Title: A Midsummer Night's Ficbunny Dream

Author: Waldo

E-Mail: beltane_esq@yahoo.com

Feedback: Yes, please!

Archive: Ask first please.

Pairing: Spike/Xander, Angel/Krycek implied, and other

Rating: Oh I'd say G

Disclaimer: Don't own. No money made.

Site: The Bug-Eyed Unicorn http://www.wrssproductions.com/boilingpoint/mainframe/waldo/index.html

Spoilers: Nope, none.

Summary: Waldo has a dream, and boy is it a doozy.

Notes: Some major crossover action here. BtVS/Angel/X-Men/X Files

Dedication: To Wyrd and Rabid. Their example and support made this possible. Thank you!



A Midsummer Night's Ficbunny Dream
by Waldo

I had to pee. I was surfacing from a dream where I was taking a leak, always a bad sign for me. I was hot, sweaty, and I had to pee.

I stayed half-conscious for as long as I could, fighting my body's urgent need. It was a struggle I never won. Finally I waved a mental white flag and dragged myself upright on the couch to search for my slippers. I was on the couch because my wife's back was acting up, and I didn't want to aggravate Wyrd's condition. Finally I connected my feet and slippers, got up, and groggily headed for the bathroom.

Through half-closed eyes I noticed one of the small kitchen lights was on. No surprise there, Wyrd keeps some irregular hours. As I passed near the door I heard movement, then Wyrd asking, "Got any beer in here, mate?"

"No," I replied in passing. "There's some sherry for cooking still in the cupboard."

As I continued on my quest for relief, I heard a muttered, "Bugger. Nancy-boy sherry instead of a nice pint. I knew I should've nicked a six-pack on the way over."

Halfway to the bathroom I slowed down, a little confused. Wyrd didn't speak in a Cockney accent, nor did she sound like a man. Must be sleepier than I realize.

The bathroom door was shut, and the shower was running. Another slight pause as my brain pondered why Wyrd wanted to drink beer in the shower, especially since she didn't like beer. Bladder urgency and grogginess made that futile, so I opened the door and went to take care of business.

Halfway through I heard the shower curtain open and Wyrd asked me, "Is there any other cream rinse? This is for dry hair, and I like normal."

"Nope. What we've got is there around the tub." The curtain rustled again after an answering grunt, and I finished business. Leaning over to flush, I stopped, frowning at the handle, befuddled. I hadn't heard Wyrd come in behind me, let alone get in the shower, and now she was speaking without an accent in a soft-spoken man's voice.

I flushed, trying to think. Was I still dreaming, or maybe sleep walking? The handle felt pretty real. I paused to see if I was going to wake up with warm, urine-soaked underwear, which is why the dream of taking a whizz is a dangerous one for me. Nothing happened, and the shower kept running.

Finally I turned to a higher power. "Wyrd?" I said loudly enough to be heard over the water, "Am I really here?" No answer. "Wyrd?" I called louder.

"What?" came the reply from behind the curtain in the same voice I'd heard before. "Who?"

"Wyrd, stop fucking with what little mind I have. You know it's no triumph!"

The shower curtain was pulled back, and she poked her head out, except it wasn't her. My forehead crinkled and my eyes blinked as my poor overloaded mind recognized Angel. In our shower. Dripping on the floor.

"Oh, hi. Wyrd's in the bedroom. She said it was okay to take a shower."

He paused, looking at me as if he'd explained everything to me. The imp corner of my mind was busy being relieved that I'd finished peeing and stored the apparatus away. The rest of my mind was of absolutely no help. I stared at him, frowning puzzledly, thankfully without my mouth hanging open which was a surprise.

I think a full thirty seconds went by that way, when he spoke again.

"Do you know if there's any hair gel?" Again that matter of fact expression on his face.

This was surreal. My eyebrows rose and the corner of my mouth rose in a lopsided smile. "Not that I know of," I replied. "Neither of us uses Nanc--" Luckily the censorship circuits in my brain kicked in. "Aah, that is, we don't use hair gel."

He gave me that closed-mouthed nod of his with the signature brooding, thoughtful expression. A brief pause, then "Thanks." Pulling back into the shower, he closed the curtain.

