mandolin | New Blood commentary, pt. 4

One more part after this to go... Again, a warning, this is VERY LONG.

Xander paused as Giles finished scribbling. "So what's the list look like?"

"Six students," Giles began as the doors opened to admit Mike and Faith. Surprised, he glanced up at the clock. "Sunset's not for an hour yet."

Aside from the tour of Sunnydale High when she showed up, Faith tended to sleep through most of the day before this. I think I gave her a little too much flack for it in this.

"Had nothing better to do," Faith answered. "And I got to visit Vortex Boy here at his new job, so I dragged him along."

Angel is Dead Boy. Mike, rather than "the guy who fell out of the vortex" is Vortex Boy. Makes a weird sort of sense.

Mike winced. "Keep calling me that and I'll turn you in, Mac."

"Vortex Boy," Xander echoed in a low voice. "I like that."

He certainly would.

Willow perked up. "So you got that job? For real?"

"Yeah, and it pays pretty well," Mike responded as he took a seat across from Buffy. "I've got to work late nights, though."

"Hey, we can identify," Xander pointed out. "So what's this new job?"

Exchanging glances with Giles, Mike changed the subject. "I'll tell you later. What's going on?"

Mike isn't avoiding the subject here so much as he's noticing something is seriously wrong.

"Something seems to be adversely affecting a number of Sunnydale students," Giles answered, turning back to the list.

Willow jumped in. "A bunch of people have been passing out today. Well, not a bunch, we've only listed six, but even with the heat index they were way too drained for it to be just that."

Buffy nodded. "No such thing as coincidence here."

"Or leprechauns either," Giles murmured, his eyes still fixed on the list. Buffy shot him a look.

"So six people got smashed last night," Faith gathered. "Sure sign of the apocalypse."

Xander was shaking his head. "You weren't there. Compared to these guys, the walking dead look like party animals."

Not entirely untrue, given the zombies trying to kill them in "Dead Man's Party" - those guys had more energy.

"Harmony didn't even bother to gel or curl," Cordelia put in.

I should note that originally, Cordelia was supposed to notice Harmony's serious disorientation. But Xander handled it better.

"Well, although we've reached a consensus that their behavior is abnormal," Giles continued, "we're unsure as to the cause."

"I still say she was sniffing hair spray one too many times," Cordelia went on. "I mean, she wears so much lately her head is like a Glue Stic."

Xander coughed. "Cordy, as much as I agree with you right now, can we return to Earth for a few minutes?"

"I know a couple of these people." Oz seemed to be the only one attending to the topic, since he was effectively tuning out everyone except Willow. "I don't see what they have in common."

Willow took the yearbook from him, flipping through it. "That's - that's because they don't," she added. "None of the same friends, teachers, clubs, sports, interests, grade levels, grades--"

"Somebody's been hacking into the school records," Xander admonished, waggling a finger at her.

Oh, like this is a new thing, Xander.

Mike was glancing over Willow's shoulder with moderate interest, and suddenly pointed to the photo of Jonathan. "Hey, I've seen him before."

And here Mike's new job proves to be crucial to solving the mystery.

"What, Jonathan?" Willow asked as she handed him the yearbook. "Yesterday morning, you mean?"

"No, last night at the Bronze." Mike drummed his fingers on the table. "I only remember that because he didn't try to get a fake ID past me."

One of the few honest patrons that night, I see. Although Jonathan would never have been able to pull it off if he tried.

"What was he doing at the Bronze?" Cordelia wondered. "Tuesday nights are, like, the most dead nights of the week. It's Must See TV."

I had to throw that one in there after Tina's comment. Just to annoy Mike.

Mike stared at her, muttering, "What is it with you people and--" Catching himself, he switched back to the topic. "Yeah, well, it was packed last night. And I clearly remember seeing that guy there."

"Okay, so what were you doing at the Bronze?" Cordelia pressed. Buffy and Giles exchanged looks as it dawned on them just where Mike was working.

Moving around the table, Faith wrapped her arms around Mike's shoulders, leaning over him from behind. "Guess who's tending bar down there now."

Xander was immediately at attention. "You're kidding." As Mike shook his head, he added, "So, you think you might be able to--"

Turns out Mike's reservations about telling them weren't unfounded.

"Forget it," Mike retorted. "I want to keep this job."

"Don't take it personal," Faith informed Xander. "I couldn't get through him either."

"Let me see the rest of them," Mike said, gesturing for the list. He glanced up at Faith, who, much to the others' amusement, was resting her chin on his head. "Faith? Do you mind?"

She pretended to pout, but relented at a sharp look from Giles. "Whatever."

At this point, Faith has decided it's fun to mess with Mike, and takes every opportunity she can to get a rise out of him.

Releasing Mike, she pulled up a chair beside him as Oz flipped through the yearbook. "Here we go. Harmony Kendall."

"Now that is a nasty yearbook picture," Cordelia observed. "I told her to come get a professional photo like I did, but did she listen?"

By now, Mike had learned to tune Cordelia out completely, and he tapped a finger on the photo thoughtfully. "Booth in the back. Had a shit fit when I wouldn't bring their Cokes over myself."

Not realizing that's why there are servers to do that sort of thing. And Tina the bubblehead probably forgot.

Willow found the next person on the list first. "Jeremy Scott."

PR Reference #2: Jason Scott's cousin from MMPR. Threw him in for the heck of it.

It took Mike a minute to place the face. "Think he was getting killed at eight ball. I'm not sure."

"Gwen Albertson."

Mike frowned. "Can't place her."

"Ben Parker."

I had Marvel Comics on the brain at this point.

"Oh, yeah. Nearly broke his neck trying to crowd surf."

"Katherine Bennett."

"Again, not sure, but I think that's the one who made Tina cry." At the puzzled looks he received, Mike clarified, "Tina's a waitress there. She's okay, but she's kind of out to lunch."

Buffy sighed. "That's three definites, two possibilities, and one unknown."

"It's a start," Willow offered. "But what's at the Bronze that could be doing this?"

Xander leaned back in his chair. "Maybe the new guy mixed a few drinks wrong, huh?"

"For your sake," Mike muttered, "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that."

"Whatever the reason, perhaps a trip to the Bronze is in order," Giles suggested. The others stared at him. "To - to assess any potential threats."

"The Watcher's actually telling us to go party," Faith murmured. "I could get used to this."

Buffy frowned. "Oh, wait, that reminded me. Mom wanted quality time tonight, kind of. She said to invite you all over for dinner. I think she's still trying to adjust to the Slayer thing."

