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jedibuttercupPG-13, Dresden Files x B:tVS; 2900 words. Part of the Handle With Care 'verse.
You'd think I'd have learned at some point not to make idle wishes. Not even in the privacy of my own thoughts.
Your Back to Mine - Part I (or at AO3)
Title: Disastering Together: Your Back to Mine - Part II
Author: Jedi Buttercup
Disclaimer: The words are mine; the worlds are not.
Rating: PG-13/T; het
Spoilers: B:tVS/Dresden Files; post-series and during "Small Favor", in an AU fusion timeline
Notes: Jumping forward a bit in the Book 10 timeline, because this series is more about the relationship than the action. Took me way too long to write; I hope it still entertains! Also going to be prompt #003 [cleave] on my![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
100fandoms table, once I get the code up for that.
Summary: You'd think I'd have learned at some point not to make idle wishes. Not even in the privacy of my own thoughts. 2900 words.
I'm a wizard with more than a decade of sleuthing, several years of Wardening, and a very close acquaintance with a Slayer under my belt-- no pun intended. You'd think I'd have learned at some point not to make idle wishes. Not even in the privacy of my own thoughts. It's not quite at the level of a ritual entropy curse, maybe, but in its own way the W-word is just as inexorable: a gold-plated invitation for the Fates to meddle.
Astute observers of my past record might point out that they do that every other Sunday, anyway; or on idle Tuesdays, in my girlfriend's world. Sooner or later Buffy was always going to meet up with Marcone, regardless of any bets I made with myself over beers at McAnally's. But the particular timing, in this case, was clearly infernally inspired: less than a day afterward, I'd provided the impetus for their meeting myself, when I'd inadvertently abandoned her to the care of those holding him prisoner.
And me without a conveniently paired piece of jewelry to track her down, like the pentacle amulets Thomas and I had inherited from our mother. I'm a commitmentphile; of course I'd been thinking about rings, sketching them out down in the lab with Bob to see how many protection runes I could fit on a narrow engraved band. But I'm also a rejectionphobe, and I hadn't managed to open my mouth to talk to her about it yet. Heck, I still had trouble even using the four-letter L word.
Has there ever been a relationship milestone I haven't managed to hit the hard way? Well, at least we're well-matched there, too. It had even turned into a meme among the Watchers' Council, according to Buffy's sister: actual human disasters, disastering in love. Hopefully, we'd go on providing fodder for it for many years more.
I hadn't got the sense that Nicodemus knew who she was to me, though; he'd seemed to know what she was the minute she insisted on riding along to our scheduled arbitration meeting at the Shedd Aquarium, but not who. "The same conditions as the representative of the law," he'd said with a shrug; "the thanatophage must disarm, and must refrain from acting absent the interference of her natural prey."
Like with Murphy-- he hadn't known in advance that the cop I'd brought was a she, despite our long and public association. The only one of my connections he apparently gave a damn about was Ivy; not even the Slayer registered to him as a threat. He'd even seemed a little amused that I had brought her, something that irritated me more than a little.
But when the gas began to flood the bleachers in the Aquarium's amphitheater it all started to make an ugly kind of sense, and I knew I was exactly as much of a fool as he'd taken me for. The Fallen's bread and butter was finding human weakness to exploit, and whatever else she was, Buffy was-- just like the rest of us-- still human.
She'd made it inside the Sign's area of effect before it went up, just as I had; though unlike Ivy and I, her arcane abilities weren't limited by the ambient magic available around her. Her strength was innate, like Thomas', and always more potent when fighting against supernaturally tainted enemies. She could go toe to toe with most of the Denarians even without her signature weapon. But the problem with bringing my extremely deadly supernatural girlfriend as back up to an archangel fight was that in the end, the girl beneath the Slayer's title was as mortal as any other to wear the mantle... and just as vulnerable to Nicodemus' plot to take down the Archive.
I wasn't worried about her giving in to temptation, any more than I was Marcone. Actually, even less than Marcone: Buffy Summers wasn't just any old Slayer. The burning light of Heaven had already left its mark on her soul for those who knew how to See. Even if she did pick up a coin, the Fallen contained within it would probably find her a uniquely inhospitable host. But they would definitely try-- and that would only end up making her more vulnerable, once they realized just what had fallen into their clutches.
