liz_marcs | Because I'm a sheep...

Because I'm a sheep...

Okay, stolen from FList,

The "First Line" meme:

"...it might be cool to start a meme where you list all the first lines of your fics and then people write drabbles in the comments with the same first line."

Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to write a drabble with the same first line as any of the following, and leave it in my comments here.

Faith gently closes the basement door behind her and carefully walks down the steps.

Buffy wonders where she went wrong.

"Mornin’."

The man leaned against his car and watched the numbers of the gas pump change with alarming speed while he filled his tank with gas.

Bored, bored, bored, Buffy thought.

Xander stumbled into his temporary home at the Oxnard Days Inn clutching the Red Cross pamphlets and assorted legal paperwork to his chest.

Dear God, Kill. Me. Now.

Faith nervously tapped her fingers on the motel room’s phone and debated calling Angel.

Sixty thousand years.

Charlie Baudel was trouble.

As they speed down the road to Ville Ste-Anne-de-Beaupre from Quebec City, Xander is half-tempted to ask Faith why she’s driving so fast.

A low moan issued from the pile of bodies in the alley.

“Easy. Eeeeeaaaaaassssssy…”

“You really need to rest.”

Opening Prologue...

Cassiopea emerges from Edina's bedroom wearing tight-fitting gold-lame pants and an over-sized floral print top.

Starbuck is watching the destruction he's just wrought on two transports and eight people lying stunned on the ground.

In a fit of guilt, Nick decided to visit Jannette at The Raven.

Cassiopea frowned and shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

Starbuck was a good sneak.

If you feel like it, leave drabbles of any length from 100 - 500 words. All fandoms welcome.

ETA: Working on the payback for my prezzies.

So far:

Wrote for

booster17 Faith (BtVS, S4) Rated: R in exchange for Faith/Xander, Post-Chosen

Wrote for

sunnyd_lite Spike (BtVS, S4) Rated: PG in exchange for Could It Get Any Worse?: Xander (S7)

Wrote for

lisaroquin Just a Little Prick: Jack, Sam, and Daniel (SG:1, PG-13) in exchange for He Knew That Moan: Spike and Xander (AtS, S5)

Wrote for

hjcallipygian Faith (BtVS, Post-S7, PG) in exchange for Buffy

Wrote for

szandara Drabble: Willow (BtVS, Post-S7, G) in exchange for Xander POV (S7)

Wrote for

callmesandy Short Piece: Faith, Xander, and Brendon Fraser (BtVS, Post-S, PG) in exchange for Buffy, Willow (BtVS, PG)

More to come!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Bored, bored, bored, Buffy thought.

"...and that's why the perils of thermoneuclear winter as pertains to the logistics of demon-fighting in the early twenty-first centurty parallel directly to the retelling of the X-Men stories," Xander concluded. "Thank you."

Every single person in the audience stood up and applauded, all two-thousand strong. Xander stood at the podium and smiled. He occasionally raised a hand to wave to the crowd.

Lunch was next (in which she could not participate; she could only watch the guests as they ate a three-course meal), then Dawn's speech on "Globalized Economies and The Growing Threat of Cross-Dimensional Out-Sourcing."

Buffy hoped the other Slayers managed to kill the glamour demons quickly; this hell they had her trapped in was far more degrading and painful than anything she ever previously imagined.

May of 2003: Shaker Heights, Ohio.

A new month. A new town.

Faith would like to stop. Stop running. Stop looking over her shoulder. Stop playing “what if.”

She’d like to do a lot of things, but those are the three big ones.

For now.

She’s used to not getting what she wants.

Want. Take. Have.

She knows it’s bully bullshit. A way of talking big. She’s wanted a lot. Took the wrong things. And the stuff she’d have…

Well…

Turns out she didn’t want it anyway.

She could focus on what she needs: the warrant hanging over her head to disappear. At least that way she could get a stable address, a real bed, three squares a day, and rest.

Most especially rest.

Although if she were honest, she could get all of these things if she turned herself in to the law.

She could ask for help, she supposes. Call Giles and see if the Watchers’ Council got its juice back and if it would send some of that juice her way.

But then she’d owe the Council and owe it big.

She’d get freedom with strings attached. She’d have to promise to be a good little Slayer. They’d force her to accept someone standing over her shoulder to make sure she toed the line.

