Disclaimer: If you recognize them, they're not mine.
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"Explain." Says the brunette in the driver's seat, wind whipping her hair and freezing her mouth into a tight, set line.
"Explain what?" asks the innocent blonde huddling under a fake bearskin robe, yet kind of enjoying the feeling of the knife sharp cold.
"Xander called me."
"Is that supposed to mean something to me?"
"He called from the library to tell me that Giles needed to be driven home. That ring any bells?"
Silence.
She glances over, her voice as loud as it can get coming through clenched teeth. "You totally lost it. You beat up Giles. I had to drive him home because he was too shaky to walk to his car."
Silence. Then -
"I did not lose it."
"Oh really. You smashed his face against the wall, cracked a rib and tore out some of his hair and you didn't lose it? Grief, Buffy! The man's already half bald!"
"Oh. That. Sorry, I was just in the moment, you know, going with the flow."
"Buffy. Talking like a teenage reject from the flower power years does not hide the fact that you beat up Giles. Unconcerned, much? Don't you feel just a little bit sorry for him?"
"Of course I do!" She cries, wounded. "I feel terrible!"
"So you couldn't face him and left early to go to the Bronze. Explain why you were not at the Bronze."
"I was waiting for my ride?"
Screech!
"Cut the crap, Buffy! You were NOT waiting for your ride, you had no intention of going to the Bronze and just what the hell have you been thinking of all evening?"
"Cordelia, you can't just stop in the middle of nowhere!"
"Why not? What's to be afraid of? Don't I have the Slayer in my car? Isn't stalking and killing monsters kind of your career?"
"Cordelia! Get us the hell out of here! Have you gone crazy?"
"Why? Aren't you supposed to patrol tonight? Like you do every night?"
"CORDELIA!"
"Alright, alright, I'm driving, already."
Vroom.
They drive a while in silence. Occasionally the brunette glances over at the blonde, who is having a hard time trying to control her shivers.
"Cold? I can put the top down if you like."
"N-no, I'm f-fine, thank you."
She reaches over and presses a button.
Whirr.
The hood descends and transforms the car into a warm haven. It takes only a while for the interior to heat up, which seems to relieve the blonde's muscular spasms. She takes a couple of deep breaths and shudders into stillness.
The brunette speaks softly. "You haven't been patrolling, have you?"
Silence.
"Don't pretend, not with me, Buffy."
"What do you know about anything?" she retorts, the voice harsh and old.
Silence. They keep driving. Then the brunette speaks.
"I don't blame you, you know."
"Shut up." The whiplash is strong. They finish the rest of the drive in silence.
End Scene 1.
Scene 2.
The Bronze. Interior.
Smoky, dim, music that sounds like the wannabe band next door as usual, with the same old hopefuls gyrating on the dance floor.
The girls move in tandem to the 'bar'.
"A cappuccino, hold the chocolate and the whipped cream."
"Same, but with the chocolate."
"Well, if it isn't the Siamese twins." Syrupy sweet greeting from a mouth that should be dripping toads.
Cordelia is calm; Buffy is occupied watching the bartender froth the milk. "Hello Harmony."
"You know dear, the girls and I were just thinking of having a slumber party at your place tomorrow night. It's been so long since we've gone slumming."
"Why Harmony, that would be so nice, but I have to watch some paint dry, so maybe another time."
The misnamed one laughs delightedly. "Oh Cordelia! It's so good to know you haven't changed. Still as catty as ever."
"I had the best teacher."
"Speaking of which, I saw you driving a certain older man home. First Xander, and now the school librarian. Are pickings really that slim, dear?"
Swish.
"A- "
Buffy's left hand covers Harmony's mouth, while the right twists her arm into an unnatural position. Harmony's eyes bulge, and you can see the tendons in her arm popping and straining.
Hiss.
Buffy breathes soft and snake like into Harmony's ear.
Heartbeat.
Cordelia's heart is pounding. Her throat feels dry and cottony.
Pop!
Wince. There goes a tendon.
The sound brings Buffy's eyes back from whatever inner space they've been gazing into.
Cordelia can feel Harmony's relief as Buffy lets go.
"Leave." Says the Slayer, quiet and in control again.
Harmony doesn't have to be told twice. Gathering as much of her dignity as she has left, she limps away. Before she is out of earshot, they can already hear her high voice lifted in tattle tales of woe to her sympathetic hanger-ons.
