I quite expressed what a kick I get out of the carnage."

Illyria watched Spike snap his fingers at the crewmen standing on top of the buildings that formed the walls of the alleyway. "Can we get the rain goin' again? Need the sense of atmosphere!"

As the false torrents of condensation began to soak her form, she considered an attempt to solve the alterations in reality. However, Spike seemed joyful in his cinema, and she was content to watch his attempt at fulfillment. If nothing else, it would provide some amount of amusement.

"I'd like to know why the hell I'm here," Gunn said. The ambience of the Italian restaurant was a little... overbearing. The place screamed overpriced. Gunn refused to drink the water for fear of finding a five-dollar rehydration charge on his bill.

Laurel clicked her perfectly manicured nails against the tablecloth. "Andrew brought me in to help take care of you all," she said.

Gunn arched an eyebrow. "Hey, you seem nice an' all, but..."

"No, no. Not like that," Laurel said, laughing. "I just couldn't help but notice that you aren't enjoying yourself as much as the others."

"Look, when I got people houndin' me for my soundbite, the suspicion alarm goes up, a’ight?"

Laurel nodded. "Oh, I don't blame you, dear."

"Say what?"

"Oh, yes. What could they possibly see in you?"

"Uh..."

"Here you are, handsome young lawyer with the highest win rate in Los Angeles County."

Gunn shrugged. "There's that."

"You've obviously come from a disadvantaged background and worked your way up. A real rags to riches story, and I can't think of anybody who would find *that* interesting."

"Nah, can't imagine," Gunn said with a pleased little grin.

"You've fought vampires, demons, and unspeakable monsters - and you do it without any special abilities save the ones you trained into yourself. My, my, you're a regular discouragement to normal human beings everywhere."

"Terrible," Gunn said. He took a sip of water. "Guess there's really no reason for people to look to me for anything."

"None at all," Laurel said. "Which is why I think it'd be wrong of me to put you forth as the spokesperson for a new inner-city youth initiative. We simply can't allow you to get up on that stage tomorrow and show the world that anybody can make it, given the right kind of moral fiber and personal fortitude."

Gunn's face locked down in mock seriousness. "For shame. Somethin' must be done."

"Absolutely."

"When they pickin' me up?"

"4:30 tomorrow afternoon. From Willow's apartment - the limo service just knows the way better. Do you think you could be bothered to spend some time there?"

Gunn grinned. "Might be able to swing it." He picked up the menu and gave it a quick scan. "I'm in the mood for something rich tonight," he said with a smirk.

"Oh, Gunn darling," Laurel said. "Why would you need rich food with such a rich life? Go light tonight. You have to maintain your figure for the public."

WEDNESDAY

Buffy flopped down on the couch. She was finally alone. Dawn was off with Andrew at Angel's place going over her next big move. Willow was at the healing place. Xander was at home prepping for some carpentry thing he had later that night.

And she didn't have a thing to do for at least an hour. No photo shoots, interviews, fundraisers, speeches, or demonstrations. Just an empty apartment and a... Gunn.

"Hey, yo," Gunn said, wheeling in. "How you doin' today?"

"I'm -"

"Cuz let me tell you, the sun is shinin', birds are singin'. This fame thing ain't half-bad."

Buffy smiled. "What got into you?"

"Nothin'," Gunn said with a grin. "You seen Laurel around?"

"Uh, no. She's probably off arranging our lives. I thought she was supposed to be helping Andrew, but she's pretty much taken over."

"Girl knows what she's doin'. Gotta give her that." He pushed himself over to the kitchen. "You guys got some egg whites?"

Buffy shook her head. "The camera crews eat the food as soon as we stock it. There's nothing in there."

"Oh," Gunn turned around.

"I was just gonna watch some TV," Buffy said.

"Hey, cool."

Buffy grabbed the remote, snuggled up with a pillow, and flicked the television set on.

A voiceover announced: "-- nd now we return to 'The Many Loves of Buffy Summers,' only on E! Entertainment Television."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "You've got to be kidding me."

The show cut to a fairly empty studio with a few giant movie-style props in the background. A brusquely handsome man with a microphone stood in middle. "We've already explored her great loves, Angel and Spike -- "

"Oh thank God."