She wonders who they’d send. Someone she doesn’t know, probably. Some hard-ass who got the straight dope about what a bad, bad girl she is. Some hard-ass just waiting for her to screw up like she always does.

And when she does, she knows the Council would yank the carpet out from under her feet and she’d be back on the run again.

Fuck it.

She’ll get all the rest she needs when she dies.

Dude, this is rad.

Also, I'm a huge dork who took literally five minutes to figure out how it tied in to my little snippet I wrote. Sometimes, I am the slow. =)

You do realize that you have twenty lines written down, and you do realize that I will not be able to write just one.

*grumble*

When I wake up in the padded white place, gibbering madly about bunnies, I just want you to know that it is all your fault.

""""""""""""

Faith gently closes the basement door behind her and carefully walks down the steps. One slip here after navigating the mob upstairs and all of it would have been for nothing. More SiTs seem to be arriving every day and it was getting very difficult to find a spot away from the mayhem. Thankfully, the basement is still off limits to all the new recruits, being Spike's bedroom and occasional 'Scooby Shindig Central' as Xander had so eloquently put it.

"Need a hand there, Faith?"

She looks up to see Xander standing at the bottom of the steps, eying the stack in her hands rather dubiously.

"Sure thing, but you knock this over and I am going to kick your ass, invalid or no." She responds. Even though he only takes a few boxes of the top of her load, it makes the going a lot easier. They both lay the burden on the table in the far corner before she turns to him. "Thanks."

He gives her a jaunty look and tilts an imaginary cap at her. "Think nothing of it, Milady. Just returning the favor."

Faith chuckles. "I ain't no lady."

"Maybe not." He grins at her. "But you have been a great help putting my master plan into the works. So, thanks." Xander says simply.

Not used to the gratitude, or the suddenly serious look he gave her, she turns away. "Remind me why I agreed to this again."

Xander smiled, back to his normal self, and started ticking off fingers. "Buffy would think its inappropirate right now and give us a long speech. Same with Giles, who would likely just give us something to research instead. Will, bless her heart, wouldn't be able to keep the secret from Kennedy, and then everybody would know within an hour. Anya would get the word out even faster. There is know way I am telling Andrew why he is guarding the door, and Spike is simply a nonissue."

"And why wouldn't I blab?" She smirks.

Xander's expression turns serious again. He had been doing that a lot lately, being serious. It was something she never would have expected out of him, then again, she never would have expected to be staring into his one working eye.

"I trust you."

Faith blinks. Lost in her thoughts as she was, she must have misheard him. "What?"

Xander just nods, a determined looks on his face. He opens his mouth to speak again, but shuts it as someone starts down the steps.

"I swear by the Goddess, Andrew, if this is some sort of joke, I am going to have Buffy rip your tongue out of your mouth. This is the last time I am ever going to-"

Her rant stops as she reaches the bottom of the steps, mouth hanging open. "Who? Wha-?"

Xander steps forward and gives the dumstruck girl a one-armed hug and brings her fully into the room. Faith smiles broadly and waves from in front of the plainly wrapped presents and takes out her Zippo to light the candles on the cake.

Xander kisses Dawn on the forhead as she looks up at him in surprise. "Happy 17th Birthday, Dawn."

""""""""""""

Awwwww....crap. I am going to have to break these all up into bunches. Again, all your fault. One at a time...and hopefully I can stop myself from doing all twenty of these things.

XP

Plok

2.
Buffy wonders where she went wrong. Things had started off simply enough, normal even. At least, as normal as something like this could get for her. She looks to her left and sees Xander face down on the ground, clutching his side and groaning. Giles was crawling over to Willow, who is still twitching from whatever had happened to her. Everybody else had scattered quickly as the situation deteriorated, and Buffy could swear she had heard Dawn's muffled scream of pain only a moment before.

"Damn, B." Faith says hoarsly from behind her, only now able to get back to her feet. Her face is grim and movement sluggish. "Thing packs quite a punch."

Buffy helps her fellow slayer to stand, surveying the carnage in front of her. The...thing seems to mock her from the center of the room. "I don't understand it." Buffy exclaims. "I followed the instructions to the letter. They were even written down on my hand in case I forgot something. This shouldn't be happening."

"Well, I guess that proves one thing." Xander moans from his place on the ground. "It does skip a generation."

Buffy flushes angrily. "Shutup! I can fix it."