I had first-hand experience of what kind of play a supernatural predator whose intended food turned out to be poisonous might indulge in, and the Order of the Blackened Denarius existed on a level of cruelty far worse than what the average Red Court vampire could manage. I generally tried not to think about my time in the dark, outside of the occasional nightmares. But after I surfaced from the wreckage of that meeting, as my allies and I rushed around preparing for our next confrontation with Nicodemus... I couldn't help but think about what my light-hearted request for her assistance had got my girlfriend into.
And not just her. The Denarians had Ivy, a little girl who hadn't even had a name before I gave one to her-- who wouldn't have been there in the first place if I hadn't asked for her as our arbitrator. They had Marcone, one of the few men I'd met in the course of my monster-fighting career whose word I knew I could trust-- even if we usually walked on opposite sides of the moral divide. And they had Buffy, the woman who had re-taught me the difference between surviving and living over the last couple of years. All together, in the same place, suffering the same torments.
All together...
...in the same place...
...waitaminute. Hells Bells.
My thoughts ground to a halt, breaking out of their self-flagellating spiral, as I really thought about that juxtaposition of players. A supernaturally gifted woman who'd spent her whole adult life protecting innocents; one of the most ruthless men I knew, who had a thing about protecting children; and the repository of all human knowledge, currently in the form of a little girl. All of them imprisoned together.
Because the Denarians wouldn't split what forces they had left, given what was at stake. They'd obviously planned for the specific requirements to imprison the Archive, but they'd have had to improvise for their bonus guests--and it had taken an actual Outsider to kill Buffy the one time it had stuck. The next time she'd faced something with minor-deity-level power it had underestimated her, and she and her friends been the ones left standing. And there was a reason I'd even thought of sponsoring Marcone as a Freeholding Lord, rather than dangling some other kind of bait to secure his help in the Wraith Deeps; I might despise his ethics, but I'd always respected his ability. But immortal, superpowered monsters like Nicky and his Nickleheads tended to have a poor opinion of the abilities of mere mortals even when they knew better.
There'd be a loose end somewhere. Between Buffy and Marcone, all they'd need was an opening. And that one Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden was uniquely qualified to provide. Maybe I didn't need to take the entire world on my shoulders just yet.
I added a couple of calls into our prep cycle, and felt the panicked knots in my shoulders start to loosen.
The Denarians did not know what hornets' nest they'd just kicked over.
Game on.
The first of the Watchers' Council operatives to arrive stepped out of the shadows bordering St. Mary's of the Angel just before we were due to meet the Denarian envoy: a woman slightly taller than Buffy with dark hair, full lips, and a clinging scarlet top under dark motorcycle leathers. We'd only crossed paths a couple of times before on my visits to Cleveland, not enough to really diffuse the effect of her appearance; like every other supernaturally inclined woman I'd met, the force of her presence could tighten pants at two hundred paces.
I was reminded of what Nicodemus had called Buffy, and the similarity of that to how other supernatural entities referred to the White Court and similar energy-hungry beings: phages. But this wasn't the time. I made a little sticky note in the back of my head for a new subject to research-- later.
I cleared my throat, dragging my thoughts back to the task at hand, and gave Buffy's sister Slayer a respectful nod. "Faith."
"Harry," she replied, a wry set to her mouth. "Hear you got my girl in some trouble."
"In the sense that I jumped in with both feet, and she was half a stride ahead of me before I was even out of the driveway," I said dryly. "My enemy, yeah. But if you think I could have talked her into staying out of it...."
"Yeah, that sounds about right," she snorted, posture relaxing a little. "You ready for this?"
"Just about." All we were waiting on was Nicodemus' messenger-- who had probably already arrived, hoping we'd spill whatever plan we had before we realized there was someone listening in. "You've worked with the Knights of the Cross before, right? Michael and Sanya will be accompanying us to the exchange."
Faith traded nods of greeting with the pair, who were standing next to Michael's truck. "Crossed paths a few times, yeah; slayed a few baddies together. These particular bad guys know they're coming?"