I stood there with my brain ratcheting in place. I could almost hear the gears grinding and circuit breakers popping as the poor thing tried to process this situation. No doubt the little men in the control room of my mind were probably drawing their pistols and getting ready to commit mass suicide. One comforting little detail bubbled up and saved us all. I walked past the curtain to the wall next to the shower and took down the back brush hanging there. Relieved that it wasn't wet, I hid it in with the towels. Call it a quirk, but I hate the thought of anyone but Wyrd and I using it. Hugging this little morsel of reality to my bosom to remain sane, I very calmly pulled out one of the towels and hung it on the rack. As I started to leave I tapped the curtain and said, "I put a fresh towel up for you. Just leave it there when you're done, okay?"

"Great. Thanks," from the shower. I walked out and closed the door.

I stood with my back to the door, arms hanging, staring ahead with a blank expression on my face all too familiar to those who know me. I had no response to this situation. Except for the lizard part of my brain, no other part was rising to this--- extraordinary occasion. To understate it enormously, I was somewhat non-plussed.

I heard a lighter strike to my left. My stomach did a flip-flop and my eyes started slowly widening to double their normal size.

The sound of an exhale and the smell of a cigarette. "You must be Waldo. Heard a lot about you." It was the Cockney accent voice. Another pause, long enough for a drag on the smoke and an obvious exhale. "Thought you'd be bigger, the way she went on about you."

I will understand and have sympathy for horror movie characters for the rest of my life. You know, the ones who have to look in the basement or closet when they know the monster's there. My lizard brain was screaming, "Don't look! Don't look! Run away!" But still my head turned slowly to the right, eyes rigidly forward, till I was looking over my shoulder down the hall.

Yup, there was Spike, leaning against the wall smiling slightly at me, cigarette in one hand and the Nancy-boy sherry bottle in the other. In, to my ears, a surprisingly normal voice, I replied, "I could say the same thing about you. I mean, heck, what with two Slayers under your belt and, ehh," I looked pointedly at his crotch, "another Slayer under your belt."

He snorted slightly, took another drag off the smoke, and smiled slightly as he turned his head a bit. "Slayers don't have to be big, you know. I *am*, just not tall." He swigged some Nancy-sherry and leaned, smiling.

Silence ensued for I'm not sure how long as I stood there blinking. Finally a rational thought materialized out of my fog-lost brain-- my neck hurt, since I was still standing at right angles to Spike while I stared at him over my left shoulder. Sloowwly the little men in the control room of my mind started setting up the routine to turn and face Spike fully, but before the 'Execute' button could be pushed, we all froze again. Someone was coming up the stairs to our front door. Since we rent the second floor of a house, it took a while.

As the footsteps and low voices got closer, my expression turned to what Wyrd calls 'Deer Caught in Headlights'-- eyes even wider, eyebrows trying to mate with the hairline, and mouth partially open.

Spike shifted his head so he could look past my shoulder at the front door, and raised his eyebrows a bit as he looked back at me. "Who could that be at this hour? Were you expecting company?"

"Uuhh..." was the extent of a snappy comeback I could dredge up as my head turned to look over my right shoulder. The door opened, and I saw a man standing, holding a bag, and talking to someone in a voice I thought I recognized.

"- pedal is for more than just resting your foot. Push pedal. Makes car go faster! Faster good, ten miles under the speed limit bad!" He turned in and started up the four steps to the hallway, looking up at me. "Oh, hi, Bobby! Good thing I got extra Twinkies!"

As he approached me the light was enough to show me Xander Harris, the Zeppo, the Doughnut Boy, the Lover of Slayers, Demons, and Bugs. I silently mouthed, "Bobby?" and followed him with my head as he walked past.

"Spike, my man! Made sure to get some Guinness for you, and the pork rinds." As he reached Spike, Xander leaned over and gave him a quick kiss on the mouth.

"You took your bloody time, Pet," Spike replied, ruffling Xander's hair fondly and smiling. He set the Nancy-sherry down, probably in anticipation of a brewski.

"Hey, blame the G-man and his anemic accelerator pedal!" With that Xander went into the kitchen.

My head jerked around as another voice with an English accent spoke quite closely.

"I say, this is most irregular! Why wasn't I notified? These excursions are difficult enough to manage without-- Oh!"

I was staring at the surprisingly powerful eyes of Rupert Giles standing close, looking concerned as only he could, juggling a case of beer and a large sack of groceries. I guess he'd realized that he wasn't talking to whoever the fuck 'Bobby' was, and I instinctively knew he was unconsciously trying to take off his glasses, difficult with the load he was carrying.