"Oh, God no!" Yells Giles. "You are never going to be allowed to do that again. A bloody F'yarl demon in a drunken stupor cooks better than you can."

"Does not!" Buffy cries in indignation, stamping her foot like a petulant child.

"Oh, it so does." Grumbles Dawn as she walks back into the room, toothbrush in her mouth. "What the hell was that sludge supposed to be anyway?"

"..."

"What was that?"

"Tuna casserole." Buffy whispers, bottom lip quivering.

A sound from the table draws everyone's attention. It quivers slightly before sliding slowly across the table. Everybody shudders in disgust.

Faith just stares at Buffy. "You made it, you slay it."

""""""""""""

I hope that last one wasn't too long. =)

More later, need a break for now.

Plok

title: He Knew that Moan
author: lisa roquin
characters: Spike, Xander, gen
wordcount: 226

A low moan issued from the pile of bodies in the alley.

Spike stopped dead in his tracks. He knew that moan. That moan had absolutely no business in Los Angeles. That moan was supposed to be in bleedin' Africa looking for slayers or some rot. That moan was not supposed to be in an alley behind a demon bar, under a pile of dead demons in Los Angeles!

He supposed he had to go and dig the whelp out of the pile of bodies. Leaving the boy to face any relatives that showed up to collect the demon corpses before dawn was likely to get his white-hat liscence revoked or some bloody thing. If that didn't possibly come with the chance of ending up truly dead once again he might risk it.

Course the whelp was always good for pissin' Peaches off and that was a plus. Could be a bit of alright watchin the boy make Peaches gnash his fangs over "Deadboy" jokes.

With a low growl and a shake of his head, Spike went to the pile of corpses and pulled four off the Slayer's donut boy. "What the bleedin' hell you doin' here, whelp?"

"Pissed off jungle shaman, spell--where am I? Hell?"

"No, Los Angeles, but with Peaches around some days it might add up to the same, only with less brimstone."

Edited: Forgot to add the rest of the punchline.

Title: Just a Little Prick
Characters: Jack, Daniel, Sam (SG:1, PG-13)

“No! Absolutely not, Daniel!"

“But…”

“I said no. No way. Nuh-unh. Not this soldier.”

“But it’s only a little prick and…”

“That ain’t little. Little is less than an inch. Little is microscopic. You have at least seven inches in your hand.”

“Jack, it’s not going to hurt. If you just lean forward and think of England…”

“Very funny.”

Sam’s head snapped towards the source of the two voices. Through the hospital privacy screen she could see Jack’s shadow bent over the bed and Daniel’s shadow standing right behind him.

“Look, Jack. We have to do this. We’ve put this off long enough.”

“Can’t we do this next week?”

“No. Now.”

There was an irritated sigh. “Fine. But I want a…”

“You don’t get to suck on it until after I do this.”

Unable to take it anymore, Sam marched over the hospital screen. “What is going on? Haven’t you ever heard of don’t ask and don’t tell?” she shouted as she yanked the hospital privacy screen out of her way.

Daniel startled and looked up, nearly dropping the syringe in his hand.

Jack groaned, although Sam wasn’t sure if it was from frustration or embarrassment. Thanks to Sam’s actions, he was effectively mooning the sickbay, as well as anyone who happened to be walking by the open door.

“Thanks a lot, Sam. I’m trying to give Jack his inoculation.”

Sam recovered herself. “Why isn’t the doctor doing that?”

“Jack claims I give the best needle.”

“Hey!” Jack looked over his shoulder in irritation. “I’m getting a draft. And I want my lollipop when this is over.”

Okay, first of all, you are evil, because I was having enough trouble getting work done today, and now you pull THIS???

Ahem....Xander POV, Season 7.

----------

Dear God, Kill. Me. Now.

An apocalypse to avert, fine. Another apocalypse. Giles does research, Buffy kicks demon butt, we save the world, let’s party. It’s like the Borg on Star Trek: initially terrifying, but by the fifth or sixth time one of those stupid cubes floated into the viewscreen, not so much.

But the estrogen festival, it’s getting to me. Everywhere I turn, teenage girls. If synchronized PMS ever makes it into the Olympics, the Slayerettes would be a worldclass team.

The only fun I’ve had lately is hanging out with Andrew.

Wait a minute.

Apocalypse now, please. Please?