"Really?" Willow exclaimed. "Sure!" She glanced over at Oz meaningfully. The musician smiled and nodded.

"Dinner with someone else's family?" Xander responded. "I'm all for that. Cordy?"

She shook her head. "Unlike some people, I have a social life."

Trying to stay somewhat in canon, and I got the impression that Cordelia - even when she was on the best terms with the rest of the gang - had never really gotten to know Buffy's mother or done anything like come over for dinner. So dinner was out.

"I'm in, B," Faith added.

Buffy turned to Giles. "Actually, I - I really have to get some more research done." The Slayer sighed and shook her head.

And the post-"Band Candy" awkwardness kicks in.

There was a silence, and Mike glanced up to see that Buffy was staring at him. "What?" A moment passed before he deciphered her expectant look. "Oh, uh, no, that's okay. I think your mom's going to have her hands full already."

Still on the 'I can take care of myself' kick here.

"You working tonight?" Buffy asked.

"Not til late this time," Mike admitted. "But--"

Smiling, Faith leaned over to Mike, her lips almost brushing his ear. Low enough so that only he could hear, she purred, "Her mom makes wicked french fries."

Mike stared at her for a moment, trying not to laugh. It wasn't easy to keep a straight face with all the strange looks the rest of the Slayerettes were giving them. "All right, all right, you win," he answered finally.

As they wrapped things up and filed out of the library, Buffy pulled Faith aside. "Just what did you say to that boy?"

Faith smiled mysteriously. "Nothing special."

The french fry bit was so much funnier in my head than it was on paper. I think it's one of those things you have to actually see.

* * *

"So you're staying with Mr. Giles?" Joyce asked.

Mike looked somewhat embarrassed. "Well, just until I get back on my feet. It wasn't my idea, really."

"He wasn't conscious enough to have one," Xander mumbled through a mouthful of broccoli. Willow kicked him.

Even with Joyce knowing about Sunnydale at this point, telling her Mike fell out of a vortex is not a good idea.

Fortunately, Joyce either didn't hear him or chose not to. "He must have been good friends with your father, then."

Coughing to keep from laughing, Mike nodded. They had given Joyce a cover story that he and Giles had cooked up the day before: that Mike's father was an old friend of Giles' - which was why when Mike had showed up asking to use the phone, Giles had given him the couch instead. So far, it seemed to be working. "Uh, yeah, I guess. But all I really needed was to use the phone."

"Get off the guilt trip already," Faith advised him. To Joyce, she added, "He's gonna start paying Giles rent if this keeps up."

This is actually fairly true, and aside from ribbing Mike about it, Faith just drags out the cover story instead of letting them drop it.

As Mike took a dinner roll from the basket, entertaining the notion of throwing it at Faith, Buffy cut in before her mother could interrogate Mike any further. "When do you have to work tonight?"

"Seven-thirty," Mike answered, checking his watch. "I've got an hour."

Willow realized something and hurried to swallow before speaking. "Oh! The Bronze! Did we, uh, figure out what's going on there?"

"Not that I recall," Oz replied.

"What's this about the Bronze?" Joyce asked.

Buffy winced before explaining, "We kind of think something Hellmouthy is coming from there."

"So you know about the Slaying business too," Joyce surmised, looking at Mike speculatively.

Faith shrugged. "Corbett was in the wrong place at the right time."

"That's not exactly how I'd have put it," Mike retorted. "Anyway, I'm stuck here for the time being, I might as well deal with it."

Joyce was surprised. "Why don't you just call home?"

Mike and Giles had already concocted an answer to that question. "Actually," Mike replied, "if I do, it means I get to tell my folks I dropped out of grad school." He grimaced. "I'd rather dodge vampires, thanks."

"I can relate," Faith commented, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth as she egged him on. "But the fam can't be that bad."

And she just keeps dragging it out...

Mike gave her a sharp look before continuing. "Uh, you don't know my Dad," he muttered. "I'd end up in military school before I knew what was going on."

"You'll have to tell them eventually," Joyce advised, glancing meaningfully at Buffy.

At her mother's look, Buffy smiled wryly. "Yeah, or they'll probably find out on their own."

"I will eventually," Mike insisted. "If I've got some money saved up when I do, I'll have a choice in the matter."

A brief silence followed, and Xander, of all people, broke it with a serious question. "So what's up at the Bronze anyway?"

Mike thought for a minute. "There wasn't anything special except for the crowd," he mused. "Although ... that new band Harry hired is getting a lot of attention. Maybe too much."

"New band?" Willow asked curiously. "What new band? I thought you said Screaming Ballerinas was going to be there all week," she added, turning to Oz.

I just love this band's name.

Oz shook his head. "Their lead got attacked last weekend."

"Well, a replacement walked in on Monday," Mike continued, seeing that they were about to veer off the topic again. "Their name's Relish."

I took the name of the band from a Joan Osborne album, intending to give them a name that was simple yet easy for Buffy to mock.

"Relish?" Buffy repeated. "What kind of a name is that? You can't name a band after something you put on a hot dog."

Like I said, easy for Buffy to mock.

"I think they mean a different sort of relish," Joyce told her.

Xander looked perplexed. "Hamburger relish?"

(pats Xander on the head)

"Whatever, these guys are weird," Mike interrupted. "They're pretty good, but every time they've started a new set, everybody acts like they're the greatest thing that's ever played."

Oz took another roll from the basket. "You don't share that opinion."

Helplessly, Mike shrugged. "No, I just get a headache. Maybe it's just because I'm not sleeping so well." At the concerned looks he received, he added hastily, "Hey, I'm still getting used to the couch."

"You might want to get some earplugs," Joyce advised. "I've heard a lot of stories about concerts and hearing damage."

This line is dedicated to my Dad, the hearing conservation specialist. :)

She started to collect the dishes, but Buffy caught her. "Mom, I've got it."

"You're sure?" Joyce asked as Buffy tried to balance the stack of dishes.

Mike seized the opportunity and took a few plates off the top. "I'll help."

Time for a quick, private conversation in the kitchen.

"You really don't have to--" Joyce demurred.

"Not a problem," Mike answered, following Buffy into the kitchen. Another moment of silence passed as the four teenagers and Joyce looked at each other.

Xander cleared his throat. "Uh, no dessert?"

* * *

"So how'd your Mom find out?" Mike asked once they were in the relative privacy of the kitchen.

Buffy sighed. "Totally by accident. A vampire attacked in the front yard, and she was standing on the porch. I had to stake it right in front of her." She shook her head, opening up the dishwasher. "She didn't take the news all that well at first."