Without a word and without thinking I reached out to take the case of beer off his hands. He looked non-plussed, then let me with the patent Giles smile and a "Why, thank you!" He reached up with his free hand and, yes indeedy, took off his glasses. We stood staring at each other awkwardly, then with a "Right! Well, then!" he continued on into the kitchen.

All this time, Xander had been blathering on in the kitchen, congratulating himself on insisting on making a munchies run because he was sick of having bread and butter sandwiches over here. "Mind you, I am no stranger to bread and butter sandwiches. I even like them, which was a real blessing considering who my parents were. But a little empty-caloried frosty goodness makes a welcome change. Sugar-charged energy to get you through the night! Yum, yum!" Clatterings showed that he was either no stranger to the refrigerator, or completely uninhibited about rummaging around in it. "Now, Anya's the one who likes to keep healthy crackers, nonfat sour cream, and goat cheese around. Not that it's of the bad, but me--I keep a whole drawer loaded with Twinkies, and make sure it's never empty!"

At that point his head poked out of the kitchen, and he said to me, "Hey, Bobby! You want a Twinkie?" and brandished said item inquiringly in my direction.

Even as I once again silently mouthed, "Bobby?" my mind was betraying me. I was overpowered by a flashback to a Weird Al Yankovick video which spoofed Michael Jackson's song 'Beat It!' In Al's version 'Eat It!' is a scene where a huge black guy is standing in front of Al waving a Ding Dong at him, saying 'Ding Dong! Ding Dong, man! Ding dong!" It was too much. I started snickering and slowly sank down until I was sitting on the floor, staring at the case of beer between my knees and snorting.

Not really taking notice, I saw some hands come into view, open the case, pull out a beer and open it. The beer was held in front of my eyes.

"Here, mate. This'll help. Trust me."

I looked up to see Spike standing over me solicitously, apparently truly concerned about me. It touched me in a way that made me want to cry at that point, I felt so lost and confused. I smiled hesitantly ( or grinned like an idiot, I'm not sure which) and reached up to accept it.

The bathroom door opened and I fell backwards with a loud noise. One which my friends would recognize as 'Waldo startled,' a cross between a yell and a grunt at high volume. I found myself with my head on the feet of Angel, looking up at the towel-clad vampire who was in turn looking down at me, puzzled. A moment, and he looked at Spike standing in front of the door.

"Did I miss something?"

Angel frowned down at me in confusion, saying, "What's wrong with Bobby? He was acting real strange in the bathroom, calling me Wyrd and stuff. And why's he here on our night, anyway?"

As he spoke, I couldn't help, from where I lay, looking straight up the towel to where his manly parts were exposed to my view. I started chuckling again, and managed to blurt out, "I can't see why someone else on your show got the name of 'Gunn' , considering what I'm looking at.... Now I know what a Scot wears under his towel!" Looking surprised, he stepped back far enough to cut off the view and my head to be off his feet.

Angel stared seriously at me as I wound down, then said in a deadpan voice, "I'm Irish."

This set me off again as my mind flashed to a T-shirt my mother had gotten me that said, 'Kiss Me, I'm Irish.' I almost said, "So you want me to kiss you?" but luckily the censorship circuit tripped. I managed to control my mirth to boisterous chuckling rather than braying, uncontrollable laughter ( another signature Waldo feature familiar to my friends.)

"What's so hilarious about offering a guy a Twinkie?" Xander had come to stand next to Spike, and was looking at me curiously.

Spike, taking a swig of the beer he'd offered, glared at Angel disgustedly. "For a Master Vampire you can be bloody thick, you know." He glanced over at Xander. "You I expect it of." As they both looked taken aback, he continued, pointing at me with the beer he held. " This isn't Bobby, you twits. It's Waldo, the bloke married to Wyrd!"

Both of them looked at me rather shocked, and having finished my hysterical chuckling, I took the opportunity to ask, " Just who the fuck is this Bobby, anyway? And why the hell do you think I'm him? Or he's me.... or something..." I trailed off weakly having expended the conversational energy I possessed at the moment.

"Bobby Drake, the Iceman," replied Angel as he reached down and, grasping me in the armpits, lifted me easily and surprisingly gently to my feet.

Xander was still looking shocked. "I thought you were Bobby 'cause you've got about the same build. And it was dark when I came in. And he likes to hang around places in his underwear." As he paused, I was self-conciously aware of my state of dress, or lack thereof. Well, at least my jockey shorts were clean tonight.