I tried. I really did.

But nothing seemed to work.

Research. Location spells. Asking around.

I even tried dowsing.

No such luck.

That’s what I get for having them in my pocket when I opened the interdimensional portal. But how was I supposed to know that the portal had magnetic properties?

At least Giles can get new glasses. He’s not happy about it, but he can get them.

But Xander… Well, he’s standing there with his arms folded and he’s totally furious with me.

“Well?” he demands.

I wince. “Sorry. I think your car keys are in the hell dimension.”

As they speed down the road to Ville Ste-Anne-de-Beaupre from Quebec City, Xander is half-tempted to ask Faith why she’s driving so fast.

A bullet cracks the windshield in front of them, and he decides not to ask any more stupid questions. Not even when Faith drags him into the driver’s seat, and thrusts the wheel into his hands.

He casts a glance backwards at the pursuing goons, as Faith takes advantage of their subsequent skid to vault into the back of their sports car.

It’s when she pulls out the Scythe from the case that he really starts to worry.

And as she launches herself headfirst through the air, Xander swears that this time he’s definitely going to quit being her Watcher.

Too many choices!
Title: Could it get any worse?
Author: SunnyD_lite
Set: early season 7
Rating: PG

Dear God. Kill. Me. Now.

First dance at school, and who got tapped to be a chaperon? That's right, my sister Buffy. Could it get worse?

Wonder if anyone will ask me? I've known them all my life, but things change, you know?

Oh, and if Buffy's at a festive occasion? Figuring about a 75% chance of Monsters Inc. making an appearance.

Could just pretend I didn't want to be asked. Could ask Buffy, but she's always had guys. Maybe Cassie? She seems to know stuff.

Just got to make Buffy promise not to embarrass me. Or slay in public.

There was just no escaping him.

Spike ground his teeth and twisted against his bonds as the bloody boy crunched and munched his way through cereal.

Something happened on the tube that caused the great oblivious lump to laugh. Milk and half-chewed cereal sprayed the immediate area.

“Oi! My Docs!”

“Shut up, Spike.”

That’s reflexive, that’s what that is. Not a bit o’ heat in it. No anger.

Not even a smidgeon of fear.

This is what his unlife has come to: getting passed between the Watcher and the boy like a cheap tart, getting chained in bathtubs or tied to lumpy barcaloungers like he was a rapid pup, relying on a microwave--a microwave--to get his three squares at body temperature.

More of this and he’d wind up housebroken, that’s what. Next thing he’ll be rolling over to expose his belly to Bitchy or the red-haired Bint.

There was something clarifying about hating his life, a certain pure rage that gave him a clear view into the future.

Roll over, Spike.

Sit. Heel. Fetch.

Play dead, Spike.

Right then he’d give anything for a rusty spoon so he could dig the chip out of his head. Hell, he’d sell his one of his fangs for a plastic spork if it would get the job done. Damn the consequences and full-speed ahead. What’s a little brain damage, right? He could always nick a brain from someone who wasn’t using theirs.

Like the Great Xander sitting in his boxers and tee while he scratched his balls and killed brain cells in front of the tube.

“What screaming bender eats breakfast at night?”

“A screaming bender who doesn’t have access to the stove,” came the absent reply.

Spike silently counted off the seconds for the phrase to sink in.

“Hey! Was that an insult?”

He hit 30. Boy was quick on the uptake tonight. He thought sure he’d reach 100.

“Eating cereal at night. S’wrong, that’s what it is.”

“Spike, I appreciate your opinion and will take under due consideration,” Xander replied in a bad imitation of the Watcher. “Oh, wait. No I won’t. Shut up, Spike.”

“You should be eating proper, you should,” Spike opined. “Otherwise, you won’t make much of snack, will you?”

“Are you trying to fatten me up for demon bait? You are! I don’t believe this…”

“Now in my day a proper meal required three things,” Spike continued. “Blood sausages, blood pudding, and a bloody human.”

“I’m so not inviting you to my next party.”

“Wouldn’t want to go anyway,” Spike sniffed. “Be a boring affair I’d bet.”

“Hey! I know how to throw parties and…”

“It would just be you and the lightbulb, assuming the blasted thing worked,” Spike sing-songed. “Not even your bit of alright would show.”

“That would be wrong, my friend.”

“Face it, Harris. You don’t have any friends.”

