"I don't need a sword," Gabrielle Caplan stated. She stared longingly at the display of authentic weapons, her eyes resting a little longer then necessary on a beautiful three-foot long scimitar that hung near the edge of the display booth. It had an intricately carved ivory handle and an elaborately designed leather scabbard. Best of all, it was live steel. God only knew what she'd do with a live sword but her hands itched to own that scimitar. "I don't need a sword," she repeated, a litany now, an attempt to talk herself out of spending $400 on a sword she'd never use for anything.

"You don't need a sword," Jason teased from behind her. He tugged playfully on the long braid that hung down her back.

Gabrielle jumped at the sound of his voice, then turned around. "Where did you come from?"

"Nothing good in the video room, so I thought I'd see how much more money I could waste on souvenirs I don't need."

"Want to buy me a sword?" she asked, turning her head slightly to bring the weapon back into her field of view.

"Not likely," her friend snorted. "You'd take me head off." He adjusted the backpack on his shoulder, which Gabby knew was filled with video tapes, and was probably very heavy.

"I like the outfit," Gabrielle's younger sister, Rachel, stated to Jason as she joined them.

Jason threw back his shoulders and tossed his head in an imitation of the stereotypical super-hero introduction. "I am Jason Rosenberg of the Clan Rosenberg." He placed his hands on his hips and dropped his voice in pitch. "And I fear nothing . . . except your sister." He winked broadly at Rachel, while ducking out of the way of Gabrielle's light-hearted slap to his shoulder.

"Hey, did you know that convention members get ten percent off of the hotel restaurant food?" Rachel asked. Her stomach rumbled loudly, a reminder that she hadn't eaten much in twenty-four hours. Of course, she hadn't slept in forty-eight hours. None of them had. Between the video room being open until three in the morning, the plethora of all-night room parties, and the convention reopening at seven, there just hadn't been any time for things like sleeping and eating.

"Food?" Jason said, perking up at the thought. "I can deal with that."

"Ten percent off a seven dollar sandwich? Even with the discount, you won't have any money left for all this." Gabrielle gestured broadly at the exhibition room, taking it all in with one sweeping motion: five thousand square feet of dealers selling hard-to-find and out-of-print merchandise from every speculative fiction television show and movie made in the last forty years. "There's a Mickey-D's down the street. Or, a Denny's the other direction," she added after a moment's thought.

"McDonald's," Rachel answered, the sign for the restaurant a pantomime of the golden arches.

Jason didn't answer, instead throwing his arms around the two girls and piloting them towards the door.

"Have you bought your ticket for the masquerade ball yet?" Gabrielle signed to Rachel.

"Can't go. I got volunteered to host the Buffy room party tonight," she answered, not looking at all saddened by the news.

The three were walking down the hallway now, one whole wall of which was a picture window looking out onto the hotel driveway and part of the parking lot. Rachel stopped suddenly, pulling the still interlocked group to a stop also. "Look," she signed, pointing at their reflection in the glass.

Gabrielle noted the puffy circles under their eyes, the mussed hair, the multi-layered 'I've-bought-too-many-clothes-I-want-to-wear-all-right-now' look that most con-goers had by the end. Rachel giggled, a hoarse sound, almost swallowed by the noise of the other con-goers.

"What?" Gabrielle questioned. She studied their reflections again, but found nothing particularly worth laughing about.

"How many cons have you been to this year?" Rachel signed.

"Five," Gabrielle said, holding up her splayed hand. She drew her eyebrows together and looked sideways at Rachel, waiting for an explanation.

"She has a point," Jason added after studying their reflections for a bit.

Gabrielle clenched her teeth and growled. "What?"

"Nothing." He released them and strode in the direction of the restaurant, whistling softly at the ceiling. Rachel repinned the conference identification badge that was threatening to fall off her jeans before following him. Gabrielle glanced at herself once more in the mirror, shook her head, then raced to catch up with them.

They entered the hotel restaurant and found seats in the back at a booth directly under an air-conditioning vent and beneath a burnt-out lightbulb. It was the only one available. Gabrielle rammed a knee against the seat as she climbed in. "Taku," she hissed, raising a hand to touch her lower lip. It came away tinged with blood. "I keep biting my lip," she explained.

"Maybe you should take the fangs out," Jason suggested.

"Never," Gabby replied, wiping her finger on her skirt. That was the nice thing about black, it hid blood stains well. "What kind of four thousand year old vampire would I be without fangs?"

"'She was brought across in two thousand B.C.E. Preyed on humans for their blood.'" Jason intoned, dropping the pitch of his voice again and giving only a hint of the British accent.

"Hate to break it to you, big sis," Rachel interrupted, "but you're not a four thousand year old vampire."

"I know," Gabby sighed melodramatically. "But when you get to be this old, you tend to forget about centuries. Anyway, I'm using that new denture stuff that holds for twelve hours. These fangs ain't coming out until the time is up." She blotted her lip with inside of the collar of her shirt, then proceeded to suck on the wound.

"I thought we were going to McDonald's," Rachel asked, just beginning to notice where they were.

"What? And miss that chance that our guest of choice will come in here to eat, find out that we have the only available seat, and be forced to sit with us. Come on, Sophie Aldred," Jason intoned, hitting the table with his fist.

