Dark_Wesley (dark_wesley) wrote in just_fading,


Buffy and I were walking back to the apartment from the diner after breakfast when I realized that we'd actually fallen into something of a pattern, even though she'd only been in Los Angeles for a little more than a week. Two out of three mornings, breakfast was a simple affair of coffee and some sort of toast, bagel or pastry, but on that one morning when she'd tried to cook, I'd introduced her to a small diner on the corner of my block.

It was their fruit-topped waffles, Buffy had informed me, that were the selling point that made it a required stop at least every few days.

Of course, that particular morning had been memorable for a much more important reason than a botched breakfast. It had been the first time Buffy and I had kissed-- at least in any substantial way-- and that particular situation was still quite the mystery for us both.

We continued, in our strange stubborn way, to use the same bed at night, but had thus far constrained ourselves to our respective sides. There had been more kissing... a good bit more, in fact... but when we asked each other about the whys and wherefores, there were still no ready answers.

I supposed, as we walked, and I glanced over at Buffy, who was at the moment snickering about some unfortunately attired women we'd seen at the diner, that the 'why' simply wasn't all that important at the moment. More important was just the doing of what one feels is right.

I was trying to learn the lesson that there are some things that shouldn't be over-thought and over-analysed, lest one miss out on chances.

Raising the cane that I still carried, mostly for vanity, I flicked a few stray branches out of my way. That was when I heard it-- the screech of tires as two black SUVs tore down the street and proceeded to smash several parking meters and a postbox to get onto the sidewalk on either side of Buffy and I.

We were both too old hands at this game to not realize we were a target.

"That way!" I shouted, pointing to an alley that would contain both us and our adversaries and keep us mostly out of the public eye. The vehicles followed us, and as expected, cut off our escape.

The doors opened, and painfully familiar forms piled out-- man-shapes clad in black, with featureless metal-plate face masks. Several of them were armed with the hooked chains I recalled, others with different melee weapons. Gripping the cane, I knew it would not be of much help. The pistols, though, under my jacket would be.

"Bad news, Summers, is that I've faced these fellow before, and they're not pushovers. Don't know where they come from or who sent them, and they're not simple to put down."

A cold smirk came to my face.

"Good news is-- they're not human."

((Open to Buffy. Cue danger music!))
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