Boy was on his feet now. He’d be impressive to another human, but Spike was perceptive enough that he could see the quiver had struck home.

“So what do you call Buffy? And Willow? And Anya? And…”

“Absent.” Spike smiled. He was going to enjoy twisting the knife. “Face it, Harris. If they’re such great friends, such wonderful friends, why did they make you take me home? Eh? And don’t say the chip. I’ve got resources. Still got friends in all the right spots, if you get my drift. If I really wanted to, I could make you dead ’fore you know it.”

“They’d stake you if that happened,” Xander whispered.

“But I didn’t do it guv’nor. S’not a fair cop. I was tied to a chair. I tried to help on account of wanting to keep my skin intact but…” Spike let out a dramatic sigh.

“I don’t have time for this. I have to get ready for work.”

Xander stomped off.

Spike grinned at his retreating back.

No he didn’t. Had the night off and nothing to do, unlike the Slayer who was doing her bit, the Watcher who was doing his bit, and the Witch who was doing whatever. Why else was he down and out at Chez Harris?

The boy went into the jury-rigged bathroom and slammed the rickety door shut. At the edge of his hearing, Spike heard Harris let out a shuddering breath.

He scores!

Spike settled back with a satisfied air.

It wasn’t quite the bloody torture he loved, but it was torture enough.

Teach them to treat him like some lapdog.

Not this Big Bad.

"Sixty thousand years. SIXTY THOUSAD YEARS, Frank! That's how long that reactor was supposed to last! I should have never let Lar choose which contractor to install it, he was always chosing sub-standard parts." raved Dr. Clayton Forrester

"Sir?" TV's Frank timidly asked. Dr. Forrester couninued.

"He should have known ANY company fronted by someone that only goes by the name 'Phil' shouldn't be belived to install a toster, let alone a nuclear reactor!"

Suddenly, Frank starts screaming. Dr. Foresster continutes talking over him, only rasing his voice to be heard over Frank's cries of pain.

"Another thing, he meet this 'Phil' in one of the seediest places imaginable: an IHOP. And what are you going on about now, Frank?"

Frank only managed to wimper out a single word. "Hands."

"Hands? I kmew I forgot to give you somthing before you started on cleaning up the uranium. Let's go attach some hands on those arms of yours."

Title: Wrong Trilogy to Buy From
Word Count: Exactly 100

As they speed down the road to Ville Ste-Anne-de-Beaupre from Quebec City, Xander is half-tempted to ask Faith why she’s driving so fast. The temptation would be stronger but she seems to feel that learning just how fast the car can go is a vital subject for experimentation.

At this rate, they are soooo going to travel through time. They are in a DeLorean after all.

And Andrew with the Council checkbook? Never. Again.

Wait for it, she’s gonna open her mouth…

“Chill! This little baby,” here she caresses the dash, “has barely opened up. Isn’t that right?”

Xander whimpers.

Title: Problem Solving by Dawn
Word Count: Exactly 100

Dear God, Kill. Me. Now.

Better yet, when I find who locked us in the werewolf cages? Kill them.

I’ll have to do it otherwise. Faith still has issues with hurting humans, but this? A good cause.

Because anyone who locks me, Xander Harris, in a confined space with Faith, using a time lock? Definitely evil.

Or, Dawn.

All right, maiming. Bodies are hard to hide anyway.

Dawn’s smirking at us now. Maybe I can bash my head out on the bars. That’ll work.

“Neither of you are leaving ‘til you talk this out. Enjoy.”

Head beating it is then.

Dear God, Kill. Me. Now.

"Shake it! Shake it Anthony!"

Xander looked down at the woman frantically trying to reach up on her tip toes to put the dollar bill in the tiny thing that some people called underwear and he called an eye patch. Except of course, it wasn't on his eye...

"Alexander!" Says a woman next to her as she dances to the techno music. "He's Alexander the Great..."

"I've seen greater," a third woman said looking bored and taking a sip of a girlie drink.

Now would be a good time to be struck down by lightning, God. Xander takes the dollar bill and slides it under the g-string himself. Okay, now would be a good time to retreat into his mental place of peace. The place where he goes when he has to deal with unpleasant situations like this one.

“Betty, he looks kind of like your grandson, doesn’t he except without the acne?”

“Jesus, Charlene, could you not talk about grandsons when we’re in a place like this?”