"David Boreanaz," Rachel countered, naming the only person on the guest list who was of any interest to her. Science fiction conventions were her sister's thing, not hers. But it was either come to the convention, or not see her sister again until Hanukkah.

"Nigel Bennett," Gabrielle sighed, not caring that he wasn't invited to this one. She looked at the disbelieving stares on her companions' faces. "I can dream."

"Jay," Rachel interrupted. "Any chance I can talk you into visiting me at school tomorrow, with the kilt on . . ." she winked broadly at him, "in the traditional style."

Jason's olive skin turned a few shades darker. He crossed his arms on the table and put his head, face-down, in the middle. "I claim the fifth," he mumbled into the veneer.

"Oh, come on," Rachel teased, ruffling his hair. "You know I'm kidding."

"I'm not talking to you anymore," he answered, signing his response in the air over his head.

"Whatever you do," Gabrielle stated, "leave the shirt at home. Starfleet Federation red just does not go with a yellow and green tartan."

"Who made you the fashion authority?" Jason lifted his head long enough to glare at her, pointedly ignoring Rachel.

"Everything matches black. Especially more black," she countered.

Rachel glanced at the clock hanging over the bar as the waitress walked obliviously passed them. "Tell me the clock's wrong," she said.

Gabrielle checked her watch against the clock, then reached across the table and grabbed Jason's wrist to check his watch too. "It's not right," she finally concluded, "but it's only a few minutes off."

"I have to go," Rachel said, climbing over her sister to exit the booth. "David's press conference is about to start." She gave Jason's hair another good ruffle before leaving.

Jason raised his head. "Is it just me, or has she changed? A lot?"

"It's not just you," Gabrielle answered, watching her sister's retreating form. "It's pretty cool. I never dreamed she'd actually take me up on my offer to come here."

"Gotta start somewhere. Do you think that waitress will ever see fit to stop at our table?"

"Doubt it."

"I've got a jar of peanut butter in my room," he mentioned, waggling his eyebrows. "And two knives." He picked up the cutlery from the table and lightly tapped Gabby on the nose with the flat edge of one before slipping them into the front pocket of his backpack. "What do you say we move the party upstairs?" She nodded, and they slipped silently out of the restaurant still unnoticed by the waitress.

"What time is the Sophie autograph signing?" Gabrielle asked as climbed the four flights of stairs to Jason's hotel room. The elevators were too crowded for anything less than five stories. Besides, she reasoned, with all the time she spent playing around on her computer, she needed all the exercise she could get.

"They canceled it. Something about her flight being held over in customs." He puffed up the stairs in front of her.

The lights in the stairwell flickered an unhealthy yellow, giving the metal fire doors the appearance of glowing. Gabrielle stopped at the landing to unwind her skirt from around her ankles. Her braid swung down in front of her face, hitting her in the mouth. "Baka."

"Do you ever swear in English?" Jason asked, pulling the braid out of the way.

"Nope. It's more fun when people don't know what you're saying." She straightened up. "I can swear in four languages. My claim to fame." Her tongue crept out and licked away the drop of blood forming on her bruised lip.

Jason stood in front of her, still holding her braid. The moment went on a little too long, then his other hand softly caressed her cheek then traced a line down her jawline and neck. Gabrielle shivered. Jason was her best friend. There had been absolutely nothing romantic between them, ever. He touched a finger to her lips then brought it to his own mouth and brushed it lightly with his tongue.

"I thought I was the vampire," she murmured, surprised.

He leaned over and gently kissed her. She responded, then took an involuntary step back when the action caught up with her brain. "Jay," she said, touching his arm.

"I know." He held her gaze for a moment, looking like he was going to kiss her again, then smiled, the tension dissipating. He tugged her braid once more before dropping it. With a squeak of rubber against linoleum, he turned and climbed the last half-flight of stairs. He opened the door with a flourish, bowing at the waist and sweeping his arm out. "Lady."

She walked through the door and curtsied on the other side. "Take me to your peanut butter."

"As you wish."

"May I check my email?" Gabrielle asked when Jason opened the door to his room, revealing the laptop computer sitting in the middle of the bed.

"Go ahead. I'll set up the banquet."

Gabrielle happily plunked herself onto the bed next to the computer and logged in. "Rachel will be happy," she spoke to the room as Jason left. "There are several submissions here for her Angel fanzine."

"What about her fanzine?" Jason asked. He came back into the room carrying two cans of Coke, and joined Gabrielle on the bed.

"Someone must have paid attention to those flyers she posted." She looked up at Jason sitting across the bed from her. He was carefully pouring the contents of a Coke can into a plastic hotel water glass. "You bought Coke? Those things are like a buck each."

"Nothing's too good for me lady," he drawled. "Just don't spill it on the computer or I may be forced to hurt you." He removed a straw from his backpack and put it into the glass before handing it to her.

"Caffeine," she moaned, taking a sip. She hit a key, disconnecting the modem, and set the computer and Coke onto the night stand. Jason set the open peanut butter jar in between them flanked by the knives. As she reached out a hand to grab one of the knives, he covered it with his own, and pulled her a little closer.

"Your lip is swelling up," he said, tracing it gently with his finger. "Maybe I should...."

"Don't," Gabrielle warned. "I might bite you too." She focused on the computer so he wouldn't see her face. "Sorry."

"Later?" He asked, squeezing her hand. "After that denture stuff wears off?"

She smiled up at him and squeezed his hand back.