"Besides," he continued almost plaintively, "You're not supposed to be here." He paused, having run out of steam, then his face brightened as if he was happy to have thought of something else to say. "Well, *would* you like a Twinkie?" he said hopefully, brandishing one as if it would make everything all right.

"Yeah, I would, thank you." I took it and turned to Angel. "Thanks, I needed that." He nodded kind of slowly. I faced Spike and pointed at the open case on the floor. "I'll take one of those now, if the offer's still good." He bobbed his head, and I reached down to help myself. Opening it and taking a swig, we all stood in silence. Xander was sort of petting the Twinkie he'd been eating, Spike took a swig and a drag as he watched the other two with a smirk on his face, and Angel just stood, looking from face to face.

Finally I said, "Bobby Drake? The nice man?"

"No, mate, the Ice Man," Spike replied. "You know, one of the X-Ponces. Don't like them much myself. A bit too uppity for me, you know."

"Oh," I replied, nodding like I really understood. I looked down to try to open my Twinkie and was reminded of my lack of garb. Looking up I said, "Uh, mind if I get by? I want to go put on my pants."

Spike just had another swig as he stepped out of the way. Xander stepped back against the wall, shaking his head in an obvious effort to let me know he didn't mind my passing. Angel, not in the way, continued standing still. I started toward the living room, glancing back as I entered. Xander apparently remembered the Twinkie he was petting, and took a big bite as he watched me, obviously relieved to do something familiar and comforting. Spike continued watching the other two, now grinning. Glad *someone's* amused at all this.

Getting my pants on helped, though I was already calm. The folks in the control room had either settled down or fled, leaving the controls on auto-pilot. I sat on the big couch, eating the Twinkie with beer chaser, and lit up one of my clove cigarettes, not really thinking but letting the events sort of filter in by osmosis. I ignored the conversation that drifted in, content to just veg out for a bit. Then I frowned as I realized what this had to be-- a dream! A very lucid dream, admittedly, but what else could it be? I took another drag of my dwindling ciggie supply, and admired the realness and detail of my dream. I was pretty goddamn good, even if I *was* busy confusing the hell out of myself!

A spark from my ciggie burned my arm and I swatted it. Yup, mighty damn lucid! I smoked on, happy to have an answer, and caught snatches of conversation from the kitchen without really processing them.

"...really isn't Bobby? But..."

"...a Twinkie in your gob and give it a rest, will..."

"...most improper and unprecedented. I'll..."

"...figure out what to do? I'd like to put my clothes on."

"...he comes out of the bedroom? That's..."

"...can't contact them. I don't have the correct..."

"...bloody well come up with some sodding story, or..."

"...escort, not the answer man! This..."

"...Bobby with amnesia? He..."

"...Bobby rot or I'll..."

"...clothes? I left them..."

"...Deadboy, you are a real help in..."

"...bickering is not going to solve..."

"...the twit and I have our go? That'll..."

"...of the good if you can stop cleaning your glasses and..."

"...really like to put on my..."

"...violence is out of the question! It could..."

"...leave? With Twinkies, of course, and..."

"...sodding Twinkies! I'm..."

Sound of scuffling.

"...solving anything! Please keep them apart while..."

Silence.

I was fading slowly back into conscious thought. It's quiet in the kitchen. I wonder if everybody's stuffing themselves with Twinkies? I took a swig of beer, then heard the bedroom door open. A new man's voice said, "Move a bean to the ditch," then the door closed. This strange sentence sort of shocked me back to full alertness.

"Bloody hell!" I heard Spike say in the kitchen. "That tears it!"

"You're on, guys," the new voice said. No one answered.

Into the doorway strode a medium height dark-haired man in dark clothes. He noticed me as he reached for a leather jacket on the little couch. I was staring almost entranced into his haunting eyes as I said, "Well. Hi, Alex. How's the hand?" Who the hell's next? Oh, God, not Wolverine!...

Alex Krycek, the Rat Bastard, the handsome backstabber, treated me to the power of his smile, held up his hand, and wiggled his fingers. "Fine, depending on the writer!" He walked over and sat down next to me as he said, "So what have you written? You must be new." His arm casually draped itself behind me on the back of the couch and he leaned a little closer.

"Uh, mostly my name on the payroll."

"Leave off, Ratboy. That one's straight." Spike stood in the doorway with Xander and Giles hovering behind him with very concerned expressions. He walked in and sat on the little couch which is at right angles to the big one where we sat. He gestured at me with the beer he held. "That's Waldo, Wyrd's husband." Smiling sardonically he took a swig of beer.

