"Hey guys, are we moving in here?" Xander plunked himself at Debi and Giles' table with a friendly smile. "Good idea. The other table was getting crowded."
"Xander," Giles said. "Go away."
"It's okay." Debi patted Xander's hand. "We've got room here. And the night is still plenty young."
"We're not going to get any time to ourselves tonight, are we?" Giles sighed and slumped back into his seat.
Xander's face fell. "Oh right, you guys probably have things to talk about, right? Don't want a third wheel along. That's okay, really! I can go away. . ."
"You are not a third wheel," Debi declared.
"No. A third wheel can be useful sometimes," Angel said from behind Xander. "Out, Xander. They want to be alone."
"Ms. Marble said I can stay!" Xander glowered at Angel, which was a feat since he was facing away from him. "Who invited him to the party?"
"Party?" Giles murmured despairingly.
Angel sat in the chair opposite Xander. "Kid, I know your idea of romance barely encompasses one minute grope fests in the utility closet --"
"What's wrong with a little healthy groping?" Xander said indignantly. "I enjoy my groping. In fact, my grope fests make me very happy."
Angel gave a melodramatic sigh. "Would it kill you to listen to the voice of experience for once? Leave your pubescent hormones behind and try to develop a sense of the romantic. It depresses me to watch you sabotage yourself. If you'd just . . ."
Xander stared incredulously at Angel, then turned to Debi. "Double take. Am I hearing the Boy Brooder here trying to give me advice on how to pick up girls?"
"Better listen. Mr. Angel has it right," Debi said, and vacuumed up the last bits of slush from the bottom of her margarita glass. "Girls love all that sappy romantic stuff."
"If I give each of you a five dollar bill, will you go?" Giles pleaded.
"I'm plenty romantic!" Xander said. "Just because I haven't made an unlife's work of it doesn't mean that I'm not. And do you really think the girls find that 'I'm so tragic' routine cute? They'd rather go out with a guy who can make them laugh."
"Right!" Debi said. "A Groucho Marx sort of guy!"
"See?" Xander said to Angel. "Debi would rather go out with me than with you."
"Not so fast." Angel folded his hands on the table top and fixed a stern look on Xander. "Humor falls flat without intelligence to back it up. Woman prefer a guy who reads things besides cereal box labels."
"Yup," Debi nodded. "An Alistair Cooke kind of guy."
"Twenty dollars each," Giles offered. "And a case of Guinness stout if you both go home for the rest of the night."
Xander shook his finger at Angel. "Not if the guy's been buried in a book for the last seven decades, compadre. Street smarts is what drives the girls crazy."
"Yep, he's right!" Debi agreed. "Jimmy Dean all the way!"
Giles thought about that, then leaned over to her and whispered in her ear. "Want to go see me hot-wire a car?"
"Ooh!" Debi trilled. She climbed into Giles' lap and kissed him hard.
"Uhm, oh yeah," Xander said, staring at them. "Uh, never mind then. What the heck did you say to her, Giles?"
Giles broke for air. "Never mind," he told Xander, and stood, drawing a clinging Debi to her feet with him.
"We're going outside for a few minutes," Debi told them. "You guys go ahead and order for us."
"But, what . . .?" Xander began.
"Anything that doesn't have beans in it!" Debi yelled back over her shoulder as Giles steered her out through the beaded curtain.
Angel was smiling.
"You heard what he said to her, didn't you?" Xander demanded.
"I can hear better than you can," Angel admitted. "Why don't you go back out to the other table? You're not needed here, Xander."
"News bulletin, Dead Boy. Giles isn't going to want to be staring at your face throughout dinner. If you want to be useful for a change, why don't you go and make Spike and Drusilla stop weirding everyone out?"
"I don't have any control over Spike and Dru!" Angel said.
Xander shook his head sadly. "You know, Spike was acting pretty chummy with Joyce. How many roofs do you think the Buffster is going to go through if your 'son' starts getting all smoochy face with her mom?"
"No! If Spike so much as looked at another woman, Dru would --" A panicked look crossed Angel's face. "-- oh crap." He jumped up and hurried towards the main dining room.
"Gotcha," Xander said with a satisfied smirk.
The waitress stopped by the table. "Your friends don't want to order?"
"I'll do it. Three Taco Plate Supremes," Xander said. "And uh, that tall dark sourball who just ran out of here would like a beer."