Our eavesdropper could resist that straight line no more than I would have; another woman in motorcycle leathers stepped out from across the street at that, giving us all a disdainful eyebrow to go with her hip-rolling walk. Unlike Faith, she wore no shirt under her jacket, said absence clearly visible given that the zipper was drawn down nearly to her belly-button; the effect was lessened, though, by the fact that Faith had more genuine sex appeal in her pinkie than the Denarian did in her whole body. Looks were one thing; she had those in spades. But the steely-sad, condescending attitude layered on top was like a shot of windchill to the vulnerable parts.
"They do now," Rosanna said. "Wizard. These three were not part of the arrangements."
"And your boss was supposed to be the one that met me," I pointed out, reasonably. "Not you." Not that I'd ever expected otherwise.
"Circumstances necessitated a change," she replied, frostily.
I shrugged the shoulder bearing Fidellachius' case, then stooped to unzip the duffel bag at my feet. The meet at the Aquarium had been ostensibly weapons-free... which meant I had a fourth blade to bring to this particular parley. A detail I was counting on to get Faith past Nicodemus' gatekeeper. I lifted out a long, hard case shaped a little differently from mine, then handed it up to the second Slayer.
"Same here," I said. "I'm here for Marcone and Ivy; but my associate's organization wanted to send their own observer along. I didn't think your boss would mind the chance at another blesséd blade, so...."
Rosanna swallowed, caught off guard; hunger and wariness warred in her gaze as she watched Faith strap the Scythe's sheath on over her jacket. She made a glottal noise at the sound of it, something like "Mʔ," and visibly hesitated for a long moment before glaring at me again. "And the Knights? What is their intended role?"
Score; if the argument wasn't going to work, she would have brought it up then, rather than jolting back into the script her boss had given her.
"Guess," Faith replied very dryly, before I could come up with an appropriate riposte. The one downside of dating a member of the Watchers' Council: unlike most of my other associates, Buffy and all her friends were at least as mouthy as I was. "Or, you know, we could get a move on. I didn't come here to watch you guys air your dirty laundry; I came here for the Slayer. Soon as I'm out of your business, the sooner you can get on with it."
"Unfortunately, your friend chose the wrong side," Rosanna sniffed. "It isn't too late to cut your losses and simply wait for the next one to be called, you know. Or you, Sanya; it is... agreeable to see you again. If you would make a gift of that toy to my lord and my lady...."
Scornful laughter cut her off short; Faith crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head in disdain. "Seriously? If I had a nickel for every time a demon tried the seduction thing, I could hire my own harem by now. Everyone's here; everyone's hot-- well, except maybe the wizard, no offense Harry but you kinda look like something the cat dragged in; nobody's gonna switch sides; the end. Now, if that's all you got...."
Contempt and anger briefly flashed in Rosanna's eyes, but the mood had been thoroughly broken, and she gave in with ill will, turning back to me to ask for proof that I'd brought the goods: a Crown Royal bag full of ancient coins, holding eleven of her less intelligent brethren.
From there, it was a short, tense trip to the docks, and then out onto the lake. The temperature of the conversation was nearly cold enough to freeze the spray cast up by our wake-- but I was too busy being relieved that we'd guessed right not only about the island but about the fact that they'd been disregarding the lesser Signatories in their recent obsession with Chicago to pay much attention to irrelevant details. I knew the Watchers' other operatives would be following Marcone's people in as soon as we gave the signal, and that Thomas was waiting with a boat; we'd made the best possible preparations we could, and all we had to do now was get there and pull the trigger. We'd take some damage doing it, but--
Mindful of tempting Fate further, I carefully didn't think any such stupid things as there were only six of them, right? and how bad can it be?; I concentrated instead on picturing the look on Nicodemus' face when the Scythe went active in the hands of a Slayer who wasn't Buffy.
It's the little things, sometimes.
Several minutes later, after a tense stand-off, a standard exchange of threats, and the alarming sight of Buffy hogtied to Marcone in such a way that any attempts to move would strangle them both, I finally did get to see that look, and it was every bit as satisfying as I'd imagined.