He’s got about two minutes left. All he has to do is get through two more minutes…

“Hey Mister Roman man, want to come to my place and conquer some unchartered land?”

He’s pretty sure he’s turning red. Is this what hell is like? Because fire and brimstone? It’s looking kind of tame compared to this.

“Unchartered? Please, Martha, your land has been more traveled than the Panama canal.”

Shrill laughs, some smoker’s coughing, and the music finally ends. He grabs the toga he threw on the floor in the beginning of the act and practically runs backstage. This is it. He’s quitting. He’s still twenty short, but he’ll pick that up some other way. There has to be some other way…

“Good show,” Mel says, patting him on the back. “Those retirement broads are always a tough crowd.”

“I quit,” Xander blurts. “I’m out of here. I’m going home.”

“This is your home, Harris. Where else are you going to be looked at as a Greek God?”

“I think I saw my third grade teacher out there! I thought she was dead, but now I know she lives in a retirement home and comes out here once a week. You know, it was easier thinking she was dead.”

“Fine,” Mel says, the weight of his hand dropping off his back. “But you’d better have the costume dry cleaned and back here by five tomorrow. Otherwise you’ll have to pay for it.”

“Fine,” Xander says, ducking into the closet they call a dressing room and hastily putting on his standard jeans and t-shirt.

He never thought it was possible to miss a Hellmouth quite so much as he does right at that moment.

_____________________________

Good God that was too much fun. Thanks for this!

Faith nervously tapped her fingers on the motel room's phone and debated calling Angel.

She didn't like him, didn't trust him, didn't even really know him. But right now, she wanted to ask him something.

Memories flashed, rapid-fire, through her mind.

Being in the middle of a fight, exhilarating in the power and the thrill of it; the stake, slamming home with all her Slayer strength behind it; the blood burbling out of the man's mouth; the horrified look on B's face; the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

This was why she was sitting here, thinking about calling some vamp she barely even knew.

She wanted to ask him...

What does it feel like to lose your soul?

Title: Cold Feet
Author:SunnyD_lite
Rating: PG
A/N: This stealing inspiration is addictive, you are a cruel, cruel, woman,here's another one. (Cross posted at my journal too)

"You really need to rest."

Maybe this marriage thing would work out.

Anya, surrounded by his family, hostess-ing with the mostest-ing, and even looking out for him! Someone to take care of him, as a first priority and not in an 'oh-he'll-only-get-hurt' way. He was willing to return the favour, it had always been his role - jelly doughnuts were nurturing.

He reached across the small bathroom, embracing his future wife. "Thanks, hon. It's nice to know you're here for me."

"Well, you really do. I've researched the wedding night and, buster, you'd better have all your strength."

Or maybe not.

By now, I'm just doing the weird fandoms thing on purpose. No need to reciprocate; I'm making my own fun. This is Queer As Folk UK.

*

A low moan issued from the pile of bodies in the alley. Vince knew he wasn't intruding-- the moan was, if anything, an invitation to join in-- but they were all of them tweaked out, and they all looked like the sort who waxed their chest hair obsessively. They'd notice instantly that he wasn't their type, and then he'd be the poor bastard who everyone wanted to uninvite from the orgy.

It was sour grapes, all of it. Sour grapes, and Stuart had custody of the Jeep. Stuart and his stupid fucking anonymous pull for the night, who would give Stuart stupid fucking brilliant amazing head.

Vince was one cigarette short of ready to hail a taxi home, so he lit up a fag. As the nicotine cleared a path through the foliage of Vince's brain, someone said, "Got a spare?" It was one of the tweakers from the alley, only this one looked sober enough. His gelled hair was impeccable, though. Too long of a shot.

Vince handed the bloke a fag. "I'm hoping they're too high to notice I'm missing," the bloke said. "Who am I to pass up an opportunity, you know, but none of them were any good, truth be told, and I saw you over here and thought, well, you'd be more experienced at the very least, and--"

"More *experienced*?" Vince sneered.

"Did I say--? It's not what I meant. What I meant was, if I'm going to snog in an alley, why waste my time with someone who isn't any good?"

"Or four someones," Vince said.

"Four is worse," the bloke said.

Vince dropped his half a fag on the pavement and put it out with his heel. The other bloke hadn't even lit his, so when Vince kissed him, he didn't taste tobacco-- only sweet, sweet fruit.