I looked back at Krycek, who had a slight wariness in his eyes now, but was still smiling as he offered me his hand. "Oh. Pleasure's all mine." As I shook his hand the arm behind me was casually withdrawn. I just nodded, a little shell shocked again.

During this the rest of tonight's cast entered. Xander sat down nervously next to Spike clutching four or five Twinkies besides the one he was eating. Giles walked to stand in front of me and leaned against the roll top desk. Angel, bringing up the rear, made a beeline for his clothes behind the small couch, announced to no one in particular, "I'm going to go put these on," and almost fled for the bathroom.

Afterwards there was what writers call a pregnant pause. They all looked rather uncertain and uncomfortable. Xander was back to petting his Twinkie, periodically catching himself and taking another bite. Giles was standing stooped over, looking at the floor with his hands in his pockets. Spike was doing the old look up and around at the ceiling, tapping his knee with the flat of one hand and pursing his lips. Krycek was sitting back, looking at everyone's face without moving his head, a slight smile on his face.

I was smoking, feeling pretty at ease, looking around at them with a rather cheerful countenance. A few minutes went by, and I said, "Well, golly! This is sure the strangest dream I've ever had!" and smiled at everyone. The tension lifted as I got another ciggie and lit it. They all got odd expressions on their faces, and started looking at each other and me.

"Rr...right. Dream." Spike worked his mouth around and started nodding. "Yeah. A dream. Pretty odd, wot?" Giles was starting to smile, and the Twinkie stopped getting petted.

"Yeah, dream." Xander's face had brightened. "Funny about those crazy dreams. Stuff is really strange. And this one's no different, what with you not being a slash writer and all. It reminds me... of..." He trailed off as everyone was staring at him. "What?!" He sat back looking trapped, and killed his pet Twinkie.

"Slash dream?" I tilted my head slightly to the side with half a smile. "That's odd, since I was just thinking that all you guys would really be enjoyed by Wyrd."

Krycek gave a slight start next to me. Giles' eyes widened, and choking noises came from Xander and Spike on Twinkie and beer respectively. The former tension was back.

"Yup," I continued, "It sure is strange, me having a dream that would be more suitable for Wyrd." I nodded and smoked as the others started shifting uncomfortably.

Giles' hands were back in his pockets, and he looked up at an angle as if remembering something, as he said, "Well, ah, actually, it is her dream." The others looked at him with expressions of guarded hope. He took off the glasses again and started pacing a short distance in front of the desk. "Your...dreams have...overlapped. You have become..involved in ..special sort of dream. It's called..a ficbunny dream by writers." He smiled embarassedly at me and took off his glasses. "Silly name, really."

As if in dawning comprehension the others started nodding at him and me, gradually getting expressions of agreement on their faces.

I sat, digesting this. "So how did I get involved in her dream?"

Giles paused, looking up again. "Well, you see, the.. er, communal psyche of the... mass unconsciousness of the... writers and readers of slash... leads to an... ectoplasmic energy... which manifests itself in... distortions of reality... allowing a form of transdimensional and transtemporal travel... which can open up mental portals... foci which-- "

"Giles!" Xander interrupted. "Let me!" Everyone looked astonished, and after a moment Giles waved his glasses in invitation to him. Xander leaned forward looking at me and in his low, slow, we're talking dummy to dummy here voice, said, "It's magic!" He sat back with a very satisfied look on his face, and opened a triumphal Twinkie.

I heard Krycek snort a little in laughter, and Spike was smiling. Giles sort of froze, then said, "Well, yes, of a sort."

"O..kay," I said slowly and smoked some more. Everyone seemed tense again. "So I've been... involved in Wyrd's ficbunny dream inadvertently. Okay. I can live-- or, wake up with that." The tension eased as I smoked, nodding to myself for a bit. "So just what are these ficbunny dreams about?" Immediate tenseness again.

Giles stood in one spot making small motions with his glasses. Spike and Xander sat still, not even any Twinkie petting. Krycek was suddenly very interested in a thread on his pocket. I just looked ingenuously from face to face, continuing to smoke.

"Talk about plots!" Spike said abruptly. "The, er, imaginary characters appear in, ah, dreams, to talk about plots!" A pause to look at the others with a slightly hunted look. Then enthusiastically, "And characterization! That's very important for a writer! Getting it right and all, so it... feels authentic... and all..." He trailed off and looked around the room as if for support. "Right?" He started to fumble in his coat for a cigarette.

