Tossed Stakes and Scrambled Eggs: Yes, THAT one
by Mediancat
In a small industrial building on the outskirts of Sunnydale, a fight was winding down. Buffy Summers thrust a stake through the heart of one vampire, then whirled and kicked another into the wall. Faith took a busted two-by-four and thrust it into that vampire's heart. Another decided that discretion was the better part of valor and sprinted for the front door; the thwack of a crossbow bolt, wielded by Giles, ended that vampire's brief hope of escape.

That left three, by Buffy's count, though she could only see two; the third must have been hiding in the background by the boxes of makeup. Ever since Giles had discovered the evidence for a kind of magical cosmetic being manufactured in Sunnydale that enabled certain vampires to walk around in the sunlight for up to half an hour without burning, it had been the Slayers' number one priority to shut the place down. After two weeks and much work, they'd finally located the place of manufacture.

It was the work of mere seconds for Faith and Buffy to kill the two in front of them, and right as they were congratulating themselves the final one, an impossibly thin female vampire, ran out of hiding carrying an armload of the makeup and crashed through a nailed-shut back door into the woods beyond. As Faith roared and charged after her, Buffy paused a moment, yelled "Giles! Around back!", and then followed her fellow Slayer out the door.

Faith was disappearing out of sight around a curve. Buffy could hear Giles legging it around the building as she plunged into the woods. Two minutes later, as she exited the woods onto a grassy strip bordering a dirt road, she tripped over Faith, sprawled on the ground with a nasty gash on her head, unconscious. The vampire was running for a silver Mercedes with tinted windows; as she opened the back door to jump in, Buffy saw a driver and knew she'd never get there in time. From behind her Giles' voice called out, "Buffy! Get down!" and as a crossbow bolt sped by overhead Buffy threw herself onto the grass.

It knocked something from the vampire's hand as the Mercedes' door closed, but the car sped off into the night anyway. As Giles swore and bent down to examine Faith’s wound, Buffy went over to retrieve whatever it was the thin vampire had dropped.

When she walked back over to Giles, he was still unhappy. "Damn," the Watcher said. "All that work . . . and still, someone managed to escape with a supply of the makeup. With that large a supply, they might be able to figure out a way to recreate the formula -- and we cannot have vampires able to walk around in the daylight for any length of time. It is sheer happenstance that this time around it only seems to have been marketed to the wealthier . . ." he broke off as he noticed Buffy's widening grin. "You're going to make me ask, aren't you?"

Buffy nodded her head vigorously.

"Well, then," he said overdistinctly, "Why are you smiling, Buffy?"

"Oh, no reason," she demurred. "I just have the vampire's name and address, that's all." Then she showed Giles what the vamp had dropped: A purse. Inside it, several credit cards AND a compact with some of the sunlight-repelling makeup. "I think given this our resident hacker should be able to trace our little fugitive from Slaying justice, don't you?"

* * * * *

After Faith recovered, she, Buffy, and Giles all went back to the building, gathered up the remaining makeup, and torched everything. The next day they got around to asking Willow to figure the identity of the vamp they were chasing.

In fact, Willow was almost insulted when Giles asked if she could trace the vampire in question. Inside of five minutes, she had the woman's full current name, address, and an oddly detailed family history.

"So what do we do next?" Faith asked.

Giles said, "WE do nothing. Buffy and I are going to have to track this vampire down, so that means you'll need to be here for the next couple of days Slaying --"

"Ooh, road trip!" Buffy squealed.

Continuing as though Buffy hadn't spoken, Giles said, ". . . while Buffy and I go to Seattle to track down this, this . . ."

"Maris Crane," Buffy supplied.

* * * * *

There was a knock at the door. The woman went to answer it and found a familiar face standing there, his usual neatly-pressed suit a bit haggard.

"Evening, Dr. Crane," she told him.

"Evening, Daphne," he answered.

"What happened to your suit?" she asked with some concern.

"Oh, that," he snorted. "It's nothing, really. It's just that ever since Maris instituted those divorce proceedings, my budget for drycleaning has been a trifle -- threadbare."

She looked at him oddly, and then laughed.

"Thanks for trying, Daphne," Niles answered. "But even I am forced to admit that, as witticisms go, that was one of my feebler attempts." He looked around the apartment, which was bereft of its normal occupants. "Where is everyone?" he asked.

