Xander had wanted to figure out the mission on the plane, but the team was completely and utterly wiped. Faith was asleep – and judging by her oh-so-very-kind request for him to zip his trap, she wasn’t in any mood to wake up and get some work done. Spike wasn’t asleep, but he wasn’t exactly big strategy guy, either. The Finns, the new slayers, and even Dawnie all joined the sleepier-than-thou club as soon as the scoobies reached cruising altitude.
:: Defeated, Xander sighed and strapped in for the ride. ::
That’s fine. Shut eye is of the good. We can plan the mission later – like after we’re attacked on the tarmac, as per usual with you punch first, ask later types.
:: Xander reclined and settled against the head rest. ::
Don’t drool. Don’t snore. Don’t drool. Don’t snore.
:: Of course, it wasn’t really drooling or snoring that he had to worry about. It was talking. Anya had always said he talked in his sleep. And there were things he just didn’t want the people on board to know. ::
[Dream]
This time, in this dream, Anya was a stewardess. She stood in the front of the plane in blue eye shadow and that tight stewardess uniform she’d worn for him a few nights before the wedding that wasn’t. She forced a too-wide smile and a falsely chipper tone to her voice, lifted the safety instruction pamphlet, and then she spoke into a little intercom device thingie that seemed to materialize out of nowhere.