Even more satisfying was the look on Buffy's face a few moments later, when Thorned Namshiel raised a hand to attack me and lost it to her backup knife instead. I'd personally enchanted that blade for her a year and a half before, as a courting gesture turned apology; not only was it charmed not to cut the flesh of its wielder, the sheath also carried runes to veil it from everyone else's perceptions. I'd been hoping she'd had it on her, waiting for the right opportunity to use it; and she had. The moment I'd shot the Fireball rounds into the sky to signal the helicopters, Buffy cut herself free and came to my rescue.
She looked as fierce as that long-ago day atop the ramparts of Arctis Tor, when I'd first realized just what I'd started to feel for her. Even with a torn shirt, abraded wrists, dirt caked where she'd been cast on the ground, and a bruise dark enough to match my raccoon eyes darkening on one cheekbone, she was as much an unsheathed blade as the bloody knife in her hands... and absolutely the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.
"God, I love you," I blurted, beaming at her as Namshiel collapsed back to the earth, twitching weakly. "Marry me?"
She blinked at me, caught off guard... and was suddenly the laughing girl again, grinning goofily back at me. "You ask that now?" she teased, tipping her chin toward the broken lighthouse at the top of the hill. "Bad guys first, cookies later. We've still got Ivy and your frenemy to save up there."
I snorted at the term. "I'd object, but I absolutely want to see his reaction when you call him that," I teased back.
"Yeah, yeah, get your butt in gear, wizardboy," Faith scoffed as she reached us, turning the Scythe in her hands to pass it to Buffy. "You can banter about your man-crush on the mob boss later, too."
My girlfriend took the weapon, exchanging it for her knife; then we were running again, flanked by Michael and Sanya, as gunshots spanged off the stones around us.
Working in tandem, stronger than we were apart. Something I never could have foreseen, the day I first saw Buffy perched daintily on the hood of my car.
In that moment, I didn't know where things would go from there; after all, we were actual human disasters, disastering together. But we covered each other's weaknesses, too. Trusted each other to come through in the clutch. Laughed together, fought together, and leaned on each other when times got rough.
I might not deserve her, but I was absolutely not going to waste one more day not showing her exactly how I felt about her.
Bad guys first, though, as the lady said.
We ran toward the shelter of the tower, and went back to work.
(read at AO3)
You'd think I'd have learned at some point not to make idle wishes. Not even in the privacy of my own thoughts.
Your Back to Mine - Part I (or at AO3)
Title: Disastering Together: Your Back to Mine - Part II
Author: Jedi Buttercup
Disclaimer: The words are mine; the worlds are not.
Rating: PG-13/T; het
Spoilers: B:tVS/Dresden Files; post-series and during "Small Favor", in an AU fusion timeline
Notes: Jumping forward a bit in the Book 10 timeline, because this series is more about the relationship than the action. Took me way too long to write; I hope it still entertains! Also going to be prompt #003 [cleave] on my
100fandoms table, once I get the code up for that.Summary: You'd think I'd have learned at some point not to make idle wishes. Not even in the privacy of my own thoughts. 2900 words.
I'm a wizard with more than a decade of sleuthing, several years of Wardening, and a very close acquaintance with a Slayer under my belt-- no pun intended. You'd think I'd have learned at some point not to make idle wishes. Not even in the privacy of my own thoughts. It's not quite at the level of a ritual entropy curse, maybe, but in its own way the W-word is just as inexorable: a gold-plated invitation for the Fates to meddle.
Astute observers of my past record might point out that they do that every other Sunday, anyway; or on idle Tuesdays, in my girlfriend's world. Sooner or later Buffy was always going to meet up with Marcone, regardless of any bets I made with myself over beers at McAnally's. But the particular timing, in this case, was clearly infernally inspired: less than a day afterward, I'd provided the impetus for their meeting myself, when I'd inadvertently abandoned her to the care of those holding him prisoner.
And me without a conveniently paired piece of jewelry to track her down, like the pentacle amulets Thomas and I had inherited from our mother. I'm a commitmentphile; of course I'd been thinking about rings, sketching them out down in the lab with Bob to see how many protection runes I could fit on a narrow engraved band. But I'm also a rejectionphobe, and I hadn't managed to open my mouth to talk to her about it yet. Heck, I still had trouble even using the four-letter L word.