"Don't see why she would," Mike pointed out. "My mother had a panic attack when she found out I joined the GSA, and that didn't necessarily involve hand-to-hand every night."

"Yeah, well," Buffy added, "she's still not all that comfortable with it. Which is why we went for the cover story. Nice job of covering, by the way."

Nodding absently, Mike set the stack of plates down by the sink. "Well, not all of it was bullshit. My dad - let's just say one of the reasons I joined the GSA was to get away from him."

Developing PR fanon bunny: One or both of Mike and Leo's parents was neglectful/dead/absentee/unpleasant. I think that was spawned by the fact that both of them got on the space station (Mike officially, Leo stowing away) without so much as a nod to the possibility of leaving the rest of their family behind.

"I wouldn't go that far with Mom," Buffy commented with a grin. "But she's still really paranoid and overprotective. She won't even let me drive. So there's a few things I haven't told her yet."

Well, there's a REASON she won't let you drive, Buffy... she's seen the results.

"Like what?" Mike inquired.

"Angel," Buffy said without thinking, her eyes fixed on the night sky beyond the kitchen window.

Pre-"Lover's Walk." Joyce hasn't found out about Angel yet.

Seeing the faraway look in her eyes, Mike frowned. "What about Angel?"

The Slayer bit her lip. "No one told you about Angel, did they?" She sighed as he shook his head. "Angel's a vampire."

Mike stopped mid-rinse and stared at her, confused. "Wait a minute."

"But he's a good vampire, really," Buffy added hastily. She looked away, uncomfortable under his curious stare. "It's kind of complicated."

"Okay." Mike drew the word out uncertainly. He could tell it was a touchy subject, and didn't press for details. "Anything else you're not telling me?"

"Well," Buffy replied, her eyes travelling to the window. "Oh, that reminds me. Full moon starts tomorrow night. Better remind Will about Oz watch."

Mike cleared his throat. "You realize that went completely over my head. Oz watch?"

"Oz isn't that harmless three nights out of the month," Buffy explained. When he still didn't get it, she narrowed her eyes. "He's a werewolf. Do I have to spell it out for you?"

"Weirdness back home tended more toward giant robots fighting giant monsters.

This line was changed at a friend's suggestion (I forget who). It used to be "monsters attacking in the park," but the giant robots vs. giant monsters description really does work better.

This kind of weirdness is on a completely different wavelength," Mike responded flippantly. He didn't seem all that surprised. "Oz is a werewolf? How'd that happen?"

"I got bit," a voice answered, and they turned to see Oz leaning on the "island" in the middle of the kitchen. "You might want to find some dessert soon."

When Oz tells it, the story is never long.

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Xander the sugar addict. I think there's some rocky road in the fridge." She moved over to search the refrigerator.

Oz turned to Mike. "You don't have a problem with werewolves?"

"As long as I don't get mauled by one, not really." Shaking his head, Mike leaned back against the counter.

It helps that he's still processing all this.

Seeing the look on his face, Oz smiled. "Not much of a surprise."

"For some reason, no."

"Then it's started," the guitarist declared. "You're getting used to Sunnydale. After that, there's no turning back."

Mike glanced out the window, where the nearly full moon gleamed brightly in the sky. "Great."

* * *

For once, the person at the bar actually sounded legal. "Hey."

"What'll it be?" Mike asked without thinking, and then caught himself as he realized that Angel was sitting at the bar. "Oh. I'm guessing I don't have anything you can drink."

We have yet to meet Spike and discover that oh yes, vampires can drink alcohol. This little meeting I saved for what became "Slow Night."

Angel smiled wryly. "Buffy told you."

"Not everything," Mike admitted. "She never got around to explaining why you're on our side."

"I was cursed with my soul a while back," Angel sighed. "I've had to live with everything the demon inside me did for all those years before." He shook himself out of the memory. "Just give me an ice water, if you don't mind."

Mike complied, deciding this was another subject that was too sensitive to ask about. "If you're looking for Buffy, you just missed her," he explained as he set the glass in front of Angel. "They were watching out for the band for about two hours, but Relish hasn't showed yet. It's like they knew we were coming."

Another hint about what Trick was really up to in the library.

Angel was nodding. "I spoke to Giles - well, as much as I could under the circumstances," he added.

Prior to "Amends," you can bet that wasn't very much.

"Another long story?" Mike guessed.

"You have no idea," Angel replied as a commotion broke out near the back. The four band members, looking somewhat battered but no worse for wear, were hauling their instruments up to the stage. The patrons started cheering, and the last-minute DJ Harry had hired immediately started packing up.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Mike muttered sarcastically, "Relish has entered the building."

They wasted no time in setting up, and did so surprisingly fast, with Lori handling a rather irate Harry fairly well. Mike watched her carefully; he couldn't hear what they were saying, but she seemed to be apologizing and explaining some convoluted excuse for their lateness. Harry was buying into it, but somehow it seemed as though her sincerity was just a result of carefully calculated acting.

"Who's the redhead?" Angel murmured.

"Lori. The lead," Mike explained. "You know her?"

Angel's brow furrowed as the band took the stage. "I think I've seen her somewhere."

By this point, I realized that Angel could very likely have crossed paths with Lori while wandering throughout Europe, and in that case he'd definitely be a threat to be dealt with.

As the music started, their conversation was put to a halt. Again the dance floor was crowded, and again the music had the crowd mesmerized. But this time, Mike realized, it wasn't quite the same. This time, the melody was a lot more potent. The people on the dance floor were moving and swaying to the music in a daze, as if they were completely oblivious to the world and the laws of physics. In fact, the entire club seemed to be in a trance, drinking in the music like it was an addictive drug.

You can tell they came prepared for Angel.

Mike scanned the club and frowned, recognizing faces. Harmony. Gwen. Jonathan. Ben. Jeremy. And that girl hanging over the banister was definitely Katherine. Feeling the headache start to build, he ducked beneath the counter and pulled out the earplugs he'd picked up on the way. As soon as they were in, his head felt clearer.

Standing up, he turned back to the vampire. "Someone's got to get Buffy." Angel didn't respond. "Angel?"

But Angel didn't even hear him. To Mike's horror, the vampire was as mesmerized as the rest of them, his eyes locked on the stage. Or, more appropriately, locked on Lori, who was turned in their direction, looking straight at them as she crooned into the microphone. Slowly, Angel got to his feet, ignoring the untouched glass of water as he moved into the center of the dance floor. He merely stood there amongst the gyrating crowd, staring right at the lead singer.