After a moment, the others came alive with motions and noises of agreement. There was obvious relief on everyone's face.

"Right! Characterization!" Xander leaned forward in excitement. "You have to know the character really well to get them right! I mean you almost have to have an intimate knowledge of a character... to get... What!?" He became aware that all eyes were upon him again. "Well, she writes a lot about me... you know..." He trailed off as he sank back onto the couch, hunching his shoulders, looking at the floor, and starting to unwrap another comfort Twinkie. I noticed him wince and glance at Spike, who had smacked the back of his head as surreptitiously as possible.

Processing this I took a few more drags with a thoughtful expression on my face. The others continued to show signs of being alive ( in the dream sense) although once again guarded. During this I had looked at everyone, and noticed a subtle change in Krycek; his smile seemed a bit frozen and his body had stiffened a little.

"Could I have another beer?" I asked to give me a little more time, and because I was out. Giles stayed still but put his glasses back on. Xander, who had brought in the case and set it at the end of the couch bobbed his head several times, his eyes lighting up with what seemed to be hope, grabbed one and passed it to Spike. Spike opened it and passed it to me. I bowed my head in thanks as I took it and took a swig. Silence filled the room as I sat there smoking and thinking. I think everyone was startled when I swung around and stared at Krycek for about two seconds. He actually rose in his seat and lost his smile. I could see Xander and Spike stiffen on the couch out of the corner of my eye, and I think they sought out and held each other's hands. Giles took a half pace forward and froze.

"Would you like one?" I said as I gestured with the brew, smiling.

A second more, then it was like all the tension evaporated from the room. Alex sat back with a chuckle and a slight narrowing of one eye as he looked at me. His smile was back. "Yes, brother. I *would* like a beer." He leaned back on the couch, relaxed, putting his arm behind me again, just not as close as before.

I faced back around. Giles was looking relieved but puzzled, Xander was getting the beer, and Spike was sitting back, also relaxed, smiling at me. When he took the beer from Xander, before handing it to me, he held it up and nodded as if in salute, scarred eyebrow raised. As I took it I smiled back, held it to my forehead, and bowed my head to him. I handed it to Krycek, who accepted it gracefully. His was a half smile now, and he made no attempt to hold onto and linger on my fingers as he took it, which somehow we both knew. I lifted my beer to him, and he grinned and followed suit. A toast flashed into my head from I don't know where, since I'd been operating on instinct and Zen during this, so I blurted it out. "Here's to those who wish us well!"

He replied with the proper response immediately. "All the rest can go to hell!"

I started laughing heartily, and he followed suit quickly. As he started to take a swig, I stopped him with a motion, and linked my beer holding arm with his, which he allowed with an amused but slightly puzzled look. I moved to start to take a sip with our arms thusly interlocked and he understood and started to do the same, a maneuver which requires cooperation and coordination. I paused, halting the process, looked him in the eye and said, "You know this is Bruederschaft and not a wedding?"

He let out a brief guffaw, replied "Of course, brother!" and we proceeded to take a sip. We unlinked arms, I nodded at him, and faced back to the group.

The linking of arms and drinking of something comes from, or at least I know it as a custom from, Germany. Bruederschaft is done by comrades. At a wedding, the bride and groom do it, then kiss over the glass.

I lit another ciggie, sat back relaxed, smoked and drank for about two minutes. The rest said nothing, but were obviously relaxed now. I felt pleased since they were guests, albeit not mine nor by me.

Finally I spoke. "I think I get it now. I've been... involved, with Wyrd's ficbunny dream, and in dreams almost anything is possible." A general agreement from the room. I smoked as I thought, then my eyes lit up. "Well, then. If I've become part of a... 'ficbunny dream,' then how 'bout if I can cash in on it? Can I have a visit from, say, Buffy and Willow to... 'discuss' characterization? Or, better yet, how about Willow and her vampire twin from the other dimension? Her not being *too* evil, of course, but wearing her leather, and Willow dressed that way too... I could explore character motivation with them for... " I surfaced to dead silence as everyone was looking at me peculiarly. "What!? Motivation is important.. in a story... I could..." I trailed off as the expressions didn't change.

Giles seemed to shake himself awake. "I'm afraid that won't be possible. You see, I happen to know that all three were scheduled to visit with RabidX tonight. You know her I'm sure, she works extensively with your wife Wyrd. Besides, these things couldn't be arranged on such short notice. I do hope you understand?"