Has there ever been a relationship milestone I haven't managed to hit the hard way? Well, at least we're well-matched there, too. It had even turned into a meme among the Watchers' Council, according to Buffy's sister: actual human disasters, disastering in love. Hopefully, we'd go on providing fodder for it for many years more.
I hadn't got the sense that Nicodemus knew who she was to me, though; he'd seemed to know what she was the minute she insisted on riding along to our scheduled arbitration meeting at the Shedd Aquarium, but not who. "The same conditions as the representative of the law," he'd said with a shrug; "the thanatophage must disarm, and must refrain from acting absent the interference of her natural prey."
Like with Murphy-- he hadn't known in advance that the cop I'd brought was a she, despite our long and public association. The only one of my connections he apparently gave a damn about was Ivy; not even the Slayer registered to him as a threat. He'd even seemed a little amused that I had brought her, something that irritated me more than a little.
But when the gas began to flood the bleachers in the Aquarium's amphitheater it all started to make an ugly kind of sense, and I knew I was exactly as much of a fool as he'd taken me for. The Fallen's bread and butter was finding human weakness to exploit, and whatever else she was, Buffy was-- just like the rest of us-- still human.
She'd made it inside the Sign's area of effect before it went up, just as I had; though unlike Ivy and I, her arcane abilities weren't limited by the ambient magic available around her. Her strength was innate, like Thomas', and always more potent when fighting against supernaturally tainted enemies. She could go toe to toe with most of the Denarians even without her signature weapon. But the problem with bringing my extremely deadly supernatural girlfriend as back up to an archangel fight was that in the end, the girl beneath the Slayer's title was as mortal as any other to wear the mantle... and just as vulnerable to Nicodemus' plot to take down the Archive.
I wasn't worried about her giving in to temptation, any more than I was Marcone. Actually, even less than Marcone: Buffy Summers wasn't just any old Slayer. The burning light of Heaven had already left its mark on her soul for those who knew how to See. Even if she did pick up a coin, the Fallen contained within it would probably find her a uniquely inhospitable host. But they would definitely try-- and that would only end up making her more vulnerable, once they realized just what had fallen into their clutches.
I had first-hand experience of what kind of play a supernatural predator whose intended food turned out to be poisonous might indulge in, and the Order of the Blackened Denarius existed on a level of cruelty far worse than what the average Red Court vampire could manage. I generally tried not to think about my time in the dark, outside of the occasional nightmares. But after I surfaced from the wreckage of that meeting, as my allies and I rushed around preparing for our next confrontation with Nicodemus... I couldn't help but think about what my light-hearted request for her assistance had got my girlfriend into.
And not just her. The Denarians had Ivy, a little girl who hadn't even had a name before I gave one to her-- who wouldn't have been there in the first place if I hadn't asked for her as our arbitrator. They had Marcone, one of the few men I'd met in the course of my monster-fighting career whose word I knew I could trust-- even if we usually walked on opposite sides of the moral divide. And they had Buffy, the woman who had re-taught me the difference between surviving and living over the last couple of years. All together, in the same place, suffering the same torments.
All together...
...in the same place...
...waitaminute. Hells Bells.
My thoughts ground to a halt, breaking out of their self-flagellating spiral, as I really thought about that juxtaposition of players. A supernaturally gifted woman who'd spent her whole adult life protecting innocents; one of the most ruthless men I knew, who had a thing about protecting children; and the repository of all human knowledge, currently in the form of a little girl. All of them imprisoned together.
Because the Denarians wouldn't split what forces they had left, given what was at stake. They'd obviously planned for the specific requirements to imprison the Archive, but they'd have had to improvise for their bonus guests--and it had taken an actual Outsider to kill Buffy the one time it had stuck. The next time she'd faced something with minor-deity-level power it had underestimated her, and she and her friends been the ones left standing. And there was a reason I'd even thought of sponsoring Marcone as a Freeholding Lord, rather than dangling some other kind of bait to secure his help in the Wraith Deeps; I might despise his ethics, but I'd always respected his ability. But immortal, superpowered monsters like Nicky and his Nickleheads tended to have a poor opinion of the abilities of mere mortals even when they knew better.
