A Distant Sorrow
Title: A Distant Sorrow
Rating: PG
Summary: These were the days that Buffy felt like a shadow of the girl she used to be, so empty and broken and utterly alone.
Prompts: "Shadow" for 25crossovers, "tequila" for fivebyfiction , "Big Bang" for xoverland
Disclaimer: Russell T. Davies owns "Torchwood" and all related characters; Joss Whedon owns "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" and all related characters; I own nothing.
These were the days that Buffy felt like a shadow of the girl she used to be, so empty and broken and utterly alone. Sitting in a deserted bar, she studied the empty shot glass before her. She missed the days when she could get drunk, before Willow’s spell had changed her into something other than a simple Slayer. She was already three shots in and there wasn’t even the slight tingle from the alcohol. It was like she had only drunk a wine cooler, not tequila. Catching the bartender’s eye, Buffy signaled that she wanted another shot.
“Isn’t that a little over your limit?” the bartender asked with a frown. “I’m liable if you get alcohol poisoning.”
“Trust me, I won’t,” Buffy answered, meeting the older woman’s eyes head on. “I’m a big girl. I can handle myself. Now, can I have another one. Pretty please?” she added, giving the woman her best puppy dog eyes. The woman pursed her lips, but did as Buffy asked, sliding another shot of tequila towards her.
“I’ll have what she’s having,” a voice behind her said, causing her to pause and turn to face the source of the sound. A man wearing a long blue coat over a white shirt and a pair of suspenders slid onto a stool a few places down from where Buffy was sitting. The bartender rolled her eyes, but did as the man asked, giving him the shot. He glanced over at Buffy, and she looked away, almost embarrassed to be caught staring. Almost, but not quite. She was past the point of caring, if she admitted it to herself. With that oh-so happy thought in mind, she lifted the glass and took the shot, feeling the alcohol burn its way down her throat and into her stomach.
“So, what are you running from?” the man asked, his voice neutral. Buffy didn’t look over at him, wishing he hadn’t spoken just loudly enough where she couldn’t pretend she hadn’t heard him.
“Who says I’m running?” she asked, turning to face him. A pair of haunted blue eyes, in some ways more full of lingering shadows than her own, stared back at her from a handsome face. Buffy looked away, unable to bear the full brunt of that gaze for too long.
Unbidden, the bartender slid another shot towards her, which Buffy took unceremoniously and tossed it back. Digging through her pockets, Buffy found a bill that seemed large enough to cover her tab.
“Keep the change,” she ordered the other woman, who nodded brusquely. “His too,” she added, jerking her head over at the man, who raised his shot towards her in a mock toast. She ignored it, and was about to leave when his voice drew her up short.
“Captain Jack Harkness.” She turned around and looked at him in confusion, before he clarified with a roguish grin that Buffy couldn’t help but returning slightly: “I try to make sure people know who they’re buying for when they offer me a drink, although...” he paused, his eyes raking over her too thin body. “I wouldn’t mind going without names this once.” Buffy laughed, and for once, it didn’t sound hollow in her ears. There was something about this broken man that reminded her too much of herself, but instead of causing her to fall back into herself like she normally would, Buffy found herself feeling slightly more open than she had ever since finding out she couldn’t die.
“Well, if you’re fine without my name, I best just be leaving then,” she answered, a hint of playfulness in her voice.
“On second thought, maybe I do mind,” he replied, getting to his feet and offering his arm to her, like a gentleman out of those old movies she used to watch with her mom. Buffy laughed again, and took his arm.
“Maybe if you’re good, I’ll tell you. Eventually,” she said with a spark in her eyes that had been too long absent. Wherever Faith was, she would be proud of Buffy right now, dubious distinction though it was.
He studied her for a moment before a full-blown smirk coming to his face. “And if I’m bad?” he asked, his voice both a warning and an invitation. Buffy looked at him for a moment before a smirk of her own coming to her face.