Mike made to follow, but a glance over at the corner told him that was a bad idea. Harry was still keeping an eye on him. When he turned back to the dance floor, there was no sign of Angel.

As she belted out the chorus, Lori's gaze met his. There was almost a knowing smirk on her face as her green eyes glinted in challenge. The glance lasted only a moment, but as she turned away, Mike could not get rid of the chill that gripped him. How the hell did they know?

He sighed and turned his attention back to the bar, missing the worried and uncertain glance from the bass player.

Come on, Frank. Stop being such a wuss.

* * *

It occurred to me that by now, the bad guys had figured out that Mike was immune to the music. So they'd have to take steps to get him out of the way.

"Mike. Yo, Mike."

Completely lost in his thoughts, Mike jumped in surprise when Nick poked him with a pencil. "Huh? Oh, sorry. What's up?"

Nick grinned. He was out of uniform, with a satchel slung over one shoulder. "It's after two, man. Harry said to pack up."

"Finally," Mike sighed, throwing the towel over a hook and locking the cash register. "Another night like this is going to kill me."

"No kidding," Nick said as they headed out the back door. "It's never been this nuts during the week before. I'm kind of dreading Friday night."

Mike laughed at that. "God forbid. Maybe I'll get lucky and get hit by a car or something before then."

"Then this is your lucky night," a voice answered.

Immediately, Mike spun in the direction of the sound, dropping into a defensive position on instinct as a pair of vampires stepped from the shadows, game faces revealed. "Nick, get out of here," he ordered the younger boy. "Go!"

Nick wasted no time and bolted for the end of the alley, only to be grabbed by a third vampire at the other end. The vampire threw the boy into the brick wall, letting him collapse into a pile of trashcans. "Dinner later, boys. We got business with the bartender."

Trick just has an endless supply of "committees" to deal with these problems, doesn't he?

Surreptitiously, Mike slid a hand into the pocket of his backpack, slightly relieved when his fingers closed around the stake he'd been keeping for emergencies. "What do you want?" Like I don't know.

"Take a wild guess," the leader answered before leaping at him.

Mike dived out of the way, slamming his pack into the vampire's midsection and knocking his attacker off-balance. He backflipped out of the small circle, stake in hand and back to the wall. As he'd hoped, the leader came at him again in a rage, too arrogant to have the other two double-team him. A crescent kick to the face stopped the rush, but only briefly as the vampire grabbed Mike by the shoulders and pinned him to the wall. The stake fell out of Mike's hand, and he was no match for the vampire's strength.

Even Power Rangers-style acrobatics can't always save your ass against a pissed-off vampire.

A crazy idea flashed through his mind, and without thinking, Mike slammed his knee into the place that would hurt the most. With a howl of pain, the vampire let go of Mike, who dropped to the ground, grabbed the stake, and shoved it through his attacker's heart.

Dirty trick? Yes. But he's desperate.

He spun to face the other two, stake in hand. This time he wasn't so lucky as they rushed him in tandem. He managed to block a punch from one and kick the other in the gut, but couldn't block the second punch he received in the face. The sheer force of the blow sent him flying into the wall. Dazed, he slumped against the wall, only to be hauled back up to his feet. "I hate it when they fight back," one of the vampires muttered.

"Speak for yourself," the other answered. "I think this one might be a good addition to our organization."

I'm not sure if their orders were to turn him or kill him. I think it was left to their discretion.

Before Mike could react to that, a sudden cold wind erupted out of nowhere, blasting the vampires from behind and making them turn in surprise. "Holy - !" the first one gasped, his shock great enough to make him loosen his grip. Mike wrenched his wrists free and staked him before he could recover. The other vampire shoved him hard before turning and running down the alley.

Random Defender appearance #5 - well, not THAT random. It's getting near the full moon, and the Defender can do more than just spook Mike.

Confused, Mike got to his feet, coughing and dusting himself off. When he saw the hazy, glowing form in the alley, he froze. "You." The specter did not answer. "Who are you? What do you want?" The feeling of paralysis was creeping up his spine again, but Mike gritted his teeth, shaking it off and stumbling back from the apparition. For a moment, it looked as though it would advance, but its glow flickered like a candle flame, causing it to hesitate.

Fortunately, he's not at full strength yet.

Snatching up his discarded backpack, Mike dashed to the other end of the alley, where Nick was still lying in the midst of the trashcans. "Nick! Wake up!" He shook the other boy frantically. "Come on, man!" A glance told him that the specter was gone again, but he wasn't taking any chances.

Nick blinked at him, confused. "You get the number of the Mack truck that hit me?"

Sighing, Mike hauled him to his feet. "I almost ended up roadkill myself. Come on, let's get out of here."

* * *

He ran the six blocks back to Giles' apartment. Giles was there, having fallen asleep reading in an armchair, but he came to as Mike burst through the door. Mike was already sporting a bruise from the punch he'd taken to the jaw, and the Watcher started in surprise. "What on earth happened to you?"

Taking a few deep breaths, Mike forced his lungs to work again before answering. "Giles," he gasped, "we - we really need to talk."

Yeah, the research needs to be stepped up a bit here.

* * *

Meanwhile, back at Casa de Angel...

Sunrise was coming.

The figure staggered through the trees, following a circuitous route as it weaved and stumbled its way home. It fell down a few times before picking itself up again and continuing with dogged perseverance. Sheer determination and self-preservation were the only things spurring it on as it reached the old mansion, literally falling down the steps as it reached the front door.

Whatever spell Lori put him under, I figured Angel'd be able to shake it off just enough to get back to the mansion.

With a final burst of strength, the door was wrenched open, and Angel lurched across the threshold, slamming it shut behind him. In the safe darkness of his home, he only managed a few more steps before swooning limply to the stone floor.

But he's not going to shake it off entirely.

* * *

Speaking of broody characters, we finally get to Frank.

Franklin Kwan hated his life.

Frank's last name? Not incidental. I'll explain later.

He sat alone in the beat-up old van, guitar resting in his lap, plucking idly at the strings. Playing helped him think, especially when he was away from the other three. Any time he was away from them helped him think, actually. It made him realize just what kind of a fool he was.

I tried to point out here that the other three messed with his head a bit to keep him in line, and it wasn't just cowardice that kept him from telling them where to stick it.

Outside, Lori had just snared a catch. Frank couldn't see or hear it, but he knew instinctively. That was the only reason they needed him - well, the main reason. They had to have four, and each with some level of psychic ability. Right now, Lori was broadcasting hunger and viciousness, her pleasure in the hunt. Frank's stomach turned with revulsion as he picked it up. She wasn't bothering to shield, something she did intentionally to mess with his head. Empathy was a bitch.