"The very handsome one with the brooding bedroom eyes?" the waitress said.
Xander sighed. "You know that's just a cover for self- absorbed indigestion, don't you?"
The waitress only laughed and flipped her long dark hair over one shoulder. "I will get you his beer," she said.
Xander laughed and gave her the thumbs up. "Great!" he muttered to himself as she sauntered off. "Now what did she mean by that? Was that a hah-hah of scorn or of admiration for my wit? Why don't they make an instruction manual with the codes for this stuff? I need an interpreter. Oh, right!" He leapt up to go in search of Debi.
"Buffy, is everything all right?" Joyce asked as Buffy stalked back to the table. "You were gone for so long."
"Just hunky." Buffy threw herself into her seat, gave Spike a look that could kill, then looked mournfully at the plates of food in front of Detective Stein and her mother.
"Everybody's so jumpy tonight," Joyce commented to Detective Stein. She gave Buffy one of her tacos, which Buffy promptly snarfed down. "Slow down, Buffy. We ordered a cheese enchilada for you."
"Air pressure," Stein said as he cut up his burrito into neat bite-sized pieces. "I've been studying it. Definite correlation between dropping air pressure and psychological unrest."
"Yeah, mate, I know what you mean," Spike nodded. "My mum used to go bonkers just before the weather was going to turn. Da used to pack away the plow soon as she started tossing the pots and pans at him."
Joyce settled forward on her elbows to smile at Spike. "A plow! How interesting. Did your parents collect farm memorabilia?"
"Mom, will you please go put a quarter in the clue machine?" Buffy said in exasperation.
"Hey!" Spike glared at the Slayer. "You don't talk to your mum like that."
"It's all right," Joyce told him.
"No, it's not all right," Spike said indignantly. "If I'd ever talked to my mum like that, my da would've slapped me straight up the head!"
"Do it, Spike!" Dru bounced up and down in her seat.
"Yes, do it, Spike." Buffy smiled poisonously at him and pulled her pointed stick from under the table. "It would be fun to play Spike piñata."
"Young lady," Detective Stein said. "There are productive ways of working out life's frustrations. As a matter of fact, the squadroom is sponsoring an All-City Tetherball Team. Why don't you come down tomorrow and try out? I bet you'll be a natural."
"Tetherball?" Buffy said incredulously.
Spike snickered.
"Tetherball is not just a game for kids." Stein looked at Spike. "We're enrolling anybody who's caught brawling, as part of probation. It's part of the Mayor's new Crime Busters program."
"What a good idea!" Joyce said. "Buffy. Spike. I think you should both go."
Spike's amusement faded. "Now luv. You know I'm inconvenienced during the day."
"We've got a night team for those with day jobs," Stein persisted.
"There, you see?" Joyce smiled. "Tomorrow night then. I'll pack a dinner and drive you both out." She looked immensely pleased. "I'm excited! I'll have a chance to do an honest-to-goodness normal Mom-type thing."
"Now just a --" Spike looked at Joyce's glowing smile. "You can't expect me to --" He looked at Detective Stein. "What the bloody hell happened to good old-fashioned rugby?"
"Too violent," Stein said. "We want everybody leaning to direct their aggressions away from people to acceptable objects."
"Can I come too, Spike?" Drusilla said. "I've seen all the pretty boys and girls playing tetherball. The ball goes around and around and around . . ."
Spike put his hand over her mouth. "Now Dru, you know how confused that made you."
She pouted. "Angel can take me dancing then."
"Angel's busy," Buffy said.
"Then the handsome Watcher. Or that beautiful dark-haired boy."
"Buffy?" Angel arrived at the table and looked worriedly at Joyce, then at Buffy. "Everything's okay here, right? Listen, the bartender was telling us about this ghost in the woman's restroom. . ." He looked more closely at Buffy. "Uh, what's up?"
"You're taking Drusilla out on the town tomorrow," Buffy said sulkily. "While Spike and I play tetherball. All right?"
"Uhm," said Angel, looking perplexed.
"You just watch your hands when you take her out," Spike growled. "And make sure you have her back before dawn."
"Angel will take good care of her," Joyce promised Spike. She looked pointedly at Angel.
"Good!" Detective Stein rubbed his hands together. "This program is a pet project of mine. And you two young people," he turned to Angel and Dru, "can turn out for the Square Dancer's Circle."