Buffy wonders where she went wrong. The real answer: when she agreed to drive. Or maybe earlier when she came down to visit Willow and help with the whole getting over bad break-up thing. But she did okay pulling away from the club, getting on the highway. And heck, she did awesome with the highway part. But she's definitely missed her exit. And gone through a border crossing which probably wasn't right. And the whole get off on the next exit and double back? Bad idea. Huge monstrous bad idea, like something really big. She can't even make a good joke in her head, she's so lost.

"Buffy?" Willow blinks and opens her eyes. "Okay, I remember the drinking and the puking." Willow shudders. "But why did I give you my keys?"

"Because of the drinking and the puking. And I will get us home alive. I can so do this."

Willow moans and looks around tentatively. "But, Buffy. We were in a different country last time I was conscious. I'm pretty sure of that."

"Um. Sure. Maybe. But look, Mexico! It's pretty!"

"We're heading back the right way, right?"

"Absolutely." Buffy forces a smile. "I'm sure of it. I have an excellent sense of direction."

Willow looks ashen. "Okay then. Well, I'm going to pass out again and you wake me up when we're back in the land of the free and home of the brave." She squeezes her eyes shut.

Buffy sighs. She knew the border crossing couldn't be right. And she's sure she's headed back the right way now. Absolutely. She can so do this.

A case of arson of a blackjack table happens right in front of a celebrity crowd.

What Xander would like to do is hide out of sheer embarassment.

What he has to do is run over Mel Gibson, kick Sylvester Stallone in the nuts, karate chop Vin Diesel, and judo flip Steven Seagal.

The things he does for this job.

While the action stars scream like little girls and run away from the carnage (so much for these jokers doing their own stunts, he figures), Xander fights his way through the crowd to grab Faith by the arm.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he hisses as he tugs her away.

“Calm down, will ya Cyclops? Just doing my duty.”

“You set a blackjack table on fire! We are so banned from Vegas.”

“That’s if they don’t arrest us first.”

“Thank you so much for that cheerful thought,” Xander complains as he yanks her off balance and tries desperately to blend with the others.

No such luck. They’re probably the only not-famous faces in the whole damn casino.

It’s a matter of time before the security guards get them because there’s a good shot Faith’s spectacular pre-emptive Slay was caught on tape.

Subtlety is not one of Faith’s strong points.

It doesn’t help that in his experience willing blindness only extends to to demons. Not so much when it comes to Slayers armed with a Zippo and not afraid to use it.

“Hey! Over here! You two! I got your back!”

Xander scans the crowd and sees--Holy shit! You gotta be kidding me!--Brendon Fraser wildly waving his arms to get their attention.

He doesn’t look in the least bit weirded out, which is strange.

But that’s pretty much all Xander needs. If it’s a trap, he’s pretty sure he could take the guy. He’s just a wuss actor and any port in a storm...

Faith clears the way with some elbow action. So far, so good. Everyone’s so freaked that they don’t realize that the chick in the leather dress and her tuxedo-wearing pal are in any way involved with the bonfire.

Crap. It really is a bonfire. It’s spread to another blackjack table.

Stupid flammable demons.

They finally get to their unexpected Good Samaratain. He opens a stairwell door and follows them through, slamming the door shut behind them.

“Don’t tell me,” Brendon says. “A G’lugguh demon? Those guys a bad news. Thanks for offing him.”

“How the fuck do you know about…” Faith begins.

“Run now. Ask questions later,” Xander argues.

Celebrity dude leads them down the stairs. “This will take us to the underground garage. We’ll ditch security there and then I’ll hide you in the trunk of my car and get you out of here,” he explains.

“How do you know about demons?” Faith isn’t letting go.

“Found out about them when I did research for Monkey Bone.”

“You found out about demons while doing research for a movie?” Xander asks. He can’t believe he heard right.

“Yeah. Now I sleep with a baseball bat under the bed and garlic around my neck.”

“Hunh. Gonna have to watch that flick now,” Faith remarks.

That? Was super awesome. Hilarious and lovely. Thank you!!

A low moan issued from the pile of bodies in the alley.

Spike stirred. “Quiet!” he snarled. “People are trying to sleep here. Hang on, this isn’t my crypt.” He tried to rise, found he was underneath a heavy body, and shoved it aside.

