•••

“Yeah?”

“Why are you making me do the quarterly taxes?” The younger woman asked, frowning.

“Because you got that minor in stuff like that,” Buffy replied. She flopped down in her chair, grinning unrepentantly at her sister. “And it’s not fair to Lorne to keep asking him to do it for us. He’s already got Caritas to deal with.”

“I know,” Dawn said wearily. “And it’s not like we’re…” She flipped through several pages. “Ok, so we are in the red, but only by a little.”

“We’re always in the red,” Buffy said dryly. “Lorne only managed it because he's a tax genius, and he said that Angel never turned a profit, or broke even.”

“Cordelia did,” Dawn grumbled. “And I’m not sure how.”

“Cordelia’s good with money,” Willow replied as she walked into their office. “Any woman who can find real designer clothes on her budget has to be good with money.”

“I miss that,” Dawn admitted. “We had fun shopping.”

“Well?” Buffy asked Willow. “How’d it go?”

Willow snarled. “Public record? Shesh, right. They couldn’t even find the file.”

Dawn glanced up from her tortuous work. “Whaddaya mean, they couldn’t find the file? It’s got official permission from the city; building permits and whatnot. They’ve *got* to have some kind of records.”

“You’d think,” Willow retorted. “But no! It’s all ‘there’s no construction site at this location’ and ‘are you sure you’ve got this contractor’s name right? We haven’t heard of them.’”

“But you’re sure Wolfram & Hart are involved?” Buffy inquired.

“More now than before,” Willow stated. “Although I’m confused as to why they’d be so sloppy.”

Dawn grinned. “Well, we’ve been seeing the effects of... the others on the firm. Maybe it’s just that.”

“Maybe,” Willow conceded. She sat down behind her desk, which was as far from Dawn’s as possible.

Buffy looked at the two women. She kind of wanted to get up and go bother Lorne, just to get the two of them to stay in a room together with no one else around. It was mostly Willow; she never remained around Dawn long if Buffy, Lorne or Giles wasn’t also present. The Slayer wasn’t blind; she knew how much Willow was hurting Dawn.

“I give up,” Dawn muttered. “Is Lorne downstairs? He’ll know what this line means,” She continued.

Buffy nodded, suppressing a sigh. There went *that* plan.

Once Dawn was gone, Willow relaxed a bit and began to chat with Buffy about three of their newest clients and whether they’d be paying or running away screaming.

Buffy was betting on ‘screaming’.

•••

“Dawn,” Lorne said lightly as she walked into the closed bar. “What brings you down—taxes,” He said with a grimace. “Buffy told you to do the taxes.” He’d wondered what she’d done with them when she’d made off with the files.

“No,” Dawn argued. “She’s torturing me. With taxes.”

“Well then, let’s have a look,” He murmured. “Although I’m not really sure why she doesn’t let me keep doing them.”

“Because she doesn’t want to overload you with her problems,” Dawn replied quietly. “You’ve got the club to deal with.”

Lorne cocked one bright eyebrow. Dawn wasn’t happy, and it wasn’t because of the taxes or her sister. That only left two things—Wolfram & Hart and Willow. The demon was quite sure, however, that in this case it was Willow. “Tell you what. I’ll finish these lovely taxes, and you go entertain me.” He nodded towards the stage for emphasis.

Dawn didn’t buy it. “Why do you want to read me?”

“Think of it as your six-month check up, sweetcheeks,” Lorne replied.

Dawn considered the situation briefly. It *never* paid to piss off the only person who could bring Buffy down from a massive pissed-at-Dawn moment. “Fine.”

Lorne spread the taxes out on the bar, quickly seeing that Dawn had gotten almost everything finished. He’d just check for accuracy and fill in a couple of gaps. He smirked as one of Dawn’s favorite tracks from an old God is my Co-pilot album began playing. He wasn’t that fond of the group, but she was, so he kept them in rotation. Besides, the noise bothered his least favorite Umkadhka demon customers. “We’re here, we’re queer…”

Somehow, Lorne managed to finish Buffy’s quarterly taxes throughout Dawn’s performance. He was very, very glad he’d asked her to sing. She was deeply disturbed, and Lorne knew from talking with Buffy that now was not the time for anyone to breakdown. However, that was where the youngest investigator was headed.

“Well?” Dawn growled as she threw herself onto a barstool. “What’s the verdict?”

Lorne stacked up the papers and handed them back to her. “Talk to her. Soon.”