“We’ll just have to see then.”
Rating: PG
Summary: These were the days that Buffy felt like a shadow of the girl she used to be, so empty and broken and utterly alone.
Prompts: "Shadow" for 25crossovers, "tequila" for fivebyfiction , "Big Bang" for xoverland
Disclaimer: Russell T. Davies owns "Torchwood" and all related characters; Joss Whedon owns "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" and all related characters; I own nothing.
These were the days that Buffy felt like a shadow of the girl she used to be, so empty and broken and utterly alone. Sitting in a deserted bar, she studied the empty shot glass before her. She missed the days when she could get drunk, before Willow’s spell had changed her into something other than a simple Slayer. She was already three shots in and there wasn’t even the slight tingle from the alcohol. It was like she had only drunk a wine cooler, not tequila. Catching the bartender’s eye, Buffy signaled that she wanted another shot.
“Isn’t that a little over your limit?” the bartender asked with a frown. “I’m liable if you get alcohol poisoning.”
“Trust me, I won’t,” Buffy answered, meeting the older woman’s eyes head on. “I’m a big girl. I can handle myself. Now, can I have another one. Pretty please?” she added, giving the woman her best puppy dog eyes. The woman pursed her lips, but did as Buffy asked, sliding another shot of tequila towards her.
“I’ll have what she’s having,” a voice behind her said, causing her to pause and turn to face the source of the sound. A man wearing a long blue coat over a white shirt and a pair of suspenders slid onto a stool a few places down from where Buffy was sitting. The bartender rolled her eyes, but did as the man asked, giving him the shot. He glanced over at Buffy, and she looked away, almost embarrassed to be caught staring. Almost, but not quite. She was past the point of caring, if she admitted it to herself. With that oh-so happy thought in mind, she lifted the glass and took the shot, feeling the alcohol burn its way down her throat and into her stomach.
“So, what are you running from?” the man asked, his voice neutral. Buffy didn’t look over at him, wishing he hadn’t spoken just loudly enough where she couldn’t pretend she hadn’t heard him.
“Who says I’m running?” she asked, turning to face him. A pair of haunted blue eyes, in some ways more full of lingering shadows than her own, stared back at her from a handsome face. Buffy looked away, unable to bear the full brunt of that gaze for too long.
Unbidden, the bartender slid another shot towards her, which Buffy took unceremoniously and tossed it back. Digging through her pockets, Buffy found a bill that seemed large enough to cover her tab.
“Keep the change,” she ordered the other woman, who nodded brusquely. “His too,” she added, jerking her head over at the man, who raised his shot towards her in a mock toast. She ignored it, and was about to leave when his voice drew her up short.
“Captain Jack Harkness.” She turned around and looked at him in confusion, before he clarified with a roguish grin that Buffy couldn’t help but returning slightly: “I try to make sure people know who they’re buying for when they offer me a drink, although...” he paused, his eyes raking over her too thin body. “I wouldn’t mind going without names this once.” Buffy laughed, and for once, it didn’t sound hollow in her ears. There was something about this broken man that reminded her too much of herself, but instead of causing her to fall back into herself like she normally would, Buffy found herself feeling slightly more open than she had ever since finding out she couldn’t die.
“Well, if you’re fine without my name, I best just be leaving then,” she answered, a hint of playfulness in her voice.
“On second thought, maybe I do mind,” he replied, getting to his feet and offering his arm to her, like a gentleman out of those old movies she used to watch with her mom. Buffy laughed again, and took his arm.
“Maybe if you’re good, I’ll tell you. Eventually,” she said with a spark in her eyes that had been too long absent. Wherever Faith was, she would be proud of Buffy right now, dubious distinction though it was.
He studied her for a moment before a full-blown smirk coming to his face. “And if I’m bad?” he asked, his voice both a warning and an invitation. Buffy looked at him for a moment before a smirk of her own coming to her face.
“We’ll just have to see then.”