ficlets: J/D and B/X
Happy birthday, Meg. I hope it's as wonderful as you are.
The One Where Jack and Daniel Get Drunk
Jack will actually be ashamed of himself in the morning. Daniel's pretty sure. Because he's drunk. He knows Jack's drunk, because... because... he moves his hand down the edge of Jack's kitchen counter, carefully, until he hits the corner, and then he slides forward and lands gracelessly against Jack's knees.
"Okay, Daniel? Bit too mush -- too much --?"
If Jack' slurring, he's had way more liquor than is even normal. Than is even legal. Than is even moral.
"I have a theory about that," he says.
"Wha--?"
"Drunkenness. It's... it's a thingie. A ritual. A state of intoshi -- intoxish -- "
"Yes, Daniel?"
"Bed," Daniel announces, and peers around as he gets to his feet. "Glasses?"
"Lost 'em a long time ago," Jack says. "Come on. Let's get you up to bed."
"Don't wanna," Daniel whines, and almost topples over again. He thinks Jack spiked is drink, and his drink was alcoholic to start with. "Hey. You trying to get me into bed or something?"
"What?"
"With the drink... you put something in it."
"Daniel." Jack waves a hand in front of his face. "You remember anything about tonight?"
Daniel tries, but thinking too hard makes his head swim. Something about... something about Jack wanting a drinking companion. A ritual of some kind? He scratches his head and sees Jack, blurry, suppress a smile.
"Come on," Jack says. "Let's get you into bed."
As Daniel slugs an arm around Jack's shoulders and follows him upstairs, he's convinced there's something here that will seem peculiar in the morning, but he can't figure it out now for all the stars in the galaxy.
Jack deposits him in the bed and he flops down gracelessly.
"Goodnight," Jack says, and there's something suspicious in his voice. Daniel closes his eyes so doesn't see the kiss coming, and isn't sober enough to know that it isn't exactly right.
The One Where Buffy and Xander Stay Sober
[post-"Chosen"]
Willow's drinking pretty heavy, and it's worrying Xander. He sidles up to her, careful-like, and tries to distract her, but a tipsy Willow is hard to manipulate. "Look!" she says, pointing at something glowing softly on the ceiling. "Decorations!"
"Yeah," Xander says. "Also known as the overhead light. Why don't you, you know, retire the drinks for a little? I think they need a break."
Willow looks at him as threateningly as she can in her current state, a lopsided glare that relaxes into a grin when Xander holds up his hands and says, "Fine! Whatever you want."
"Oooh, brownies!" and she's bouncing across the room, her hair (long again) trailing after her like an entourage.
"Tough crowd," Buffy says.
"Where'd you come from?"
"Faith and I just got in from the graveyard."
"They have those here?"
"It's funny; they've got them everywhere. And here I thought we had a monopoly on dying in Sunnydale."
"Yeah." Xander can't think of anything witty to say. "Want a drink?"
"It kinda looks like Willow and Faith have that covered." Xander follows her line of sight -- sure enough, Faith's popped open a beer and looks like she's trying to compete with Willow for largest alcohol intake of the night.
"Cool party, huh?" A new Slayer, suddenly by Xander's side. "Wanna drink?"
"No thanks," Xander tells her. "Why don't you get one for Giles? He looks --"
"Tired," Buffy sighs. "Why aren't you drinking? If anyone has a right to lose themselves, it's you."
Xander has already done that, though. Already lost Anya and drunk himself under the table with the idea that feeling nothing was his best alternative to ... things he doesn't want to think about now that he's relatively okay. Which he is. Because it's been three months and any suicidal thoughts he was going to have, he's already had, probably more than once.
"Whoa, earth to Xander."
"Sorry, Buffy." It's weird, the not-talking that they're doing. Words would be useful right about now, words to hide, words to conceal, words to build up and words to break down. "Why aren't you drinking?"
Buffy shrugs. That passes for an answer, because of course the reason is Spike, and when it comes to Spike, Xander Does Not Want To Know. There's no way in hell Buffy can be mourning for Spike the way he is for Anya.
Except of course she is. And of course she's drunk her share of alcoholic beverages over the past couple of months, and maybe she's hit her lifetime limit. Because there really is only so much one human being can take.
"Xander?" He nods. "Want to go back to the hotel?"
He does, badly -- Willow tosses her hand into the air and a string of sparkles falls from the ceiling, wrapping itself around her neck. She looks beautiful. "They need us as designated drivers."
"I don't drive," she reminds him.
"And I don't designate." Lame. Lame lame lame.
"Let's go anyhow."
"Will there be a reward for escorting our esteemed leader home?"
"There might be ice cream." Ice cream is an acceptable substitute for alcohol if you're an underage Slayer or if you've been on a diet for three days, which Buffy has. Dieting is Buffy's way of saying yes I am normal, thank you very much world. Quitting a diet is Buffy's way of remembering that she's not fat.
"Ice cream. A clever bribe."
Years ago, ice cream alone in Buffy's hotel room would have ranked right up there with Two Girls At Once on Xander's mental fantasy scale. Tonight, that thought is unworthy of him.
"Ice cream and kisses," Buffy adds, and Xander leaps away from her. "Kidding." He relaxes a little. "Maybe."
He reconsiders taking a drink. Willow looks happy enough, and Faith is getting down and dirty. Another hour, she might be too drunk for her top, and that's something worth seeing.
But seeing Buffy home is worth far more and worthier, and despite the probability that this is a Very Bad Idea, Xander was never very good at math so he's going to take the risk.
"I could never resist ice cream," he says, and holds out an arm for her. The gesture is a joke, but Buffy takes it half-seriously, slips her arm through his.
