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jedibuttercupT; B:tVS/Nobody (2021); 1500 words. For ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
twistedshorts.
Buffy would never have noticed the guy if he hadn't stopped still on the opposite sidewalk, staring at her. He was just another middle-aged nobody.
Title: Just a Soul Whose Intentions are Good
Author: Jedi Buttercup
Disclaimer: The words are mine; the worlds are not.
Rating: T/PG-13
Spoilers: B:tVS post-canon; Nobody (2021)
Notes: Title from the lyrics of “Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood”, which plays at the beginning of the movie. It's Buffy Crossover Month again! Which means a lot of random crossover stories cluttering up my posts for the next four weeks. I'd say "fair warning", but I've done this every year since 2005 (except for 2020), so. Hope you enjoy at least a few of them? :)
Buffy would never have noticed the guy if he hadn't stopped still on the opposite sidewalk, staring at her. He was just another middle-aged nobody. 1500 words.
Buffy would never have noticed the guy if he hadn't stopped still on the opposite sidewalk, staring at her. The rest of the foot traffic streamed around him without pause; he'd taken a step back toward the nearest building, just enough so no one ran into him, and he was so average looking it was like everyone filed him in the back of their minds as invisible and walked on by. Like she had. Blue jeans, solid button-up shirt in a muted color under a jacket in a darker color from the same palette; thinning brown hair; pale, ordinary features; a little scruff on his jaw and a ring winking from the third finger of his left hand. Just another middle-aged nobody.
There was something about the way he fixed his gaze on her, though, that made all the hair on the back of her neck stand straight up. The experienced warrior in her sounding an alarm, even though nothing about him was ticking the usual Slayer-warning boxes: as if facing off against an equal, or as close to one as could be found among other humans. Like a Slayer-adjacent Scooby, or one of Riley's boys after a decade on the job. She didn't recognize him at all, but she did recognize the way he jerked his chin slightly toward one side as soon as he noticed her noticing him, then turned and strode casually back into the flow.
What else could she do but follow him?
She was in the city on a shop-and-explore break; at forty-mumble now, Buffy had long since handed over the Slayer General role to younger hands, and tended to more or less play cleanup instead, drifting through areas without a current active Slayer-centered group and checking up on the Slayers themselves to make sure none had gone Dark Side without anyone noticing. There'd been a few, back at the beginning, when she and Willow had sent out the call to defeat the First; handing that much power to a bunch of teenagers not yet finished growing into themselves had had fairly predictable consequences. It was rarer now that the new Watcher's Council had contacted most of them, though, and the fallout was usually worse when it did happen. The demonic underground had finally adapted to the presence of so many new predators too, upping their game in ways her teenage self would never have been able to deal with. She had her own contacts among them now-- some rescued from the wrack of Angel's team when he went down taking out the Circle of the Black Thorn, some like Willy from Sunnydale, and some genuinely befriended as she spent more time in the grey areas of the supernatural world-- but she was still a Slayer, and not everyone was willing to agree to a peaceful détente.
Playing blonde and bubbly had less currency now that she was starting to go gray, but most people still underestimated her due to her size and sense of style, and the age actually helped on that front. The type she went after didn't usually assume she was a Slayer at first glance, unless they sensed her; and those that did usually put two and two together-- if not 'Summers', then at least 'there's no such thing as an old, outnumbered Slayer'-- and slowly backed out of the room. Win, win, Buffy.
Someone that recognized her as a threat and behaved as if meeting on equal ground... that was an increasing rarity in her world. She crossed the street casually at the next break in traffic, following nonchalantly along in nondescript guy's wake, and gripped her stake in her pocket as she went around the next corner. He definitely looked like the type to choose his own ground, but she hadn't got the sense that he was an immediate threat, just someone to be wary of; and if she was wrong, she was wearing one of Willow's warding amulets. He'd surely regret it, one way or another.