"-- and now we turn to the other men whose lives Buffy Summers has touched. First, we found Owen Meed, a boy that Buffy briefly dated her sophomore year of high school."

The show cut to Owen, who had gained about thirty pounds since Buffy last saw him and all of it muscle. He smiled broadly and spoke to an unseen interviewer. "Buffy and I shared a beautiful romance that burned brightly. Passionately, actually, I think is the better word. But as they say, the flame that burns twice as bright lasts only half as long. She and I passed, ships in the night, but I'll never forget the lessons I learned from her."

Buffy shook her head. "One date! One!"

Gunn smiled. "Burns twice as bright, lasts --"

"No! Not burned at all! It was flameproof. It was moist!"

Gunn looked at her. "Moist?"

"No, not..." Buffy stammered. "I -- Watching. The show. Now."

The program had already switched back to the host. "Owen is currently moving up the ranks in the extreme sports world. We bet Buffy wishes him the best of luck there. Next on our roster is Scott Hope."

"Oh boy," Buffy said.

Scott Hope popped onto the screen. His hair had gotten shaggier, and he had something resembling an actual tan. "Buffy?" he said. "For years I thought she was gay. Seriously. I mean, we dated, but she was just not there. Like she was hiding something." He paused. "But then I came out, and it kind of put things in perspective. If she is gay, it's none of my business or the rest of the world's. You just shine on, Buffy. Shine on!"

Buffy cringed. "Did you ever see that episode of Murphy Brown where she's in a room with all of her ex-secretaries?"

"Uh, I might've missed it."

"Well, this is worse."

"Finally," the host said, "we come to the dark side of Buffy's love life. We managed to find -- "

"Oh, no. Oh, no. Please not..."

"-- Parker Abrams. His story is one that may have you rethinking your position on America's Sweetheart Slayer."

There was Parker, sitting on a couch and looking visibly shaken. "I - I met Buffy Summers in ... in my junior year of college." He swallowed hard. "She seemed so vivacious. So full of life. I think I fell in love with her right there."

Buffy's jaw dropped. "I'm not hearing this."

"She... Oh, God. She talked about the future like it mattered. Seizing the day and all of that. I never met anybody like her. We went to a party. We had a great time. And... she..."
He sobbed. "I'm sorry. This is hard for me."

"It's okay, you can go on," a person off-camera prodded him.

"She seduced me. She took me to bed. I thought we had something. A real connection. She said she'd call me, but she didn't. When I tried to talk to her about it, she blew me off. And then the rumors started spreading. That I had seduced her. That I -- You have to understand I'd never do that. I was the victim of physical violence because of the lies."

Gunn glanced at Buffy. Her hands were balled into fists, and her jaw was clenched.

"I just hope everybody gets a chance to read my book -- 'My Side of Things: The Parker Abrams Story,' and find out the truth behind the public façade."

Buffy shut the television off. "This... this... I..."

"It's cool, Buffy. I know you wouldn't do nothin' like that. Boy's still playin' the game."

"Thanks, Gunn," Buffy said.

"No problem." He glanced down at his watch. "Ah, hell. I got that press conference for that urban youth initiative to attend. Limo should be here any minute. Later!"

"You're going?" Buffy asked with some amount of disappointment.

"Yeah. Hate to, but can't disappoint my public. I'm sure you got somethin' goin' on, too."

Buffy shrugged. "I'm supposed to have lunch with James Spader in twenty. After that, I have a photo op with Willow at that New Age center, and then there's this talk show appearance to do. After that, we can start getting to the bottom of this."

"Hey, no hurries. Gotta enjoy the high life while you can," Gunn said. A car horn honked outside. "Oops, there's my ride. Gotta book. Take care, Buffy." He wheeled out the door.

"Darling!" Laurel flounced into the Champion Investigations office. "I have the most fabulous news! Hollywood Records wants to sign you to a two-album deal!"

Dawn looked around. "Uh, me?"

"Of course, sweetie!"

"I don't sing."