Sobriety seems like the best idea he's ever had.
The One Where Jack and Daniel Get Drunk
Jack will actually be ashamed of himself in the morning. Daniel's pretty sure. Because he's drunk. He knows Jack's drunk, because... because... he moves his hand down the edge of Jack's kitchen counter, carefully, until he hits the corner, and then he slides forward and lands gracelessly against Jack's knees.
"Okay, Daniel? Bit too mush -- too much --?"
If Jack' slurring, he's had way more liquor than is even normal. Than is even legal. Than is even moral.
"I have a theory about that," he says.
"Wha--?"
"Drunkenness. It's... it's a thingie. A ritual. A state of intoshi -- intoxish -- "
"Yes, Daniel?"
"Bed," Daniel announces, and peers around as he gets to his feet. "Glasses?"
"Lost 'em a long time ago," Jack says. "Come on. Let's get you up to bed."
"Don't wanna," Daniel whines, and almost topples over again. He thinks Jack spiked is drink, and his drink was alcoholic to start with. "Hey. You trying to get me into bed or something?"
"What?"
"With the drink... you put something in it."
"Daniel." Jack waves a hand in front of his face. "You remember anything about tonight?"
Daniel tries, but thinking too hard makes his head swim. Something about... something about Jack wanting a drinking companion. A ritual of some kind? He scratches his head and sees Jack, blurry, suppress a smile.
"Come on," Jack says. "Let's get you into bed."
As Daniel slugs an arm around Jack's shoulders and follows him upstairs, he's convinced there's something here that will seem peculiar in the morning, but he can't figure it out now for all the stars in the galaxy.
Jack deposits him in the bed and he flops down gracelessly.
"Goodnight," Jack says, and there's something suspicious in his voice. Daniel closes his eyes so doesn't see the kiss coming, and isn't sober enough to know that it isn't exactly right.
The One Where Buffy and Xander Stay Sober
[post-"Chosen"]
Willow's drinking pretty heavy, and it's worrying Xander. He sidles up to her, careful-like, and tries to distract her, but a tipsy Willow is hard to manipulate. "Look!" she says, pointing at something glowing softly on the ceiling. "Decorations!"
"Yeah," Xander says. "Also known as the overhead light. Why don't you, you know, retire the drinks for a little? I think they need a break."
Willow looks at him as threateningly as she can in her current state, a lopsided glare that relaxes into a grin when Xander holds up his hands and says, "Fine! Whatever you want."
"Oooh, brownies!" and she's bouncing across the room, her hair (long again) trailing after her like an entourage.
"Tough crowd," Buffy says.
"Where'd you come from?"
"Faith and I just got in from the graveyard."
"They have those here?"
"It's funny; they've got them everywhere. And here I thought we had a monopoly on dying in Sunnydale."
"Yeah." Xander can't think of anything witty to say. "Want a drink?"
"It kinda looks like Willow and Faith have that covered." Xander follows her line of sight -- sure enough, Faith's popped open a beer and looks like she's trying to compete with Willow for largest alcohol intake of the night.
"Cool party, huh?" A new Slayer, suddenly by Xander's side. "Wanna drink?"
"No thanks," Xander tells her. "Why don't you get one for Giles? He looks --"
"Tired," Buffy sighs. "Why aren't you drinking? If anyone has a right to lose themselves, it's you."
Xander has already done that, though. Already lost Anya and drunk himself under the table with the idea that feeling nothing was his best alternative to ... things he doesn't want to think about now that he's relatively okay. Which he is. Because it's been three months and any suicidal thoughts he was going to have, he's already had, probably more than once.
"Whoa, earth to Xander."
"Sorry, Buffy." It's weird, the not-talking that they're doing. Words would be useful right about now, words to hide, words to conceal, words to build up and words to break down. "Why aren't you drinking?"
Buffy shrugs. That passes for an answer, because of course the reason is Spike, and when it comes to Spike, Xander Does Not Want To Know. There's no way in hell Buffy can be mourning for Spike the way he is for Anya.
Except of course she is. And of course she's drunk her share of alcoholic beverages over the past couple of months, and maybe she's hit her lifetime limit. Because there really is only so much one human being can take.
"Xander?" He nods. "Want to go back to the hotel?"
He does, badly -- Willow tosses her hand into the air and a string of sparkles falls from the ceiling, wrapping itself around her neck. She looks beautiful. "They need us as designated drivers."
"I don't drive," she reminds him.
"And I don't designate." Lame. Lame lame lame.
"Let's go anyhow."
"Will there be a reward for escorting our esteemed leader home?"
"There might be ice cream." Ice cream is an acceptable substitute for alcohol if you're an underage Slayer or if you've been on a diet for three days, which Buffy has. Dieting is Buffy's way of saying yes I am normal, thank you very much world. Quitting a diet is Buffy's way of remembering that she's not fat.
"Ice cream. A clever bribe."
Years ago, ice cream alone in Buffy's hotel room would have ranked right up there with Two Girls At Once on Xander's mental fantasy scale. Tonight, that thought is unworthy of him.
"Ice cream and kisses," Buffy adds, and Xander leaps away from her. "Kidding." He relaxes a little. "Maybe."
He reconsiders taking a drink. Willow looks happy enough, and Faith is getting down and dirty. Another hour, she might be too drunk for her top, and that's something worth seeing.
But seeing Buffy home is worth far more and worthier, and despite the probability that this is a Very Bad Idea, Xander was never very good at math so he's going to take the risk.
"I could never resist ice cream," he says, and holds out an arm for her. The gesture is a joke, but Buffy takes it half-seriously, slips her arm through his.
Sobriety seems like the best idea he's ever had.