Why would you WANT to pick up on other people's feelings? I mean, really.

Gritting his teeth, he shifted the guitar, retrieving the pick from his shirt pocket. As she moved in for the kill, he started to play, picking out a series of chords as his imagination provided them. Closing his eyes, he tried to lose himself in the melody, to let the rest of the world fade away as he always did. Yet the churning swell of emotions outside - hunger? fear? death? a mingling? - rose up, threatening to break through. His fingers moved even faster over the strings as he fought against it, the melody gaining a frenzied tempo. Still, at the very edge of his consciousness, the carnage was present, a reminder of what he had gotten himself into. Frank kept playing, determined to block it out. He wanted to scream in rage, to yell at her to stop.

Hell, he just wished he could scream.

The kill was made, and the miasma of hunger faded away, much to Frank's relief. He leaned back against the seat, unconsciously clutching his guitar against his chest as he tried to steady himself, to slow his breathing and the pounding of his heart. I can't take this anymore.

Molly climbed in from the cab, grinning like a maniac. Frank forced himself to relax, refusing to let her see his discomfort. She seemed to take pleasure in watching him squirm. "What're you doing in here?" she inquired innocently, as if she didn't know. "You missed the floor show."

He turned his head away, refusing to look at her. "What's the matter, Frankie?" she teased. "You don't like the feeding?" At the lack of response, she frowned. "Really, you can't tell me you don't feel the hunger too."

It is currently taking every ounce of Frank's restraint to keep from drop-kicking Molly out of the van.

Frank closed his eyes, refusing to give her any satisfaction or response. "Come on," Molly purred. "It's just little me. You can talk to me." She knelt down beside him, leaning to whisper in his ear. "Talk to me, Frankie. You know you want to."

He didn't move, didn't even flinch or give any sign that he heard her. After a moment or two, she sighed and climbed back out the cab door. Alone, Frank sagged with relief, despite his internal frustration with her taunts. As infuriating as she was, and as tempting as it was, any retaliation would just make things worse.

Although Malik and Lori hadn't said anything to him - and Molly was always lost in her own psychotic little world - he knew that they were about to pull something worse than usual. Just because he couldn't speak didn't mean he couldn't think. Sunnydale was right over a Hellmouth, and Friday was a full moon. It was a definite setup for destruction.

Changed this from "recipe for disaster." Didn't like the cliche.

He had to do something, to save his sanity if nothing else. But what? He racked his brain, trying to think of something, anything, some detail they might be missing.

Surprisingly enough, he came up with an answer.

* * *

Thursday

Cue yet another dream sequence!

He was dreaming of running.

At first, he thought it was the same recurring dream he'd had since he was six; running up a hill that seemed to get higher as he ran, making it impossible to make any progress towards the top.

But he crested the hill easily to reach the fringe of the meadow, where the open land ended and the dense forest began. Uncertain, Mike slowed to a halt. Where was he, and what was he supposed to do now? As he stood there, confused, he caught a flash of color amongst the green. It was flickering between the browns and greens of the forest, a glint of golden yellow. Without thinking, Mike took off after it, plunging into the forest.

He ran without slowing or stumbling, following a random and roundabout path as he madly dashed after the figure ahead of him. As he threaded through the trees, his surroundings became a haze of light and color, and it seemed as though his feet were barely touching the ground. But he couldn't stop running, and as the mad chase went on, he couldn't tell who was chasing who. He thought he heard someone laugh... and then the ground disappeared from beneath him.

With a yell, Mike pitched forward, unable to stop his descent. He tumbled gracelessly down a steep, grassy slope, colliding with someone on the way down. They landed in a tangle of arms and legs, cushioned by the long, thick grass at the bottom. Coughing, Mike sat up, turning to meet the eyes of the girl beside him. Immediately, everything and everyone else he had been worried about seemed to fall away as he recognized her.

"Maya?"

I really wish this pairing hadn't soured for me. I'll figure something out eventually.

* * *

Giles didn't notice it until after he had finished a hasty breakfast. Putting the plate in the sink, he happened to glance into the living room. It occurred to him that Mike had barely stirred at all during his morning routine. Normally, the slightest noise would cause Mike to thrash around and bury his head beneath the pillow as if he were trying to block out the sound of a train wreck.

Light sleeper. Just like my first college roommate who'd act like an air horn was going off when I tried to tiptoe around her to prepare for morning classes.

Concerned, the Watcher turned off the tap and moved over to the couch. Mike was lying there, deep in slumber and even smiling in his sleep. Giles couldn't help but chuckle. Hastily, he scrawled a note, setting it on the coffee table before picking up his satchel. He spared one last glance at his guest before closing the door and heading off to work.

* * *

"Willow! Willow Rosenberg!"

Surprised, Willow looked up from her locker to see Amy Madison fairly jogging down the hall. "Amy? What's going on?"

She had to get in on this somehow.

The brunette brushed her bangs out of her face as she hurried over. "I've got to get a haircut," she muttered absently.

Blatant nod to "Gingerbread." So sue me.

Willow noticed the nervous look in her eyes. "What's the matter?"

Since Amy was still into practicing witchcraft, she must have noticed something at this point. And of course she went to Willow. This scene reads so much differently now that I've seen Season Six.

Amy glanced at the clock before responding. "Can I talk to you for a minute? Witch to witch?"

* * *

"How are you feeling?" Giles asked as Mike entered the library. He was a considerable sight better thanks to sleep, and the bruise on his cheek didn't look quite so bad.

Mike pulled up a chair, brushing his somewhat unkempt hair out of his eyes. "I've been better, but I'll live. Thanks for letting me crash late."

"You needed it, from what you've told me," Giles observed. "You've been seeing this apparition periodically since you've come here, I take it?" Mike nodded. "Have - have you been having any related dreams?"

Mike does need to discuss these with someone, and frankly, Giles is probably the only one he could talk to without too much embarrasment.

The younger man frowned thoughtfully at the tabletop. "I've been having dreams, yeah, but I don't think they're related."

Hee. No kidding.

The slight edge to his voice was not lost on Giles. "Perhaps they might be," the Watcher suggested.

Mike was silent for a moment, but relented under Giles' stare. "All right, all right," he sighed, throwing up his hands. "There - there was this girl back home. Maya. The one who fell through the portal in the first place." he clarified.

He didn't continue, and Giles adjusted his glasses. "And?"