Cordelia tries to find words, and finally comes up with "I was handling it fine."
"Yeah, you were."
Clunk!
"Here you go, ladies, two cappuccinos. That'll be five forty please."
End Scene 2.
Scene 3.
The interior of the Bronze, a balcony above the dance floor.
The man in black cups his hands around his cigarette, trying to light it just as Spike taught him. Unfortunately, he holds on to the match a while too long, and his fingers get burned.
"Damn!"
Dropping it and the cigarette, he grinds them under one immaculate heel. Clasping both hands behind his back, he lets his gaze roam over the crowds below.
He knows she's here. He can smell it.
He has come here to find her. To watch and see how she is.
And he has absolutely no idea why.
Shift your focus down to the dance floor. Move left to the bar, where a lonely brunette is sipping a cappuccino and watching her friend move onto a clueless jock who thinks that he has died and gone to heaven.
Buffy moves into the guy's body, letting just enough press against him to keep him on his toes for more.
He groans, and tries to disguise it as a cough.
The Slayer smiles. Glint of light on pearly white teeth.
Amazing, considering all the coffee she drinks, thinks the brunette.
The Slayer lifts her arms now, her breasts almost rubbing sinuously against her partner's chest. The poor boy is helpless, dazzled and reaching out to encircle her when -
Tap on his shoulder. A low aggressive voice, "I believe this is my dance" gives barely a second of warning before the hapless male is sent whirling into the melee, where he is trampled underfoot before being rescued by a shy freckled girl who's had a crush on him since junior high. The trampling has bruised his ego to the point where his rescuer looks like an angel of mercy, and a romance is born.
At least something good comes out of tonight.
A large black frame moves in to fill the vacuum once filled by the nameless jock. The newcomer's hands reach out and span Buffy's waist, clasping her firmly and setting the pace for their dance. Buffy's eyes travel up, up, up -
Across the room, Cordelia spills her coffee -
- Up to a familiar pair of devil eyes.
"Hello Buffy." Says our dark Angel, before dipping her and kissing her soundly.
Flashpoint.
End Scene 3.
Scene 4.
The Bronze, interior, dance floor.
Slap!
The sound should have reverberated through the room, thinks Buffy stupidly. It should have cut through the music and made everyone pause in shock.
Angelus should have been left alone and stupid on the dance floor, holding his cheek, while she stalked off haughtily.
Instead, once she had slapped him, he had simply laughed possessively and drawn her closer to him, settling her firmly against his body.
"I'm glad you still feel the same way about us." He whispered secretively into her ear, while spinning them in a flawlessly executed move around the dance floor.
"Get your hands off me.She cries in a whisper, knowing that she can break free at any time, but needing to prolong this moment of being held.
"I don't think so, Buffy." He smiled.
And the smile opens the floodgates of Hell and this time she does scream.
Smiling, smiling, always smiling even as he moved into me hurt me got that bitch to tear me, may he rot in hell, hell, HELL
Her knee comes up and connects with his groin. He groans, and her elbow catches his jaw as it comes down.
She winces as he cries out. His jaw is hard.
Pain.
GOOD.
Pain gives her focus and a clarity of purpose. Breaking free of his hold, she spins and kicks out, the heel grazing his ear and going straight for the eye.
His scream of outrage cuts a swathe through the thick haze that passes for air, and perversely, the music does stop, the dancers do freeze, caught morbidly by the sight of a man half blinded by the blood that seeps through his finger as he attempts to hold his torn face together.
Buffy remains en-garde; fists together, panting, waiting.
Angelus wipes the blood away, smearing it over one side of his face and messing up the hairstyle that probably took him an hour to achieve.
His hands fall to his side and clench into fists.
The silence is deafening.
They look at each other, his vision clouded by blood and anger, hers overlaid with the red miasma of pain and hatred.
She speaks softly. "Did you get something in your eye, honey? Why don't we go outside and I can take it out for you?"
A slow thin smile twists his lips. "Sure, babe. I was hoping you'd ask."
They remain a while longer in position, gauging each other, each feasting on the pain that the other emanates.
Then Angelus cocks his head solemnly. "Ladies first."
~ End Part 2.
Summary: B/A(us) having fun as only they know how to.
Feedback: To Spyke Raven Everytime I get feedback, I do the happy hamster hop. No kidding.
Note: The effect of a blow, as an injury, fracture, produced exactly opposite, or at some distance from, the part actually struck.