"Square dancing?" Angel said weakly. "With Drusilla?"
"Will there be many boys there?" Dru said with great interest.
"Oh, I don't think that's a good idea!" Buffy said hurriedly. "Square dancing has lots and lots of steps! Why can't Drusilla go with Spike to tetherball? I'll sacrifice my place on the team to her."
"Each activity is designed to address a certain kind of social maladjustment," Stein said. "Square dancing is a non- competitive activity that helps to develop interpersonal skills in those individuals who are isolated and friendless. It also helps the participant learn to work within groups."
Wesley came wandering out into the dining room, hesitated, then walked up to the table. "Buffy, you must go to work," he said sternly.
"Cordelia!" Angel said. Wesley stared at him, wide-eyed. "I think it's time that Cordelia broadened her horizons."
"I-I-I-" Wesley looked panicked. "I have no idea what you're on about!"
"We're going square dancing tomorrow night," Angel told him.
"What?" Wesley sat down hard on Giles' abandoned chair. "You and I?"
Angel looked at him in surprise. "We could, I suppose. I thought you'd rather take Cordelia."
"Okay!" Buffy stood. "This is getting just too euwwy for words. I'm going to the restroom and fight a ghost. If anybody eats my cheese enchilada while I'm away, I'm gonna take a tetherball and --"
"Buffy," Detective Stein cautioned her. "Acceptable objects, remember."
Buffy stabbed Spike with a look, then flounced off, pointed stick in hand.
Joyce folded up her napkin and laid it by her plate. "Maybe I'd better have a word with her. I'm sorry, Kevin."
He waved her apology away with a smile. "She's your daughter. Of course she comes first. A properly integrated family unit is the key to social harmony."
Joyce smiled thankfully at him and hurried off.
"Is that what we did wrong?" Drusilla wondered. "Did I not pay enough attention to you, Spike? Is that why you were so nasty to Angel?"
"There was that," Spike admitted. "Plus he was an all- around prick." He pulled Dru close to his side and glared challengingly at Angel.
"I've said it before, and I'll tell you kids again," Detective Stein said, "these ménages almost never work out." He turned a stern eye on Angel. "I hope you've learned your lesson about that, son."
"I --!" Angel said.
"Yeah, he learned his lesson," Spike sneered. "Got him run through Hell and back again."
"Through Hell," Drusilla agreed dreamily. She looked at Wesley and smiled.
Wesley latched blindly onto Giles' abandoned, half- finished margarita and dragged it up to his lips.
Cordelia and Willow were sitting on the restroom floor eating nacho chips when Buffy came in. The Slayer stared down at them. "No ghostie? Angel said there was supposed to be a ghost."
"That was a story the bartender made up," Willow told Buffy. "Though it was a pretty good story."
"It was a stupid story," Cordelia said, brushing stray nacho chip crumbs from her dress. "But the ghost was supposed to be in the bar."
"No, there's supposed to be one in here too." Willow looked skeptically about the brightly lit restroom.
"Oh." Buffy thought about that. "Euww. I wonder if it's watching when --"
"Don't think about it!" Willow said quickly.
Buffy sat down on the floor next to Willow and grabbed some chips out of the basket. She ate them, staring at the plumbing beneath the sinks as she did so.
"So!" Willow said, with a nervous glance at the two girls on either side of her. "What are we doing for the rest of the night, Buffy?"
"You're asking me?" Buffy said. "Do I have any kind of say over anything? Ronco Slay-o-matic Buffy, that's me. Point me in the direction of the nearest vamp and bam -- I'll slice him and dice him. Drop me in the middle of a tetherball team -- hey I'll whack that ball around. Ask me to give a thumbs up to everybody's wiggy love lives -- sure! Doesn't matter that I'm not going anywhere with mine."
"Gee, Buffy," Cordelia said acidly. "I'm sorry that my marvelous love life is making yours look lame."
"Did I ask you to start making goo-goo eyes at the Imposter?" Buffy drew her knees up to her chest and sulked. "Take him off my hands, if you can. Please."
The restroom door creaked open, and Joyce stepped in. "Girls? Aren't you going to come out and eat?"
"We're waiting for Cordelia," Willow explained.
"Sure, blame me. Who asked you to wait? My night was going along peachy until you guys horned in."
"This restroom is supposed to be haunted," Buffy said to Joyce. "So Willow and I have to stay here until Cordelia's ready to go."