"Well, I've - I've been dreaming about her." At Giles' nod, Mike continued hastily. "Constantly. Vividly. I knew her for what, three hours, and I can't get her out of my head. I'm starting to think that this is how stalkers start out."

Giles was smiling. "You didn't seem so unhappy about it last night to me." At Mike's alarmed expression, the Watcher burst out laughing. "No, no, nothing that embarrassing. But when you weren't roused by my mucking around in the kitchen, I thought something was wrong."

Poor Mike. Everyone's embarrassing him, even Giles.

"Yeah, well," Mike replied, "it didn't feel wrong. That's what's bothering me. I barely knew her - maybe a few hours - but now I can't get her out of my head."

"I suppose this could be due to - ah - homesickness, to put it simply," Giles proposed. "It's quite understandable, really, given your situation."

"No," Mike declared. "It's not just that. This kind of thing doesn't happen to me. I don't meet a girl and immediately..." He stopped, trying to find the right words to explain. "When she looked at me, my brain shut down for a second. Everything but Maya just faded into the background. I didn't follow her because it was the right thing to do," he admitted. "I couldn't stand the thought of not following her and letting her disappear. God, I sound like a psychopath."

"If you were truly going mad," Giles observed, "would you be questioning your sanity like this?"

Mike looked down at the table. "I don't know. Maybe I'm on the verge."

Can't blame him for thinking that at this point.

The Watcher was silent for a moment before speaking. "Speaking from personal experience," he finally answered, "love at first sight does truly exist."

Mike couldn't suppress a snort, but Giles was undaunted. "Well, it occurs on different levels, I suppose. For some it may be immediate and all-encompassing, and sometimes just a slight stirring that you don't even recognize."

He looked almost wistful as he spoke, and Mike's skeptical look vanished. "Who was she?"

"Oh, ah, actually, she was the - the computer teacher here," Giles replied absently. "Constantly insisted on defending those bloody machines any chance she got. She..." He stopped, realizing where he was. "It's a rather long story."

And the nod to Jenny Calendar comes in. I actually meant to follow up on that in future stories in a certain way, but it didn't quite work out.

"I'm sorry." It was all Mike could think of to say.

"No, it's not your fault." Dismissing the subject, Giles slid the stack of books at his elbow over to Mike. "If you're not otherwise occupied, what would you say to a little research?"

* * *

"Okay, this is really starting to freak me out," Cordelia moaned as she came within earshot of Xander and Oz. "Broken air conditioning or not, everyone is totally wigging today."

If Cordelia's noticing it, the epidemic must be pretty bad.

Xander glanced up, smirking. "Hi, Cordelia. I'm fine, and how about yourself?"

"Mock me if you will," his girlfriend answered, not missing a beat, "but I'm serious, Xander." She continued as the three friends headed down the hall. "You know, I counted twelve people who looked like stoners today. People who normally don't even drink," she added at the dispassionate looks Oz and Xander were giving her.

"I counted twenty-two," Oz responded.

Surprised, Cordelia looked back at Xander. "I only got thirteen," he admitted.

"The Bronze theory seems to be accurate," Oz observed.

"Oh, that's just great," Cordelia groused. "So if I don't go to the Bronze, I get to stay a non-zombie, but I have no social life. If I do go to the Bronze, I get to have a life, but I end up as braindead as the rest of them." She frowned as something occurred to her. "You think I'd be wasted enough to wear something off the rack?"

Ladies and gentlemen, the Cordelia Chase train of thought.

Xander shook his head. "Cordy, the day you wear something store-bought is the day I buy it for you. Which won't be soon," he added, "because I'm broke."

"Pity we didn't get to see Relish play," Oz interrupted.

"You didn't?" Cordelia asked Xander, surprised.

"Nope," he replied. "Sat there for two straight hours and the band didn't show."

"Well, that's ridiculous," Cordelia stated. "If they're so popular, why would they not show for two hours? Unless they knew you were coming ahead of time and decided to avoid the Loser Squad."

"Hey," Xander said, ignoring the insult. "Maybe they did." He gasped, feigning shock. "My God, Cordy's had a breakthrough!"

He should talk. This was kind of along the lines of him being right all along about the lunch lady in "Earshot."

She made a face at him, but didn't rise to the bait for a change. "Oh, come on. I mean, how could they know? Psychic powers?"

Ahead of them, a dark head was bobbing crazily among the rest. Nancy wobbled down the hallway towards the stairwell, too drained to care that her sense of equilibrium was all but nonexistent.

Yeah, the foreshadowing's as subtle as a two-by-four. Oh, and this is the overly competitive Nancy from "Earshot."

"We're on a Hellmouth," Oz pointed out as they neared the top of the stairs. "It could happen."

Suddenly, Nancy toppled forward, unable to catch herself as she rolled down the stairs, limbs flying every which way, until she landed in a crumpled heap on the linoleum at the bottom. She didn't move, and as the crowds gathered around, the three Slayerettes stared at the commotion below them. Snyder was there immediately, shoving his way through the crowd as he alternately put down students and muttered about lawsuits.

Cordelia paled. "I think I'm staying in tonight."

Probably the smartest thing she's said all day.

* * *

"The Bronze just reeks of Old Magick," a voice was explaining as Mike emerged from the stacks with his arms full of books. "Everyone I've passed today who's been there is bearing its mark."

Magick? With a "k"? Where did I get THAT fanon bunny?

The speaker was a girl he didn't recognize, but Giles was listening to her explanation intently. She was obviously a student, somewhat pretty and more than somewhat agitated, gesturing animatedly as she spoke. Willow was also present, and had taken up residence at the computer behind the circulation desk. None of them noticed his presence as he walked down to the lower level and plunked the books heavily on the table. At the sudden sound, Giles jumped, nearly dropping his glasses in shock as he spun around. "Good Lord!"

And Mike gets revenge for Giles' laughing at him earlier.

"Sorry," Mike apologized, not sounding entirely contrite. "What's going on?"

"Lunch break, I believe," Giles answered, replacing his glasses and glancing up at the clock.

Willow was glued to the computer screen, and didn't seem aware of the situation. "Are those files on ritualistic significance of four elements still here?"

"I wouldn't touch that machine on pain of death," Giles retorted. "You know that."

Obviously, answers weren't forthcoming from them. Sighing, Mike offered a hand to the girl. "Hi. I'm Mike, by the way."

Gingerly, she took it. "Amy." She looked over at Willow as if to say, Who the hell is this guy?

Willow caught the confused looks both were giving her. "Mike, Amy. Amy, Mike. He's okay, she's a witch."