Laurel laughed. "Who does? But you're adorable! The kids will love you. We'll teach you a few dance moves, put a mike on your head, and you'll look fabulous! 'Dawn Summers: Key to My Love.’"

"Oh, that's catchy!" said Andrew.

"No, no, no, no! Nu-uh, not going to happen. I'm not a singer! Or a dancer! Unless there's a singing, dancing demon around, and those are bad!"

"Now darling, you don't have to decide anything today. But do let me know first thing tomorrow morning, okay, dear? Justin Timberlake is dying to meet you, and I can't string him along forever."

"Justin Timberlake?" asked Dawn, perking up.

"Oh, I didn't mention that part? He's looking for someone to do a duet with on his new album. Britney is so 2003. Hilary is too cutesy. He thinks you'll be a perfect match."

"I did mention that I don't sing?" asked Dawn.

"Oh, you'd be astonished what they can do in the studio," replied Laurel. "By the time they're done, you'll sound better than Christina. And without the slutty trappings! I think we'll stick to the wholesome look with you. I *love* the idea of you working in an office. It's just charming. I can see the cover of the album now - you in a pleated skirt, maybe dangling a pair of glasses off your hand -"

"I don't wear glasses," muttered Dawn.

"- and you holding a book and peeking over the edge to wink at the camera," continued Laurel, ignoring Dawn's comment.

"The skirt wouldn't be too short, would it?" asked Andrew. "I've seen the type of outfits some people promote as 'wholesome,’ and we don't want Dawn promoted that way. Her public is very particular."

Laurel smiled. "Andrew, honey. Let me worry about Dawn. I've arranged a meeting for you with Lucas."

"Lucas?"

Laurel rolled her amethyst-contact-colored eyes. "George Lucas. He's working on plans for Episodes seven through nine, and he's looking for a co-writer. You know, he's delegating more these days? I ran into him last night at the Motorola party, and I told him I had a fabulous, fresh, creative mind that would be perfect for this project."

Andrew searched for words, but his stunned mind could only find one. "Lucas?"

"Oh, darling. He's a huge fan! He's got the special edition DVD of 'Sunnydale's Final Days.’ He thinks you've got the vision he's looking for."

"Okay," Dawn said. "I might be interested. But I want creative control. And I'm not wearing anything trashy. I get high heels, right?"

"Fabulous! Absolutely, darling. Look, if we leave now, we can hit Rodeo Drive by four o'clock and get you something adorable to wear. I'll give Justin's people a call and see if he can meet us for dinner. Sound kosher?"

"Sure," Dawn said, going for nonchalant, but missing it just a tinge. "It'd be nice to meet Justin. Since we'll be working together and all."

"Fantastic. Andrew, I'll send a car over about ten tomorrow morning. We'll pick up some clothes for you - a little less tweed, perhaps - and get you on a flight to Skywalker Ranch so you can have lunch with Lucas. He's sending his personal plane, so it should be a nice ride. Dawnie? You ready to go?"

"Sure!" Dawn grabbed her purse, and she and Laurel headed out of the apartment, leaving Andrew standing there in shock.

"Lucas?"

Gunn wheeled up to the front of the stage, smiling broadly and giving a thumbs-up signal to his audience. The photographers began snapping wildly, as if the picture they were taking would be the last one ever recorded. The reporters all seemed much more attentive than they had been for the previous speakers.

The previous speaker had neglected to lower the microphone. A few uncomfortable grunts and gestures later, Gunn had the proper amplification.

"Thanks." Gunn cleared his throat. "Thanks for comin' out, ya'll. The San Diego New Urban Youth Initiative is lookin' like a really great program, but we can't do it alone. There's kids out there who need a place to go after school to stay away from trouble. Y'know, shoot some hoops or read a book. Gotta hand it to these folks - they made it happen, yo. I suggest goin' back to your papers and start puttin' together some public love on this one."

The reporters scribbled this down and looked back up at Gunn, waiting for something.

"Uh... that's all, yo. Good plans for the kids."

"Mr. Gunn!" a man in a porkpie hat yelled, his notebook flipped open and stub of a pencil nestled between nicotine-stained fingers.

"Uh, yeah?"