Once upon a time, she'd been so, so tired of the fight; she'd nearly laid the Scythe down for good after Sunnydale. But that hadn't lasted long. Too much vim, too little challenge, and just like the summer she'd been waitressing in LA, she'd never been able to stand by and watch people be treated like prey when she could do something about it. She still had a home base back in California, a cozy home she retreated to between self-assigned missions; a long-term, part-time lover with his own cause to keep him busy; a salary from the new Watcher's Council to keep her from having to worry about money; and several adorable niblings to spoil when she stopped by the Cleveland Council House. She was probably as happy with her life as she was ever going to be. But she was still susceptible to curiosities. Spike had accused her once of needing a little monster in her man, but it was more that she needed the mystery, and not just in her romantic life. The sense of realness, of being fully awake in the moment; something she needed even more after her brief interlude in Heaven.
Around the corner, a long block of storefronts stretched, most of them busy and cheerfully lit, but partway down a dark, recessed door that probably gave access to the living spaces above the shops had been marked with a quick splash of graffiti. DRI.
She knew instantly that it wasn't 'dry' as in cleaning, or Disaster Recovery Institute, or Directly Responsible Individual; it was the initials of the Demon Research Institute, whose door she had not darkened in a very, very long time. Curiouser and curiouser. Was he one of Riley's guys after all? Frowning, she tested the knob, then eased the door open and slipped into the stairwell inside.
At the top of the landing, a shadowy figure waited; he nodded again, then turned and went further in, heading for what were probably the stairs up to the roof. Buffy blew a long breath out through her nose, then followed. Still didn't have the air of an ambush, but whatever he wanted to say to her in that much quiet was probably worth keeping track of. She tapped the amulet around her neck once to trigger the scrying link back to HQ just before she emerged onto the flat roof, then closed the door carefully behind herself, keeping the wall at her back.
He was waiting there for her, looking composed and relaxed, hands in his own pockets. "Long time no see," he said.
"Long time never?" she replied, skeptically. "Saw the acronym on the door. But if you were one of Walsh's minions, we were never introduced."
"No, not hers," he said, a small, mildly amused smile quirking the corner of his mouth. "I was... let's call it an auditor, sent in by one of the three-letter agencies to balance accounts. But the timing was off. I got there just a little late. Did some research, afterward."
Buffy snorted. "An auditor, huh," she said, eyeing his balanced stance and the hints of lean runner's muscle under the slightly loose clothes. "Kind of catchy. Maybe I should change my title; Slayer's not nearly as much of a warning these days as it used to be."
He snorted, smile widening just a touch. "I was out of the game for a while. Not long after Sunnydale, I had a 'wake up and smell the roses' moment. Told my bosses I wanted the normal life. Blamed the job. But at least half of it was that mission. I was a little surprised to see you here. You after another target?"
Was out of the game; one professional to another, letting her know she was on his turf. Huh. "Nothing that specific. Just passing through, making sure there aren't any new targets. I did try the normal thing too, you know? Just live like a person. But I haven't been just a person since I was fifteen. Pointy stake, square hole." She shrugged. "So now I do it on my own terms."
"Gotta be me," he agreed, nodding. "All right, good talk."
He made as if to turn, headed who knew where; another stairwell, a fire escape, another roof, probably accompanied by some countermeasure to disappear before Slayer speed could catch up with him. She wasn't exactly as alone as she appeared, after all; it'd be folly to assume he was. "Wait," she blurted, curiosity still sharp.
"Hm?" He glanced briefly back over his shoulder, unconcerned, expression still mild as milk.
"You know who I am," Buffy said. "What about you? Mind sharing the deets?"
"Oh, just nobody," he said, smile sharpening into a smirk. "Happy trails." Then he vanished somehow, as if he'd been made of smoke.
Buffy sighed, then tapped the amulet again to turn it off. "Happy trails," she addressed the air, then turned and went back to her suddenly much less interesting patrol.