By this time, Mike had given up being surprised. "Nice to meet you."

In her haste, Willow knocked a stack of papers off the desk, sending them tumbling to the floor. "Oops." She knelt down and quickly scooped them up, trying to shuffle them back into shape. "Giles, do these have to be in any order?"

And here we finally get to the discovery of just how Trick's been listening in.

"Hm? No, I don't think so," the Watcher answered. "Just make sure they're all together."

As she stood up again, Willow thought she caught a glimpse of something black sticking out from the upper corner of the cupboard. Before that could register clearly, however, her head connected squarely with the cupboard's rim. "Ow!" Forgetting about the black object, she staggered to her feet, replacing the stack and holding her head. She failed to notice that the impact had jostled the black thing as well.

Bingo! We have confirmation!

"You okay?" Mike asked.

She nodded, waving them off with one hand and gently touching a tender spot on the back of her head with the other. "I think so."

"As I was about to ask," Mike continued as they walked over to the computer, "what's going on here?"

"Amy recognized the type of magic coming from the Bronze," Willow answered.

Mike and Giles looked over at Amy, who shrugged. "Like I said, whatever's coming from the Bronze is definitely Old Magick. Not only that, some kind of ritualistic merging of magics."

WHERE did I get this concept? Where?

"Translation, please?" Mike asked.

Giles frowned. "It's not just one demon making everyone act like this. A couple of powerful entities, perhaps, not necessarily demonic, although they would need at least one supernatural being in their number."

I'd already decided that Lori wasn't the only power behind the throne, so to speak.

"And there's lots and lots of complex rituals and variations," Willow put in. "I'm checking the Wicca bulletin boards. If Amy can pick up on the kind of magic they're using, maybe someone's heard of Relish and can clue us in."

"Try www.spook-squad.com," Amy advised. "They usually pick up underground information."

Don't try it. The domain doesn't exist.

Willow nodded, her eyes glued to the computer. "Wish I had full names I knew were real. Then I could probably get records on these guys."

Something clicked in Mike's thoughts at that. "Willow, could you do that? Look up records just by full name?"

"I'd have to get through a few firewalls, but I could," the redhead answered as she typed. "And I'd need date of birth and maybe either social security number or a driver's license number."

At that, Mike turned away, looking thoughtful. If Giles had been paying attention, he would have recognized the look on Mike's face. It was similar to the expression Buffy would get when the first stages of an insane plan took hold.

Mike may not rush into things, but he's not above cooking up insane plans.

"What sort of rituals?" Giles asked, turning to Amy.

The witch sighed. "I'm not entirely sure. Again, there's tons of variations to choose from, even if we narrow it down to what we already have. Four members of the band, possibly representing the four elements. They use music as the key. And they only seem to do so at night."

"Wait a minute," Mike said. "What about the full moon?" They stopped and stared at him. "Well, it's starting tonight."

Giles started at that thought. "Of course." He turned and selected a book from the stacks that were already on the table, flipping through it. "The full moon lasts for three nights, and on the second night its power is the most potent."

Willow was still engrossed in the computer, so Mike turned to Amy. "I'm still new to this. Help?"

Having Mike around meant that they'd have to explain things and I could give the reader an easy-to-understand explanation without making it too contrived.

"Basically, when there's a full moon, the concentration of psychic energy is greatest," Amy explained. "Especially the second night. Anyone with some psychic ability could tap into a much greater reserve than usual."

I did a little bit of research here to support this. No, I don't remember where I read it.

"Which means if they're planning anything big, it'll happen tomorrow," Mike surmised.

"That's still not enough," Giles sighed. "We'd still need to know how many members of the group had supernatural abilities, which type of entity was involved..."

Mike covered his ears. "All right, all right! I get the picture."

Willow finished typing and leaned back, breaking free of her cyber-trance. "I checked out most of the bulletin boards I know. No one's posted any mentions, but I sent out some inquiries. I'll probably get a reply or two later, I hope."

"Thank you, Willow, Amy," Giles said, wiping at his glasses. "This is becoming a rather difficult business. Usually, there's some sort of prophecy that would coincide, but I can't find a blasted thing."

Prophecies are a dime a dozen in the Buffyverse, but occasionally we have to do without.

Willow logged off and shut the computer down, patting Giles on the shoulder. "It's okay," she reassured him. "Sometimes stuff just happens."

As she spoke, the lunch bell rang. "Stuff like that," Amy groaned. "I'm never going to make it to Precalc in time."

"I'll never get to Chemistry," Willow added. "Unless a faculty member signs me a late pass."

"Late pass? Of all the blasted--" Giles began, but stopped as Willow pouted, turning her best puppy-dog stare on. "Oh, very well."

Overuse of "blasted." Stupid me. Rach, I wish I knew you back then so you could catch me on stuff like this. ;)

He reached into a drawer and pulled out a pair of late slips, hastily filling them out before handing them to the girls. "You realize that if it was anything but the workings of the Hellmouth delaying you, I would not be doing this."

Amy and Willow exchanged knowing looks. "Thank you, Mr. Giles," Amy said with a grin as the two girls hurried out.

Giles sagged wearily against the desk, shaking his head. He turned to see Mike snickering. "And just what do you think you're laughing at, Vortex Boy?"

Got to milk that nickname for all it's worth. And it's so much funnier coming out of Giles' mouth.

Somehow, that just made Mike laugh harder. He shut up when Giles shoved a stack of books into his arms.

* * *

"Uh, boss?"

Trick glanced up from the computer screen. "Can't you see I'm busy?"

"Yeah, boss, but it's kind of important," the lackey stammered as Trick glared at him. "The volume on the reception's a lot lower than it should be. Something might have gotten knocked out of alignment."

Well, Willow's head slamming into the surface it was taped to would kind of do the trick.

The three-piece-suited vampire smirked condescendingly. "So turn it up, then. You can do that by remote."

Nodding, the lackey swallowed nervously. "Uh, yeah, I can, but at this level that's kind of risky."

"Nothing serious, I hope," Trick surmised, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

"No, but there's a chance of a feedback whine on the other end." The vampire winced under Trick's penetrating glare. "Well, a chance, anyway."

"Hmmm." Trick glanced at the screen. "If what I'm reading is right, the Slayer might not be our biggest problem now." He leaned back in his chair, thinking. "Crank it up. Not worth the effort to retrieve."

By this time, they've figured Lori's planning a bit more than she'd advertised.

"Yes, sir," the vampire said, shuffling away.

Trick grinned. "Besides, what are the chances they'd find it?"

Famous last words.