There'd be a loose end somewhere. Between Buffy and Marcone, all they'd need was an opening. And that one Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden was uniquely qualified to provide. Maybe I didn't need to take the entire world on my shoulders just yet.
I added a couple of calls into our prep cycle, and felt the panicked knots in my shoulders start to loosen.
The Denarians did not know what hornets' nest they'd just kicked over.
Game on.
The first of the Watchers' Council operatives to arrive stepped out of the shadows bordering St. Mary's of the Angel just before we were due to meet the Denarian envoy: a woman slightly taller than Buffy with dark hair, full lips, and a clinging scarlet top under dark motorcycle leathers. We'd only crossed paths a couple of times before on my visits to Cleveland, not enough to really diffuse the effect of her appearance; like every other supernaturally inclined woman I'd met, the force of her presence could tighten pants at two hundred paces.
I was reminded of what Nicodemus had called Buffy, and the similarity of that to how other supernatural entities referred to the White Court and similar energy-hungry beings: phages. But this wasn't the time. I made a little sticky note in the back of my head for a new subject to research-- later.
I cleared my throat, dragging my thoughts back to the task at hand, and gave Buffy's sister Slayer a respectful nod. "Faith."
"Harry," she replied, a wry set to her mouth. "Hear you got my girl in some trouble."
"In the sense that I jumped in with both feet, and she was half a stride ahead of me before I was even out of the driveway," I said dryly. "My enemy, yeah. But if you think I could have talked her into staying out of it...."
"Yeah, that sounds about right," she snorted, posture relaxing a little. "You ready for this?"
"Just about." All we were waiting on was Nicodemus' messenger-- who had probably already arrived, hoping we'd spill whatever plan we had before we realized there was someone listening in. "You've worked with the Knights of the Cross before, right? Michael and Sanya will be accompanying us to the exchange."
Faith traded nods of greeting with the pair, who were standing next to Michael's truck. "Crossed paths a few times, yeah; slayed a few baddies together. These particular bad guys know they're coming?"
Our eavesdropper could resist that straight line no more than I would have; another woman in motorcycle leathers stepped out from across the street at that, giving us all a disdainful eyebrow to go with her hip-rolling walk. Unlike Faith, she wore no shirt under her jacket, said absence clearly visible given that the zipper was drawn down nearly to her belly-button; the effect was lessened, though, by the fact that Faith had more genuine sex appeal in her pinkie than the Denarian did in her whole body. Looks were one thing; she had those in spades. But the steely-sad, condescending attitude layered on top was like a shot of windchill to the vulnerable parts.
"They do now," Rosanna said. "Wizard. These three were not part of the arrangements."
"And your boss was supposed to be the one that met me," I pointed out, reasonably. "Not you." Not that I'd ever expected otherwise.
"Circumstances necessitated a change," she replied, frostily.
I shrugged the shoulder bearing Fidellachius' case, then stooped to unzip the duffel bag at my feet. The meet at the Aquarium had been ostensibly weapons-free... which meant I had a fourth blade to bring to this particular parley. A detail I was counting on to get Faith past Nicodemus' gatekeeper. I lifted out a long, hard case shaped a little differently from mine, then handed it up to the second Slayer.
"Same here," I said. "I'm here for Marcone and Ivy; but my associate's organization wanted to send their own observer along. I didn't think your boss would mind the chance at another blesséd blade, so...."
Rosanna swallowed, caught off guard; hunger and wariness warred in her gaze as she watched Faith strap the Scythe's sheath on over her jacket. She made a glottal noise at the sound of it, something like "Mʔ," and visibly hesitated for a long moment before glaring at me again. "And the Knights? What is their intended role?"
Score; if the argument wasn't going to work, she would have brought it up then, rather than jolting back into the script her boss had given her.
"Guess," Faith replied very dryly, before I could come up with an appropriate riposte. The one downside of dating a member of the Watchers' Council: unlike most of my other associates, Buffy and all her friends were at least as mouthy as I was. "Or, you know, we could get a move on. I didn't come here to watch you guys air your dirty laundry; I came here for the Slayer. Soon as I'm out of your business, the sooner you can get on with it."