“Yeah, right,” Dawn muttered. “Like that’s gonna do anything.” She took the papers and stomped out. “Thanks for the help, Lorne!” She shouted over her shoulder, actually managing to sound grateful through her unhappiness.

The green demon rubbed his eyes and reached for a bottle of Perrier. If Dawn wasn’t going to talk to Willow, he was.

•••

Willow was a bit surprised to see Lorne at her door; the club was just opened for the night and he was typically tied to the place until closing. “Uh, hi,” She murmured as she let him in. “Where’s Buffy?”

“At the club,” Lorne said with a smile. “Mixing drinks.” Actually, she was mangling drinks, but no one there dared to criticize her bartending skills. She was the Slayer; if she thought a Bloody Mary contained strawberries, it did.

“So…” Willow began. She was about to ask why Lorne was in her room when he told her. Rather baldly, in fact.

“You know, I thought you were recovered. Years of therapy, counseling, supportive friends,” Lorne said, his face hardening. “You really had us going, Willow. Maybe you even convinced yourself.”

“What are you talking about?” She asked confusedly. “I did recover.”

“Really?” Lorne spat. “Then why are you torturing Dawn?”

“Torturing?” Willow echoed. “I’m not—“

Lorne began to pace. “No, you’re not torturing her. You’re just avoiding her, being mean to her, belittling her, ignoring every smile, every look… “

Willow snarled. “I am not doing that to her!”

“Oh?” Lorne snorted. “Then what do you call running away whenever she’s alone with you, or pretending not to notice when she offers to take you places?” Lorne sighed. “Willow, you didn’t even extend the courtesy of telling her you weren’t interested.”

Willow flinched. “I—“

”Of course,” Lorne continued. “You aren’t not interested. But that’s the problem, isn’t it? You’re interested, you like her, and you’re afraid. Afraid that she’ll leave you when you screw up or that she’ll make a mistake and you’ll feel beholden to throw her out? That’s Oz. Or that she’ll up and die on you? That’s Tara. No place for Dawn in your life now, is there?”

Willow looked murderous. “You—“

But Lorne just interrupted her again. “Go talk to her. Tonight. Either you tell her straight out that you admire and respect her but you’ll never want to be with her; or you tell her you admire and respect her and that you think it’s worth a shot.” He turned and walked out of the room, letting the door slam behind him.

The redhead stared at the door for several minutes. Her pride wanted to give Lorne a good going-over for his presumption. The rest of her mind told her he was right; she’d been treating Dawn poorly and she knew it. Hells, everyone knew it; others had mentioned it on occasion in the past. They’d always taken a very oblique path, though. Lorne had lobbed his poniards with startling accuracy and even though it hurt, she couldn’t help but agree. She and Dawn had to talk.

Willow just didn’t know what to say.

•••

Buffy was busy searching through the bar’s tiny freezer for some sort of Alganthagn liquor, so she didn’t hear the place fall eerily silent until she stood up. “Something happen?”

“Lady wants a martini,” The bartender said quietly as he moved to mix the drink, gesturing towards a human standing at the bar. Buffy glanced over, eyes widening. Lilah. The club abruptly returned to its normal noise level, albeit with a weird artificiality. Everyone was listening.

“I’ll get it,” Buffy said firmly. She took the vodka from Dale and set it down, reaching for a glass. She made a killer martini. It choked even the strongest drinker.

“Well, well,” Lilah purred. “I never thought I’d ever have the Slayer at my beck and call.”

Buffy ignored the jab. Lilah didn’t scare her as much as she used to. The past few years hadn’t been easy on the woman; as Wolfram & Harts fortunes soured, so did hers. It showed in every detail; where Lilah had once possessed a hard, sharp-edged and somewhat sleazy beauty that matched her personality, now she was haggard, drawn and brittle. Buffy wondered if she’d shatter should she fall down. “Martini,” Buffy said calmly as she sat the drink in front of the lawyer.

Lilah smiled coldly as she picked up the drink. “So how’s business these days? Still losing money?”

“Still doing the taxes,” Buffy replied. “Anything else? Because there are a lot of customers behind you.”

“Ah,” Lilah sighed. “I simply must compliment Lorne on his taste in employees. So cheerful!” She stepped away to find an empty table elsewhere in the club.

“What did you do?” Dale asked quietly.

“I made her a martini,” Buffy replied.

“What did you do?” Dale said again.

“The usual.”

The bartender sighed. “Buffy, I love you like a sister. You make Lorne smile real smiles. But I gotta tell you, there’s no cinnamon schnapps in a martini.”

“Says you,” Buffy retorted.

“Says what?” Lorne asked as he surprised the pair.