(x-posted on twistedshorts and on AO3)
twistedshorts.Buffy would never have noticed the guy if he hadn't stopped still on the opposite sidewalk, staring at her. He was just another middle-aged nobody.
Title: Just a Soul Whose Intentions are Good
Author: Jedi Buttercup
Disclaimer: The words are mine; the worlds are not.
Rating: T/PG-13
Spoilers: B:tVS post-canon; Nobody (2021)
Notes: Title from the lyrics of “Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood”, which plays at the beginning of the movie. It's Buffy Crossover Month again! Which means a lot of random crossover stories cluttering up my posts for the next four weeks. I'd say "fair warning", but I've done this every year since 2005 (except for 2020), so. Hope you enjoy at least a few of them? :)
Buffy would never have noticed the guy if he hadn't stopped still on the opposite sidewalk, staring at her. He was just another middle-aged nobody. 1500 words.
Buffy would never have noticed the guy if he hadn't stopped still on the opposite sidewalk, staring at her. The rest of the foot traffic streamed around him without pause; he'd taken a step back toward the nearest building, just enough so no one ran into him, and he was so average looking it was like everyone filed him in the back of their minds as invisible and walked on by. Like she had. Blue jeans, solid button-up shirt in a muted color under a jacket in a darker color from the same palette; thinning brown hair; pale, ordinary features; a little scruff on his jaw and a ring winking from the third finger of his left hand. Just another middle-aged nobody.
There was something about the way he fixed his gaze on her, though, that made all the hair on the back of her neck stand straight up. The experienced warrior in her sounding an alarm, even though nothing about him was ticking the usual Slayer-warning boxes: as if facing off against an equal, or as close to one as could be found among other humans. Like a Slayer-adjacent Scooby, or one of Riley's boys after a decade on the job. She didn't recognize him at all, but she did recognize the way he jerked his chin slightly toward one side as soon as he noticed her noticing him, then turned and strode casually back into the flow.
What else could she do but follow him?
She was in the city on a shop-and-explore break; at forty-mumble now, Buffy had long since handed over the Slayer General role to younger hands, and tended to more or less play cleanup instead, drifting through areas without a current active Slayer-centered group and checking up on the Slayers themselves to make sure none had gone Dark Side without anyone noticing. There'd been a few, back at the beginning, when she and Willow had sent out the call to defeat the First; handing that much power to a bunch of teenagers not yet finished growing into themselves had had fairly predictable consequences. It was rarer now that the new Watcher's Council had contacted most of them, though, and the fallout was usually worse when it did happen. The demonic underground had finally adapted to the presence of so many new predators too, upping their game in ways her teenage self would never have been able to deal with. She had her own contacts among them now-- some rescued from the wrack of Angel's team when he went down taking out the Circle of the Black Thorn, some like Willy from Sunnydale, and some genuinely befriended as she spent more time in the grey areas of the supernatural world-- but she was still a Slayer, and not everyone was willing to agree to a peaceful détente.
Playing blonde and bubbly had less currency now that she was starting to go gray, but most people still underestimated her due to her size and sense of style, and the age actually helped on that front. The type she went after didn't usually assume she was a Slayer at first glance, unless they sensed her; and those that did usually put two and two together-- if not 'Summers', then at least 'there's no such thing as an old, outnumbered Slayer'-- and slowly backed out of the room. Win, win, Buffy.
Someone that recognized her as a threat and behaved as if meeting on equal ground... that was an increasing rarity in her world. She crossed the street casually at the next break in traffic, following nonchalantly along in nondescript guy's wake, and gripped her stake in her pocket as she went around the next corner. He definitely looked like the type to choose his own ground, but she hadn't got the sense that he was an immediate threat, just someone to be wary of; and if she was wrong, she was wearing one of Willow's warding amulets. He'd surely regret it, one way or another.