"Unfortunately, your friend chose the wrong side," Rosanna sniffed. "It isn't too late to cut your losses and simply wait for the next one to be called, you know. Or you, Sanya; it is... agreeable to see you again. If you would make a gift of that toy to my lord and my lady...."
Scornful laughter cut her off short; Faith crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head in disdain. "Seriously? If I had a nickel for every time a demon tried the seduction thing, I could hire my own harem by now. Everyone's here; everyone's hot-- well, except maybe the wizard, no offense Harry but you kinda look like something the cat dragged in; nobody's gonna switch sides; the end. Now, if that's all you got...."
Contempt and anger briefly flashed in Rosanna's eyes, but the mood had been thoroughly broken, and she gave in with ill will, turning back to me to ask for proof that I'd brought the goods: a Crown Royal bag full of ancient coins, holding eleven of her less intelligent brethren.
From there, it was a short, tense trip to the docks, and then out onto the lake. The temperature of the conversation was nearly cold enough to freeze the spray cast up by our wake-- but I was too busy being relieved that we'd guessed right not only about the island but about the fact that they'd been disregarding the lesser Signatories in their recent obsession with Chicago to pay much attention to irrelevant details. I knew the Watchers' other operatives would be following Marcone's people in as soon as we gave the signal, and that Thomas was waiting with a boat; we'd made the best possible preparations we could, and all we had to do now was get there and pull the trigger. We'd take some damage doing it, but--
Mindful of tempting Fate further, I carefully didn't think any such stupid things as there were only six of them, right? and how bad can it be?; I concentrated instead on picturing the look on Nicodemus' face when the Scythe went active in the hands of a Slayer who wasn't Buffy.
It's the little things, sometimes.
Several minutes later, after a tense stand-off, a standard exchange of threats, and the alarming sight of Buffy hogtied to Marcone in such a way that any attempts to move would strangle them both, I finally did get to see that look, and it was every bit as satisfying as I'd imagined.
Even more satisfying was the look on Buffy's face a few moments later, when Thorned Namshiel raised a hand to attack me and lost it to her backup knife instead. I'd personally enchanted that blade for her a year and a half before, as a courting gesture turned apology; not only was it charmed not to cut the flesh of its wielder, the sheath also carried runes to veil it from everyone else's perceptions. I'd been hoping she'd had it on her, waiting for the right opportunity to use it; and she had. The moment I'd shot the Fireball rounds into the sky to signal the helicopters, Buffy cut herself free and came to my rescue.
She looked as fierce as that long-ago day atop the ramparts of Arctis Tor, when I'd first realized just what I'd started to feel for her. Even with a torn shirt, abraded wrists, dirt caked where she'd been cast on the ground, and a bruise dark enough to match my raccoon eyes darkening on one cheekbone, she was as much an unsheathed blade as the bloody knife in her hands... and absolutely the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.
"God, I love you," I blurted, beaming at her as Namshiel collapsed back to the earth, twitching weakly. "Marry me?"
She blinked at me, caught off guard... and was suddenly the laughing girl again, grinning goofily back at me. "You ask that now?" she teased, tipping her chin toward the broken lighthouse at the top of the hill. "Bad guys first, cookies later. We've still got Ivy and your frenemy to save up there."
I snorted at the term. "I'd object, but I absolutely want to see his reaction when you call him that," I teased back.
"Yeah, yeah, get your butt in gear, wizardboy," Faith scoffed as she reached us, turning the Scythe in her hands to pass it to Buffy. "You can banter about your man-crush on the mob boss later, too."
My girlfriend took the weapon, exchanging it for her knife; then we were running again, flanked by Michael and Sanya, as gunshots spanged off the stones around us.
Working in tandem, stronger than we were apart. Something I never could have foreseen, the day I first saw Buffy perched daintily on the hood of my car.
In that moment, I didn't know where things would go from there; after all, we were actual human disasters, disastering together. But we covered each other's weaknesses, too. Trusted each other to come through in the clutch. Laughed together, fought together, and leaned on each other when times got rough.
I might not deserve her, but I was absolutely not going to waste one more day not showing her exactly how I felt about her.
Bad guys first, though, as the lady said.
We ran toward the shelter of the tower, and went back to work.
(read at AO3)