"That's just silly." Joyce looked around the small room. "Who ever heard of a haunted restroom?" She hesitated, then eased herself down on the floor next to Buffy and held a hand out for the nacho chips. Willow passed them over to Buffy, who grabbed another handful before she gave them to her mother. Joyce picked out one perfect chip and nibbled at it.
"Mom --" Buffy said finally.
"Yes honey?" Joyce was preoccupied with studying a water stain on the ceiling.
Buffy looked at her in annoyance. "I don't want any details. At all. About this 'night out' thing, I mean. Although I got to wonder -- when did he get around to talking to you? About things other than 'where was Buffy the night of the fifteenth'? Do you talk about anything else?"
Willow's attention had been caught by Joyce's interest in the ceiling stain, and she'd started to study it too.
"Other than you, you mean?" Cordelia sneered. "Self obsessed much? Buffy, here's a concept for you: people talk about things other than you when they're alone together."
"Great," Buffy growled at her. "The Queen of Into Herself is trying to give me lessons in humility. Doesn't that make you want to laugh, Willow?"
"Ha ha," Willow obliged. "That looks like a face up there. It looks like Mrs. Henderson from fifth period when she's caught someone passing notes in class."
"I think I have a justifiable concern here!" Buffy continued. "Last week Kevin -- Detective Stein -- was prying into every nook and cranny of my day. What if he's still looking for info on me?"
"Dear, the case is closed," Joyce reassured her. "Kevin waited until it was. He's a very ethical man. He wouldn't have asked me out if there was a conflict of interest. That stain looks a lot like the Mayor, don't you think?"
"So what was he saying about me earlier?" Buffy insisted.
"Oh, puh-lease," Cordelia said. "They were talking couple stuff. Do you want to know what Wesley and I were talking about before you horned your way in here? Not you. Couple stuff! Wesley was telling me all about his sacred duty."
"Which is supposed to be Watching me," Buffy said smugly. "If I let him, that is."
"You know, that water stain does look like the Mayor," Willow mused. "The bartender said that Daisy Sue Wilkins hanged herself in here. Or she was strangled? It was a mystery."
"You're a duty!" Cordelia yelled at Buffy. "Everybody is so into hanging around the Slayer because, hey, that's where the action is. You think any of them would hang around Buffy 'Not the Vampire Slayer'?"
"I would," Willow protested.
"Buffy was very popular at Hemrey High," Joyce said.
"Yeah!" said Buffy. "I was May Queen, I had tons of friends who hung on every word I said. I -- gods -- I was just like you! Were. Last year."
"Daisy Sue Wilkins," Joyce decided, still gazing upwards at the water stain. "With a rope around her neck."
"Been there, done that, Cordy," Buffy said smugly. "I'm a year ahead of you on the Trendy-meter."
"Clue for you, Pathetic Person. You've gone off-line. Nobody wants to be like you. You're the only girl in all the world stuck with such a dead-end job. Except for Faith the Fruit Loop." Cordelia turned to grab some chips from Willow's basket and followed the redhead's gaze to the ceiling. "Omygod, this place is haunted."
"It's an illusion," Joyce reassured them, as they all looked up at the apparition hovering over their heads. "Caused by the water stain on the ceiling and the flickering shadows cast by the ceiling fan."
"And the blood dripping down on us?" Buffy said as a scarlet drop spattered on her nose.
"Rusty water leaking through the fixture," Joyce assured her.
"Eck!" Cordelia leapt up out from under a spattering dribble of red. "Who cares? It's going to ruin my new dress. That's it! I'm out of here."
"Hey you!" Buffy yelled at the spectral figure that was rippling across the ceiling. "Do you actually think spending seventy years knocking around the ceiling of the girl's restroom in a Tex-Mex restaurant is any kind of cool? Get a life!"
"A death, Buffy," Willow coached her. "She's dead, remember?"
Cordelia was cursing under her breath as she wrenched at the door. "Never mind the intervention therapy, you morons. Tell her to stop being anal-retentive and unstick the door!"
The ghost sobbed and turned a slow somersault.
"Great, it's the ghost of Nadia Comaneci," Buffy said in disgust. She hefted her pointed stick and jumped to poke at the specter. The ghost moaned, and a thick spattering of red goo rained down on them.