Once upon a time, she'd been so, so tired of the fight; she'd nearly laid the Scythe down for good after Sunnydale. But that hadn't lasted long. Too much vim, too little challenge, and just like the summer she'd been waitressing in LA, she'd never been able to stand by and watch people be treated like prey when she could do something about it. She still had a home base back in California, a cozy home she retreated to between self-assigned missions; a long-term, part-time lover with his own cause to keep him busy; a salary from the new Watcher's Council to keep her from having to worry about money; and several adorable niblings to spoil when she stopped by the Cleveland Council House. She was probably as happy with her life as she was ever going to be. But she was still susceptible to curiosities. Spike had accused her once of needing a little monster in her man, but it was more that she needed the mystery, and not just in her romantic life. The sense of realness, of being fully awake in the moment; something she needed even more after her brief interlude in Heaven.
Around the corner, a long block of storefronts stretched, most of them busy and cheerfully lit, but partway down a dark, recessed door that probably gave access to the living spaces above the shops had been marked with a quick splash of graffiti. DRI.
She knew instantly that it wasn't 'dry' as in cleaning, or Disaster Recovery Institute, or Directly Responsible Individual; it was the initials of the Demon Research Institute, whose door she had not darkened in a very, very long time. Curiouser and curiouser. Was he one of Riley's guys after all? Frowning, she tested the knob, then eased the door open and slipped into the stairwell inside.
At the top of the landing, a shadowy figure waited; he nodded again, then turned and went further in, heading for what were probably the stairs up to the roof. Buffy blew a long breath out through her nose, then followed. Still didn't have the air of an ambush, but whatever he wanted to say to her in that much quiet was probably worth keeping track of. She tapped the amulet around her neck once to trigger the scrying link back to HQ just before she emerged onto the flat roof, then closed the door carefully behind herself, keeping the wall at her back.
He was waiting there for her, looking composed and relaxed, hands in his own pockets. "Long time no see," he said.
"Long time never?" she replied, skeptically. "Saw the acronym on the door. But if you were one of Walsh's minions, we were never introduced."
"No, not hers," he said, a small, mildly amused smile quirking the corner of his mouth. "I was... let's call it an auditor, sent in by one of the three-letter agencies to balance accounts. But the timing was off. I got there just a little late. Did some research, afterward."
Buffy snorted. "An auditor, huh," she said, eyeing his balanced stance and the hints of lean runner's muscle under the slightly loose clothes. "Kind of catchy. Maybe I should change my title; Slayer's not nearly as much of a warning these days as it used to be."
He snorted, smile widening just a touch. "I was out of the game for a while. Not long after Sunnydale, I had a 'wake up and smell the roses' moment. Told my bosses I wanted the normal life. Blamed the job. But at least half of it was that mission. I was a little surprised to see you here. You after another target?"
Was out of the game; one professional to another, letting her know she was on his turf. Huh. "Nothing that specific. Just passing through, making sure there aren't any new targets. I did try the normal thing too, you know? Just live like a person. But I haven't been just a person since I was fifteen. Pointy stake, square hole." She shrugged. "So now I do it on my own terms."
"Gotta be me," he agreed, nodding. "All right, good talk."
He made as if to turn, headed who knew where; another stairwell, a fire escape, another roof, probably accompanied by some countermeasure to disappear before Slayer speed could catch up with him. She wasn't exactly as alone as she appeared, after all; it'd be folly to assume he was. "Wait," she blurted, curiosity still sharp.
"Hm?" He glanced briefly back over his shoulder, unconcerned, expression still mild as milk.
"You know who I am," Buffy said. "What about you? Mind sharing the deets?"
"Oh, just nobody," he said, smile sharpening into a smirk. "Happy trails." Then he vanished somehow, as if he'd been made of smoke.
Buffy sighed, then tapped the amulet again to turn it off. "Happy trails," she addressed the air, then turned and went back to her suddenly much less interesting patrol.
(x-posted on twistedshorts and on AO3)