"I guess," I said resignedly. Sure, they get all the fun and I'm a day late and a dollar short. Oh, well. It was a let-down, but I wasn't out anything I'd already had. Willow and Vamp Willow, though... "Any chance that, if this happens again, I could have a standing order in?"

Giles looked perplexed. "I'll see what I can do, but I can't promise anything."

I nodded, and smoked, still feeling rather peaceful and happy despite the Willow double disappointment. I was happy for Rabid, while also being decidedly jealous.

Angel came in from the hall, dressed in-- surprise! His usual black on black under black duster. "Sorry I took so long, I was having trouble getting the hair right." I grinned, while Spike rolled his eyes, muttering something I didn't catch except for the word "Poof." Angel looked at Giles. "We'll head out now, and meet you at the rendezvous." Giles nodded back, and Angel looked at me. "Nice meeting you. Thanks for the use of the shower."

I waved my hand in an 'it was nothing' gesture. "One thing, Angel, if you would." He looked at me politely. "I was wondering if you could do one thing for me before you go?"

He looked a bit puzzled. "What?"

I paused to let the tension build. "Do you think you could dance a little before you go? I've never seen it, and I've always thought you'd be great." I put on a vacuous smile and puffed on my ciggie.

Angel froze with a serious expression on his face. I glanced over and saw Xander showing some serious surprise, and Spike looked like he was working very hard trying to keep a straight face. He avoided looking at me.

Finally, "I don't dance." Angel looked at Krycek. "Let's go."

"That's my cue," Alex said and downed the last of his beer and levered himself off the couch.

"Before you go," I said as I remembered something. He paused, possibly wondering if I was going to ask him to dance, too. "Just what the hell did you mean when you said, 'Move a bean to the ditch?' "

It was like looking into a mirror during way too much of my life. His face was completely blank, devoid of any comprehension of what I was talking about. Dead halt to cerebral processes.

"When you came out of the bedroom, I heard you say that. I presume it was to Wyrd."

Dawning comprehension, and he tilted his head back and laughed for a bit. Calming down, he said, "I told her 'Udacha tebya, tovarich.' It means 'good luck, my friend.' "

A brief moment, then my brain kicked in. "Oh, yeah. That's what you told Mulder just before you kissed him. Chastely, I'm sure."

His eyes twinkled as he smiled and reached forward to take my hand. "Farewell, my brother. Maybe our paths will cross again."

"Perhaps, brother. I look forward to it, if it is written." I don't know how I can fall into such formal, pompous prose at the slightest provocation, but somehow it always feels right when I do. He seemed pleased, then he and Angel left for parts unknown to me.

I noticed that Spike and Xander had taken the opportunity during all this to engage in some surreptitious footsy. When Angel and Krycek had left, I told them, "You know, you guys, if you want to cuddle or something, that's okay by me. That is, if you give me another beer."

Spike looked steadily at me, a thoughtful expression on his face, then held out his hand to take the beer offered by Xander without breaking our eye contact. Xander had looked a little surprised while jumping to providing said beverage. I took it from Spike and lit another ciggie.

As Spike and Xander got more comfortable, former's arm around other's waist, latter's arm around former's shoulders and a sinking together on the couch, Xander, bless his heart, said, with the inquiring Xander raised eyebrows, asked, "You sure this is okay?" Spike, I noted, just looked smug and self-assured. "I mean," Xander continued, "A lot of guys wouldn't be comfortable with this. I mean, two guys, and all... "

I smiled and waved the beer as emphasis. "Hey, there's not enough happiness in the world. If two people, even of the same sex, can find some, I think it's great." I took a swig, then added, "That is, as long as the happiness doesn't get *too* graphic."

They both smiled at that, and Spike reached over and ruffled Xander's hair. "That's better, isn't it, pet?" Xander snuggled into his shoulder and, I think, purred.

Some more smoking and quiet in the room, then I looked at Giles leaning against the desk. "Giles? If I may call you that...?"

He looked back at me, and nodded with the signature Giles smile. I felt inordinately touched.

"So, are you here to... discuss things with Wyrd, too?"

His eyes widened, and he began shaking his head. "Oh, no. I'm here as a... coordinator, if you will. Not really a chaperone, per se, more to... keep to the schedule." Off with the glasses as he looked over my head. "Much like, if you will, the fairy godmother in Cinderella, to make sure... " He stopped, becoming aware of the general choking and snorting sounds erupting in the room from the rest of us. A moment, then he smiled, embarrassed. "Oh, I see. Poor choice of words, I'm afraid. True, nevertheless. Keeping the schedules and the like, you know."