"Well, your brother is out having a talk with Roz, your father is -- um -- indisposed --"

"Indisposed?" Niles said, puzzled. Just then the living room's toilet flushed and he firmly said, "Ah. Never mind, then."

Daphne continued, speaking slowly while looking around the room, "And I can't say where Eddie's gotten to . . ."

Martin Crane, the aforementioned father, came out of the bathroom -- followed shortly by a happily trotting Eddie. "Sorry about that," he began.

"I've told you a hundred times," Niles said, "You can't let him go in there. It's too much of a strain for him to reach the handle to flush the toilet."

Marty Crane frowned. "Ha-ha," he said deliberately. "I have no idea why he followed me in there --"

Faking surprise, Niles said, "Dad, I was talking to Eddie."

The ex-policeman's face wrinkled as Daphne chuckled. Then he said, "Sheesh, Niles, what the hell happened to your suit? You look like you've been pressing them by putting them on the street and having a steamroller run over them."

"It's Maris' bad influence again," Niles answered. "Giacomo, my usual drycleaner, is now refusing me service on her explicit instructions and nowhere else I've found meets my high standards." Behind the two men, Daphne grabbed her head and put her hand on Martin Crane's ratty old easy chair. Neither noticed.

"Don't have the cash for those hoity-toity places, eh?"

"No, and if I don't find one soon I may try your steamroller suggestion." Niles growled in frustration, which from him sounded more like an incontinent chihuahua than anything else. "BLAST Maris and her -- Daphne? Are you alright?"

The health-care worker was clearly not alright, as she said, "I've -- never- - had -- one -- THIS strong before!" somewhat woozily, and collapsed.

"Daphne!" Niles called out and bent down to check her pulse. It was solid, but the Englishwoman remained mysteriously unconscious. He looked up at his father in something of a panic. "Dad, I don't know what it is, but she doesn't seem to be coming out of it." Marty, ex-cop that he was, immediately hobbled over to the phone at top speed and called for an ambulance.

Right then Dr. Frasier Crane walked in. "Sorry I'm late, all," were the first words out of his mouth, "But Roz and I ran into the rudest young woman -- what's wrong?" he said, finally noticing.

"Thank you very much," Marty said as he put he phone down. "There's an ambulance coming."

"It may not be necessary," Niles said with some relief. "She appears to be coming to." He looked down at the young Englishwoman as she came to. "Daphne, are you alright?"

"Yes, what happened?" Frasier said, concerned.

"It was one of me psychic flashes," she answered. "Stronger than any I've ever felt before. It concerned you, Dr. Crane," she said, pointing at Niles. "I saw a picture of a young woman who would be the answer to all your problems with Mrs. Crane!"

"Really, Daphne,a pyschic flash," Frasier snorted. "I suppose you'll be saying next that we have little gnomes running around the apartment." Just then Eddie scampered up onto the couch and glared at Frasier. "He doesn't count. He's a troll." Then he looked around and notice both Niles and Marty glaring at him. "What?!"

Niles said, in clipped tones, "I cannot beLIEVE how insensitive you're being right now." He continued to rub Daphne's forehead almost absentmindedly.

"Neither can I," Marty growled.

"No, really . . ." Daphne said weakly. "It's really quite alright, Mr. Crane . . ."

"I mean," Niles continued, "Here is a sensitive and delicate young woman who needs our help --"

"Oh yes," Frasier said, "And you have the NOBLEST of motives," in a voice dripping with scorn.

"Knock it off, you two," Marty interjected. "Frasier, it doesn't matter if she collapsed because of a psychic flash or because the invisible man crept into the apartment and hit her over the head with a sledgehammer --"

"The point is that she collapsed. You're quite right, dad, and Daphne, I apologize--" there was a knock on the door and Frasier went to answer it. It was the ambulance crew, who took one look at the situation and immediately came over and hustled Daphne onto a stretcher.

"Really, now," the health care worker protested, "All this isn't necessary."

"Nonsense, Daphne," Niles said. "You collapsed. A trip to the hospital is only prudent. And on the way down, you can put your head back in my lap and tell me more about this young woman you flashed on who would rid more of my troubles. She wasn't wearing a French maid's costume by any chance, was she?"

Frasier snorted again and glared at his brother, who refused to return the look. The paramedics rolled Daphne out of the apartment and the three Crane men followed.



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