"Will there be a special program for handicapped youths? Is that why you're here?"

"Uh..."

One of the program coordinators behind Gunn stood up and took the mic briefly. "Yes, yes. We've asked Mr. Gunn to join us because he's an inspiration to all people in wheelchairs. You could say he's become their symbol, almost."

Gunn grabbed the microphone back. "Hold up, yo. I came here to..."

"Mr. Gunn," another reporter said, "is it true that you'll be modeling a new designer cast for Nike soon?"

Another person jumped up. "I'm from the United Association of Differently Abled Persons, and we'd like to express our disgust at how you've exploited your situation for your own personal gain, Mr. Gunn. You should be ashamed of yourself."

Gunn threw his hands up. "Wait a damn minute! You all sayin' that the only reason you got me up here is because of the wheels?"

The first reporter shrugged. "What else is it that you do, Mr. Gunn?"

"I..." Gunn started. "I... I..." He sat there, unable to think of a single reply. Finally, he spat, "I do what I do. I'm callin' this off, yo." He grabbed his wheels and spun back, turned and rolled out of the room. He sped down the hallway, fighting back the desire to vomit.

He stopped to catch his breath by a drinking fountain. He reached up and splashed some water on his face. "This ends now," Gunn said to himself.

Buffy carefully padded across the lush cemetery grass, her wooden stake held firmly and precisely in her right hand. Her eyes shifted, scanning the rows of headstones for activity. She heard the slightest of rustles to her left. She crouched closer the ground and inched towards the noise. Buffy raised her stake just as a fledgling vampire popped his head out of the dirt. With an easy, measured swing, she drove the wooden implement into the undead creature's heart, turning him to dust before he had extricated himself from the earth.

She bounced up and spun around with a big grin on her face. "And that's how it's done," she said to the film crew behind her. "One vampire at a time."

"And you do this every night?" the redheaded interviewer asked from behind the camera.

"I used to," Buffy said. "Back in high school, I was out like this almost every night. Same with the first few years of college. These days, though, I just haven't had the time."

"Are you concerned that lives are being lost daily because your patrolling schedule has been more erratic?"

"What? No! That's not it," Buffy protested.

"Then what is - that?" The interviewer stared ahead at another film crew approaching.

A smartly dressed reporter talked to the Steadicam, moving backwards as it advanced. "Chip Dugan, Fox 6 News. We're here in Pendingbrook Cemetery, where Buffy Summers is about to face one of her mortal enemies for the first time in several years."

"I'm what?"

A vampire in a cowboy hat and a long grey duster moved out of the shadows. "Slayer."

Chip continued - "Earlier today, Fox 6 received a tip that Lyle Gorch, one of Buffy's nemeses from her high school days would attack the vampire slayer in an attempt to end their bloody grudge."

Lyle circled Buffy with deliberate malice. "It comes down to this, little girl," he drawled. "You 'n' me, finally facin' down again after all this time."

Buffy scrunched her nose. "I'm sorry, have we fought before?"

The cowboy vampire froze. "What?"

"Wow, this is embarrassing for me," Buffy said. "I mean, here I am with two camera crews pointed at me and I can't even place you."

"We got a blood grudge, you 'n' me." He smiled nervously at the Fox crew. "She always does this. Pretends." He turned back to Buffy. "Gorch. Lyle Gorch. Here to kill you."

"Got that much," Buffy said. "Anything else for me to go on?"

"My wife, Candy! I'm here to collect your life for hers."

Buffy snerked. "Candy?"

"And my brother Tector! Got a debt to settle there, too."

Buffy snorted with barely restrained glee. "I'm sure I would remember slaying somebody with a goofy name like Tector."

"You bitch!" Lyle raved. "Don't you dare disrespect my kin!" He growled and made a ferocious lunge for Buffy.

Buffy hopped back a step, whipped out a stake, and slipped it right into Lyle's ribcage. He fell away to dust, leaving only his cowboy hat behind. Buffy picked it up, sniffed it, and winced.

"I'll never understand why some clothes dust and some don't," Buffy said to her camera crew. "Guess that's just one of those weird quirks about being the slayer."

The redheaded interviewer nodded. "So, you didn't recall him at all?"