Choking down laughter and avoiding Spike's gaze to hold it together, I nodded.

After calm was restored, I saw Spike stir on the couch. "Well, this has been interesting and all, but I think we have an appointment to keep." He stroked Xander's shoulder. "Right?"

Xander stirred and looked up. "Right. We've got to... talk about... characterization. That's it. With Wyrd. Yeah."

I smiled, lighting another ciggie. "Good," I said. "That should be a good dream for Wyrd, and I want her to have good dreams." I waved my fresh ciggie. "I'm having a good dream myself, I'm happy to say. I'm smoking my ciggies like there's no tomorrow when really I'm on short rations. Dreams are cool."

Spike and Xander unfolded themselves from each other and the couch, Spike looking thoughtful. He walked over to Giles and they spoke together in low voices for a bit. I only caught Giles saying something was "irregular," and Spike making mention of "good sport" and later exclaiming "I'll leave some money!" Finally they were through, Giles looking agreeable but resigned and Spike looking pleased.

"Well, Waldo, I'm glad I got to meet you. You're all right." Spike shook my hand.

"Before you go--" I started.

Spike interrupted me. "I'm not going to bloody dance for you!"

I chuckled ( so did Xander ) and held up my hands in negation. "No, no. I wondered if, perhaps, you'd show me your game face before you go."

Spike stepped back, and his expression didn't seem to change, but suddenly the room felt chilly and things were crawling up and down my back. "Soo.." he said slowly. "Want to look into the face of the Beast, do you?" He stared steadily at me, and I was scared. I found I couldn't speak, and just nodded hesitantly.

Suddenly there it was and I was terrified, unable to move. I stared into yellow eyes that were now coming closer to mine, a mouth of fangs beneath them smiling. "How's this?" a voice from Hell asked. "What you expected? Is it what you want?" Closer and closer.

"No.. yes... I mean yes.. no... I..." My voice was literally squeaking, and I would have dropped my beer and ciggie if I hadn't been paralyzed.

Suddenly the demon face was gone and Spike was leaning over me smiling. "Scared you, did I?" I just nodded. He smiled beatifically. "Good. I love that." He reached out and took my hand again. "Good luck, mate. You're all right." I smiled back, recovering quickly.

"Thank you, and I'm glad I met you... William. If I may?"

He slowly smiled wider, then gave me a wink and a clap on the shoulder.

Xander stepped up. "Meeting you was of the good, and I'm sorry I mistook you for Bobby." We shook hands.

"Well," I said, "I guess all I can say is, you have your ups and your downs, but you are one hell of a man, and a good one to have covering your back!"

A pause as we both digested what I'd said, then we both got slightly odd looks on our faces and burst out laughing. He also clapped me on the shoulder, saying, "I understand perfectly!"

They started out of the room arm in arm, when Giles spoke up. "Oh, Xander. Before I forget. We did get jelly doughnuts, didn't we? I didn't see them on the table..."

I detected a distinct hunching of shoulders on Xander's part, and him hurrying Spike out of the room. As I heard the bedroom door open and close, Giles took off his glasses and turned to me. "Blast! He knows I like the jelly ones!" He started furiously cleaning his glasses.

By now I'd had enough dream beer and dream excitement that I thought I could get back to sleep. Giles agreed with me, saying that it should put the spheres back into alignment and return Mars from retrograde, or something like that. Anyway, it should put things back into kilter.

I thanked Giles for his counsel this night, and he was graciously humble to have "aided me in a difficult situation." I bedded back down on the couch, he assuring me that he'd be fine in the kitchen with tea and a book. Something concerning demons, I'll bet. I drifted off, the light filtering from the kitchen not bothering me.

I woke later, the dream beer having struck my kidneys, took care of business, and laid back down. As I was drifting off, I heard the front door open, and smelled cigar smoke as someone went into the kitchen. I heard Giles getting up and saying, "Logan! You're finally here... " and it faded out as I drifted into sleep. I remember thinking, All the fun! All.. the...

Next morning I woke up with a slight hangover from the dream beer, and discovered that I'd been smoking a lot more lately than I'd planned-- I was going to be low on ciggies for the rest of the week.

After I got to work, though, I made a delightful discovery. Four packs of my ciggies were stuck in the pocket of my pack which I'd forgotten about. I was set for the week.

Dreams are cool.



The End