* * *

Mike rubbed his eyes, trying to make sense of the text in front of him. After Willow and Amy's departure, Giles had decided to postpone further research into Relish until after school. Which meant the research went back to Mike's stalker. Not that he wasn't grateful for the help, but some of these books were incomprehensible.

From the way Giles shifted in his seat, suddenly becoming interested in the book in front of him, Mike could tell he'd found something. "What? Found something?"

"It's fascinating, really," Giles murmured. "Several accounts of spirit summonings. They seem to correlate somewhat to your appearance."

"Well, I'm not a--"

No, but the guy who latched on to your life force is, Mike. Think about it.

Mike began, then stopped suddenly as a faint sound reached his ears. It was a high-pitched whine, like a siren coming from far away, or the whine of feedback from a microphone.

Suddenly, his conversation with Angel came back to him. "It's like they knew we were coming."

Having Mike figure out what the sound was is plausible enough, I suppose... the GSA was something of a military organization.

Slowly, trying to make as little sound as possible, he stood up, glancing around the room thoughtfully. If that noise was what he believed it to be, someone was listening in on their conversation. Which made perfect sense, he realized as he turned the events of that Sunday night over in his head. That attack had been calculated, planned, and executed when there were no Slayers about. Despite their best efforts, the attack had failed completely, with nothing and no one taken.

Or so they had been made to believe. In the midst of battle, who would notice a bug, a concealed microphone perhaps, being planted in some odd corner? From what he'd heard these past few days, Mike had gleaned that attacks like this were usually executed in order to acquire something, not plant something.

Noticing his confusion, Giles looked up. "Are you all right?"

Frantically, Mike waved at him to be silent as he replied, "Yeah, I'm fine. Just got a headache. You got any Tylenol in here?"

Perplexed, Giles nodded. "The desk in the office. Top drawer on the left."

Nodding, Mike gestured for silence as he moved over to the office, looking around for clues. He closed his eyes, trying to think back, to remember something out of place in that battle. Nothing came to mind until just before that specter had appeared; he'd noticed, out of the corner of his eye, someone crawling behind the circulation desk...

His eyes flew open. Of course.

He hurried to the desk, grabbing up a pen and the bottle of Tylenol before turning to try to clue Giles in.

* * *

"So Nancy's going to be okay?" Willow asked as the three friends walked down the hall towards the library. "I can't believe I didn't hear about this til after lunch."

Buffy nodded. "Yeah, it was a zoo when I finally got out of English. Snyder was screaming about lawsuits, the nurse was trying to get him to get out of the way for the paramedics to get to her, and nobody was going anywhere near class."

"I heard she landed on her side, not her head," Xander added. "She's got a broken arm and probably some bruised ribs, but just a minor concussion since her shoulder took the brunt of the impact."

The girls stared at him. "How do you know all that?" Willow inquired.

He made a face. "Cordy got one of the paramedics talking." From his tone, it was apparent that he wasn't too happy about that.

You can guess how she got one of the paramedics talking.

"Mr. Stone got flooded with students claiming they were traumatized," Buffy remarked with a grin, changing the subject. "He packed up and left early."

The students were not the traumatized ones here, if you ask me. Poor man.

"So Nancy's going to be all right, and Buffy got out of counseling," Willow finished. "I guess that's not too bad."

"Well, she was lucky," the Slayer continued as she opened the door. "This stuff could get worse if more people get this whacked out. We're going to have to figure this out soon."

She would have said more if Giles hadn't hurried up to them, waving his arms wildly. "Oh! Charades! I get it!" Xander exclaimed. "Let's see, first word..."

Loved Xander's immediate assumption. Serious or not, that would be his first reaction.

Giles glared at him and thrust a note into Buffy's hands, gesturing for silence. Buffy frowned and looked down at the note, Xander and Willow looking over her shoulder. No talking! it read in Giles' sharp-edged printing. Mike thinks the library is bugged.

Hadn't seen "Hush" yet, so I assumed Giles had legible, sharp printing. Now, I'm not so sure, if his drawing skills are any indication...

Buffy blinked, confused, and Willow frowned, but Xander's eyes widened in understanding.

Of course, Xander, still remembering his military training, gets it first.

He looked at Giles inquiringly, and Giles inclined his head towards the circulation desk. Nodding, Xander pulled a notebook and a pen out of his backpack and walked over to the desk as Giles beckoned Willow and Buffy out into the hall.

Mike was crouched behind the circulation desk, peering at something attached beneath the top shelf. Carefully, so as not to make any noise, Xander scooted in beside him to see what the newest member of the Scooby Gang was looking at.

One look and a memory from the Halloween incident told him that Mike's hunch had been right. The concealed microphone wasn't disguised as anything insignificant, but it had been planted in an insignificant spot. But from what Xander's military memories told him, the job was relatively sloppy.

He uncapped the pen and started to write. They planted this Sunday night?

Mike took the pen, answering on the same sheet. Yep. I remembered seeing one of them crawling behind here just after I got clobbered. He peered at the bug intently before continuing. I'm trying to figure out what the range on this thing is.

I think it's maybe a 15-foot range, but the place they stuck it might take that down a bit, Xander wrote back. As Mike stared at him in confusion, he added, Halloween. People turned into their costumes for a night. I went as an Army lieutenant. It was a slight fib, but Mike hadn't been there. Besides, a private wasn't as impressive.

Mike continued to stare at him skeptically for a moment, then shrugged it off as a sudden thought struck him. They probably don't know we're on to them yet.

Xander glanced again at the recording device, then at Mike. Obviously, they were thinking the same thing. Maybe we should leave it on for a while.

Yeah, they definitely do have a lot in common. Again, I'm prepping for Mike's inevitable comparisons to his brother.

Nodding, Mike got to his feet. Xander got up as well, and the two of them hurried out into the hall, where Giles, Willow and Buffy were already deep in conversation. "...talk to Angel," Buffy was saying. "He might have heard something." The conversation abruptly ceased as Buffy noticed their presence.

"We found it," Xander announced as soon as the door was closed. "Stuck behind the counter in a little corner they thought we'd never see."

"Good," Giles said, relieved. "I suppose you've disabled it, or turned it off, or whatever?"

Xander shook his head. "Not yet."

The Watcher frowned. "Now wait a moment. I thought--"

"Think about it," Mike reasoned. "We turn it off, they know we're on to them."

"If they don't know already," Xander admitted.

Willow was nodding, seeing where the two of them were going with this. "But if we don't..."

Buffy finished the thought. "They only hear what we want them to."

You can just see the evil grin.

*thud*