"Stop it!" Cordelia yelled and took refuge with Joyce under one of the sinks. "It's a ghost! Buffy Strategy Numero Uno of Hitting It is not going to do anything!"
Joyce eased forward so she could crane her neck to look at the thing. "Haven't you busted any ghosts before, Buffy?"
"We did!" Willow said excitedly from under the hand dryer. "We had these candles and scapulars, and this cool litany --"
"Which sucked rotten eggs big time, because they didn't work," Cordelia said. "Buffy, how did you get rid of the last one?"
Buffy crossed her arms over her chest and glared at Cordelia. Red dots spattered down on her head and shoulders. "You expect an untrendy person in a dead-end job to know that answer?"
"I'm not going to take that back!" Cordelia said defiantly.
The ghost tittered and floated into the corner where it proceeded to make some oozy lava lamp-like effects to the eery, distant refrains of Adam Ant.
"I take that back!" Cordelia said after a minute of this. "You're very cool in the demon-hunting, vampire- sticking, ghost-busting sense of the word 'cool', okay? Now make it go away!"
"It needs resolution," Buffy said. "First we've got to find out why it's stuck here in the restroom."
"Diarrhea?" Willow guessed.
"Maybe it can't get down from the ceiling?" Joyce offered. "If we could make a sort of chute for it to slide down --"
"Maybe it's attracted to glittery objects," Cordelia added. "Anybody here have some quarters?"
"No, no!" Buffy waved her arms. "We've been through the ghostie problem before! Haven't you guys been paying attention? It's stuck here because it's obsessing about something."
"I've never busted any ghosts!" Joyce said. "Those two murdered children don't count because they weren't ghosts but a mind-controlling demon."
"I wouldn't bring that mind-controlling demon up in your defense, if I were you, Mom," Buffy said lowly.
Joyce frowned. "I'm beginning to think Spike's right. I don't like your tone tonight, young lady."
Buffy sighed loudly. "I'm trying to do my job here. You guys are not being helpful. And you're using Spike as an authority figure?!"
"Sacred duty is no excuse for bad manners," Joyce shot back.
"Why not?" Cordelia said. "She's been using it as an excuse for everything else."
The restroom door popped open and the lights went out.
"Okay," Willow said after a moment of silence. "I think we're being evicted."
"And how insulting is that?" Buffy began, but Cordelia was already out the door. "Hey! We've still got a ghost to deal with!"
Joyce grabbed her arm and marched her out the door. "The ghost has been here for seventy years. It's not going anywhere. You're going to go sit down, eat something, and talk nicely to Kevin and Spike before I let you do any slaying."
"But I can be snarky to Wesley and Ms. Marble?" Buffy pleaded. The restroom door banged shut, and she turned. "Oh no! We left Willow in there alone with the ghost!" She shoved at the door, but it was stuck again. "Willow!" Buffy yelled, and pounded on the door, "Stand back, I'm coming in!" She took three steps back and eyed the door determinedly.
"What are you doing?" Joyce said in alarm.
"I'm going to kick it down," Buffy said with satisfaction.
"Are you crazy?" Cordelia threw herself in front of Buffy. "And leave us without a functioning restroom all night?"
"It's got Willow!" Buffy insisted.
"Hey, chica loca!" They turned around to face a scowling waitress. "What are you doing, trashing restaurant property? The owner feeds troublemakers to the dog."
"Your resident ghostie kidnapped my friend," Buffy insisted. "And it jammed the door."
"Ghost?" The young woman muttered dark Spanish under her breath. "Has Joseph been telling you those freaky stories of his? And you gringos believed him, of course." She stepped up to slap the door hard under the lock. It swung smoothly open. "The door's warped, comprende? It gets a little damp and it sticks."
Willow emerged from the darkened restroom, looking bewildered. The waitress stomped off, shaking her head and muttering imprecations.
"We've got Willow now. Go back all of you, sit down at the table, and eat," Joyce said sternly.
"I'm not with you guys!" Cordelia protested as Joyce herded them back. "I'm here with Wesley!" She grabbed Willow by the arm. "Willow, you tell her."
Willow turned and, with a sweet smile, smacked Cordelia hard across the cheek with the flat of her palm. Cordelia yelped in surprise and backed away, staring at Willow and rubbing at her reddened face.
"Don't grab at me," Willow said reasonably, then turned to simper at Joyce. "May we get some rum raisin ice cream, pretty please?"