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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do you read all these?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah, that would be nice."

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

"Oh. Right."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I keep hoping you'll change it."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Whatever. You fit right in."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How about what?"

"The Bronze. Tonight, say about eight?"

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

"Yes?"

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

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

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

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

"Xander..."

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

"I..."

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

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

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

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

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

"What?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Angel spoke aloud. "No."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No." But his hand was moving faster.

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

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

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

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

*I'd never do anything like that.*

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