“Dale said there wasn’t any cinnamon schnapps in a martini,” Buffy pouted.

“Does this have something to do with the evil lawyer in the corner?” Lorne inquired.

“Only tangentially,” Buffy replied.

Lorne nodded. “I figured. Honey, Lilah’s martinis *always* have cinnamon schnapps in them.”

“They do?” The Slayer asked brightly.

“Of course. Unless, that is, they’ve got tequila in them instead,” He confirmed.

“She’s not looking good,” Buffy commented, changing the subject.

“You’re concerned for her health?” The demon asked curiously.

“Only as it relates to Wolfram & Hart. She’s like a walking, talking thermometer for the place. My diagnosis? They’re on the edge,” Buffy told her fiancé. “They don’t have the money or power to be careful, and that suit has got to be at least two years old. Maybe three.”

Lorne laughed softly at Buffy’s analysis. “Want me to get her to sing?”

“What will it do to you?” She asked.

Lorne shrugged. “Migraine?”

“Nah, let her have the headache,” Buffy replied. “My martinis are a never-fail migraine machine.”

Lorne nodded and moved away to greet his customers, careful to avoid the lawyer.

•••

Willow stood outside Dawn’s door, still unsure of what to say. To tell the truth, she hadn’t made her mind up yet on whether even talking to Dawn was a good idea.

“Willow?”

The redhead looked up. She’d been standing outside Dawn’s door so long the younger woman had come out to go downstairs. “Hi!” Willow said in a chirpy voice.

“You, ah, need something?” Dawn asked cautiously. Willow looked… weird.

Willow bit her lip. “Er, can we, ah, talk?”

•••

“This martini is the worst I’ve ever had,” Lilah slurred as she shoved the empty glass into Buffy’s face. “Make another, without the *schnapps*.”

Buffy took the glass, managing not to smirk at Lilah’s drunkenness. She’d have never figured the woman to have such a low tolerance for alcohol. One drink and she was three sheets into the wind. As Lilah had requested, Buffy didn’t add any schnapps. But the Slayer wasn’t sure that Lorne had been serious about the tequila either. Buffy shuddered. Martinis were so… boring. Just vodka with an olive, waved near a bottle of vermouth. But there was a bottle of coconut rum, and that sounded lovely. Buffy liked coconut.

“We’re onto you, you know,” Lilah muttered while Buffy mixed the drink. “We know what you’re up to.”

Buffy glanced over. “What’s that, Lilah?”

Lilah smirked. “Cute. Still doing the innocent look. Doesn’t work well, now that you’re schtupping the green thing.” The lawyer bent over the bar. “What we know is that you’re trying to get your greedy little paws into our money. S’posed to come here and tell you to fuck off,” Lilah continued, still slurring her words. “Least, that’s what *Gavin* told me to do. What the fuck does he know? Little cocksucker.”

Buffy slid the drink in front of Lilah, who threw it back in one gulp. “Damn. I hate coconut. Can’t you just pour vodka in a glass? What’s so damned difficult about that?” Lilah muttered. “Another.”

This time Dale made the drink, obediently using only vodka. Granted, it was the worst stuff he could find, but it was pure vodka. “Do you really think she should have another? She’s awfully wasted already,” Buffy whispered.

“It’s the drugs,” Dale murmured.

“Drugs?” Buffy echoed. “What drugs?”

“Antidepressants. I can smell them,” He explained. “They lower tolerance in some humans.”

“Where’s my fucking martini?” Lilah growled. Dale handed the drink over. She grabbed it and spun away.

“Uh, is she going where I think she’s going?” Buffy said frantically. “’Cause if she is, we’re in deep trouble.”

“Maybe the liquor will mellow her some,” The bartender tried.

“What’s she gonna sing?” Buffy asked Lorne, who had joined them at the bar.

“What’s who going to sing, baby?” Lorne inquired.

“Lilah,” Buffy replied. “Maybe you should sit down.”

Lorne took one look at the unsteady figure on the stage and took that good advice to heart. “Promise me you’ll take me somewhere safe afterwards?”

“Of course,” Buffy swore.

“We want to multiply, are you gonna do it? I know you’re qualified…”

“Oh gods,” Lorne whined, eyes watering.

“Some like it hot, and some sweat when the heat is on…”

Buffy patted his shoulder consolingly. She knew it wasn’t what he was seeing that had him doubled over in pain. Not only was Lilah an atrocious singer, but she’d picked an equally bad song. Poor Lorne. Then again, he *had* let it go into rotation.