Clem slid onto Xander and hugged him tightly. “Oh, Sophie,” he murmured.

“Hey!” Xander protested. “Not so hard, Ahn.” He rolled over and snored.

Spike struggled to his feet and looked around. The sky was growing pale. Time to run for shelter. Say one thing for the whelp, he’d thrown one hell of a bachelor party.

Faith gently closes the basement door behind her and carefully walks down the steps. Xander is studying the water heater with his head cocked to one side, his posture loose and relaxed.

"Hey."

Xander twists, startled. "Oh," he replies, turning back to the heater.

"Listen, Xand," she begins.

"Don't," he interrupts, speaking over his shoulder.

"Look, I just. . ."

He spins to look at her and she breaks off. His face is set, stern, and he tenses as he fixes her with a glare. "I've got work to do," he says, his voice free of the emotions betrayed by the set of his body, "so if you don't mind," he trails off, and looks pointedly up the stairs.

"I gotta do this," Faith starts again, and again he interrupts.

"I don't."

"Damn it, X," Faith's right hand reaches out to him. "I just want. . ."

"I know. But it's not about you, Faith." Xander sighs, and once again studies the heater, ignoring her attempt to reach out to him.

"What I did to you, back in the day, how I treated you. I'm sorry."

"You think I care about what you did to me?"

"You've pretty much avoided me since I came back."

"It's not about me, Faith. What you – we – not important."

"Then what?" She moves so she's between the heater and Xander, trying to get him to meet her eyes, but he drops his gaze to the floor as soon as she moves.

"I've got to get this done. No hot water plus lots of girls equals badness." He bends down and grabs a length of hose from his pile of tools and equipment. As he straightens, he realizes that she's between him and the heater, and his gaze meets hers for a moment before he looks off over her shoulder. His elbow bends, brining the hose up, waving it momentarily before it drops back down, his hand against his leg, hose dragging on the ground. "I can't deal with this right now."

"I just wanted to say, you know. I wish, hell, I just want you to know that I know I fucked up with you, and I wish I hadn't." She spoke in a rush, her eyes now fixed on her toes. She missed his wince at the 'w-word.'

Xander dropped the hose. Shifting uncomfortably for a moment, he walked over to the washing machine and sat on it, slumping forward. "OK. No problem." His voice was empty, tired as he stared unseeing across the basement.

"That's it? 'No problem?'"

"What did you want? Tears? Shouting? Want me to get all Jerry Springer? You get what you get, not what you want. You get 'OK.' You get 'no problem.'"

Faith was studying him as he spoke. He looked tired, worn down. "We OK?" she asked him, hopeful. As soon as she said that, his face hardened, and he glared at her with an intensity she usually only saw in people trying to kill her.

"No. Never will be."

"What? You just said. . ."

He cut in, his voice suddenly low and full of rage. "Not about me. That's what I said, Faith. What I hate you for, what I can't forgive you for, not about me. I don't matter. But you hurt the people who do matter, and that's it." He slides off the washer and stalks over to her, all the tension back. He comes right up to her, leaning down to look her in the eye. "You want it to be all OK. Too late."

"Xander, listen."

"No."

"C'mon, man, cut me a break. I just want. . ."

"I don't give a fuck what you want. Don't care how you're all about the redemption; don't care how you're all about saving our asses now. I get that. I just don't care."

Faith swallowed and blinked hard, forcing the tears back.

"I've got work to do." He turns back to the heater.

Faith walks carefully back up the steps, and gently closes the door behind her.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Because I'm a sheep...

I Will Play Your Wool Game

Faith (BtVS, Post-S7)

Re: Faith (BtVS, Post-S7)

Sumamabitch...

Re: Sumamabitch...

no subject

Short Piece: Daniel, Jack, and Sam (SG:1, PG-13)

no subject

Drabble: Willow (Post-S7, BtVS)

no subject

no subject

Short Piece: Spike (BtVS, S4)

Just because

Couldn't stay away

Yet another

no subject

no subject

Drabble: Cold Feet

no subject

no subject

Short Piece: Faith, Xander, Brendon Fraser (BtVS, Post-S7, PG)

Re: Short Piece: Faith, Xander, Brendon Fraser (BtVS, Post-S7, PG)

Alley oops; word count 100

This is way too long, (669 words), but I hope you'll forgive me. Please?