return

Remembering that you had once been (and still were) Buffy Summers was one thing. Remembering that you had once been (and still were) Buffy Summers, and that one of the guys you had dated was named Xander, was quite another. Especially when that Xander had also been cutely nerdy, funny, and a little sweet, like a certain other Alexander.

What if it had been him? Wasn't it the most Xander thing to have the same name? Carrie caught herself hoping too hard that it would be her best friend. That he would see her and remember, and she would touch his face and admire his two eyes, and they would face this thing together, and things would feel more right. Carrie didn't know how to be Buffy without Willow and Xander. Without Giles and Dawn.

Thank god, yes, for Faith.

So Carrie was looking forward to coffee with Xander, and she dressed like Buffy, in a baby-blue top and the kind of skirt that was popular now after being popular in the 90s (wow, wasn't time such a construct?) in case it jogged any memories. (Carrie hadn't seen Nori all day; who knew what she would have to say about the outfit later).

It didn't take Carrie long to spot Xander at Phoenix Effect, and she walked over to him like a woman on a mission, coming up behind him.

Okay.

Moment of truth.

She tapped him on the shoulder.

Desperate times, and so on.

Carrie and Elspeth were definitively frenemies, and they had been for a long time, for much longer than they had ever actually been friends without complication. But 'frenemy' was a tricky label; they were still in a general kind of contact, because neither of them actively disliked the other so much they couldn't be around them. Carrie even went to Elspeth's legendary weekly parties a few times in the past year.

There was a lot to like in Elspeth: her habit in speaking her mind, her walking-Id tendencies, her laidback cleverness. (Conversely, these were also all things that could drive Carrie nuts). But tonight, after seeing the whole damn city talk about love, a little Elspeth energy was exactly what Carrie needed.

Keep the "fren", hold the "emy". Or something.

There was no need to choose the club; there was only one club for Carrie and Elspeth dancing hard, because this was not the first time they'd dealt with their weird energies this year. So Carrie threw on a black leather miniskirt and a low cut sparkly top and pounded a little freezer-vodka and went to the club, and she was dancing as she made her way inside, looking for Elspeth, little Ms Life-of-the-Party.