"Actually, towards the end I kinda did," Buffy said. "But you have to keep them guessing." She grinned for the camera.

"And, now," announced the man at the podium, "I am both pleased and honored to present our special guest who will officially open our general session for this year's convention. He is not only one of the heroes of Sunnydale, but he is also one of our own. This man fought so many of the most heinous of evils, all the while pursuing a career in our field. No doubt you all know precisely who I am talking about. Ladies and gentlemen, I am proud to present... Mr. Xander Harris."

Xander walked out on to the convention stage, instantly blinded by the lights that flooded the space. He could dimly see the couple of thousand people crammed in the room. Were they standing? For him? He glanced up at the screens that flanked the stage, both displaying giant photos of him that were taken pre-patch. Where the hell had they come across those?

He walked up to the podium and cleared his throat, waiting for the tumult to die down. As the crowd finally took their seats, Xander read off the screen. "Thank you, Mr. Hoff, and thank you all for this warm reception. As you may have heard, I'm not the speech maker of the group-" He paused for the laugh per the instructions on the screen, then continued, "But I just want to say how glad I am to be here to share this event with all of you."

He looked down again to get his next line. "And now, fellow carpentry professionals, I declare the National Carpentry Association Conference officially open!"

Confetti cannons exploded on either side of him, and peppy music started blaring out of the speakers rigged from the ceiling as the audience again erupted in applause. Xander, not knowing what else to do, just stood there and waved at the crowd, which made the applause grow even louder. It finally went past the overwhelming mark, so he gave one final wave and headed off the stage.

Xander bounded over to Illyria, who was waiting in the shadows backstage. "Did you see that? A few years back, I was just hoping guys like those wouldn't fire me, and now they're clapping and cheering for me! Actual applause! It's unreal!"

"You perceive that this reality is somehow incorrect."

"Incorrect? More like weird. Definitely one of my stranger weeks ever, I'll admit to that." Xander peeked back around the corner at the milling audience. "I guess I never would've thought that people finding out what we do with the evil-fighting gig would cause a big reaction like this."

Illyria turned to stare at the back side of the screen that still had Xander's face plastered on it. "It is akin to worship."

Xander grinned at her. "Y'think?"

"I find that disturbing."

"Not honing in on your turf, don't worry. Wait. Do you actually have turf?"

"That is irrelevant."

"Well, unless you plan on taking up drywalling, I think we'll be cool." Xander snuck a look back out at what was left of the crowd. "But, honestly? I figured that just getting to attend one of these convention things would mean that I finally hit the big time. Speaking here? Way more than I ever thought I'd do at one of these."

"This entire gathering puzzles me. What is its purpose?"

"It's a convention. People who are in the same line of work or have the same kinds of interests get together to talk about the stuff they do. It's a lot of classes and ceremonies where they pat people on the back, and then there's the parties with a bunch of hokey decorations and snacks passed around on trays. Or so I hear. We're hitting the party next, so we'll see for ourselves on that one. Anyway, it's all a peer kind of thing."

"In my time, those who would be presumptuous enough to refer to themselves as my peers would only gather to do battle. We challenged or were challenged, and I destroyed those who foolishly wished to attain similar glory to my own."

"Usually, the most people do these days is trade bragging rights and tall tales." Xander pointed out to the stage. "But this whole convention thing? It's more of a big group experience."

"What purpose does it serve?"

"Gives people a sense that they belong to something. Community."

"It is tribal."

"Yeah, if you break it down, that's exactly what it is."

Illyria nodded. "I understand. Your explanatory verbiage continues to illuminate."

"Just ask anybody, and they'll agree that if there's one thing I can do, it's talk." Xander jabbed his thumb towards the door. "C'mon, let's see how bad the music is at that party upstairs. I hear it's a Mexican theme. Maybe even some Mariachi action, but I'm mostly hoping not."

Neither Xander nor Illyria noticed the blond woman watching from the shadows. If they had, they might have seen her take out her cell phone and dial as they walked out of the stage door.

"Sir?," she murmured into the phone, "I've thought of a much more effective use for Xander Harris."

To Be Continued...

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