Buffy Fic, Untitled, 1/? ~1000 words
Fandom: Buffy, Season 4
Status: Unbeta’d, WIP - feel free to comment with meaty advice. "Attaboys" will be gratefully accepted as well, but comments that help me make this and subsequent stories better are encouraged.
Disclaimer: Personally, it seems to me that disclaimers are legally useless, if not harmful; any use of copyrighted characters or settings in a work of fan fiction is probably “fair use” under US law, unless there is compensation for the work, whether in money, goods, or services, of which I am expecting and accepting none. In any case, I’m writing whatever I want until a US judge orders me to stop, even if the characters and/or setting were originally developed by Mr. Whedon and who- or what- ever he’s given or sold intellectual property rights to the same.
This is set just after episode 1 of season 4; Xander has just been helping Buffy bring her stuff back from Sunday's lair to her dorm. This may or may not be expanded into a prolog or just a paragraph tacked onto the start of this chapter.
Dropping the last armload of Buffy’s stuff onto her desk, Xander sighed and plopped himself down on the edge of her bed. “Not to be a mooch, but I don’t suppose you could spring for a soda for the sidekick?”
Buffy grinned at him. “Well, you’ve been good today, but don’t make this a habit.”
“As long as you promise not to have your room emptied again until May, you’ve got a deal.”
“Deal. Be right back,” Buffy said, not quite bouncing out of the room, but no longer having the self-pitying air she’d had earlier at the Bronze.
Xander rested his head in his hands, staring at the floor until Buffy came back in and handed him a can of Coke, drops of water already condensing on it. She leaned back on her desk, not quite sitting on it. He popped it open and poured about half of it down his throat before burping and saying “Excuse me. And thanks.” He set the can down on the nightstand.
“So,” Buffy prompted, “Fabulous. . .”
“No power on this Earth,” was the good-humored, albeit firm, interruption, as he looked directly into her eyes.
“Oh, come on, not even a hint?”
“Nope. Some things are just too horrible to contemplate.”
Buffy pouted playfully. “Well you have to have some stories you’d be willing to share.”
“No, no stories,” Xander replied, his eyes roaming around the room. “It was all, you know, the dishwashing all summer, that’s about it.” He picked up a random trinket from a box on the bed and started fussing with it.
“Uh-huh. That was about as believable as, well, some really not-believable thing. Spill.”
“Spill? Me? No, really, Buff. There is nothing to spill. My bucket is empty.”
Buffy smirked at him. “Because the one reliable sign of Xander being honest is that he’s playing with tampons.”
“Gahh!” Xander cried, tossing the bundle over his shoulder and stammering “Uh, s-sorry about - I mean, um . . .”
“Relax,” Buffy said, stifling a laugh, “That was a sock, doofus.”
“That, that was. . . some hero you are!”
“I know. We heroes have seminars on how to torment our sidekicks. There’s a buffet and everything.”
“You do see how I’m not laughing, right? That’s clear, here?”
“Very clear. Poor teased Xander isn’t laughing at all.”
“Well, good.”
“Now, you’re going to tell me everything about Oxnard that isn’t the “Fabulous Ladies’ Night Club,” or we’ll have to test that “no power on Earth” idea against resolve-face Willow.”
Xander paled. “You wouldn’t. No, no you -” Buffy just arched an eyebrow. “- Oh God, you would.” He took a long swig of Coke, set the can down, and lay back on the bed. “Ok, yeah, alright. So there’s this thing.”
“From Oxnard.”
“Yeah,” Xander said, “From Oxnard. Where I’m concerned, anyway.”
“So,” Buffy asked, “Is this like a big-bad, thing, or like a find-it-on-the-sidewalk thing?”
“Neither. Well, I found a thing on the sidewalk, but that wasn’t the thing I mean, but the thing on the sidewalk did lead me to her. . .”
“Her. The thing is a her. The surprise I’m feeling is. . . no, no surprise here.”
“Hey! I’m not that bad!”
The eyebrow arched again, and Buffy looked at Xander incredulously.
“No, I’m - OK, I am, but still, hey!” He pouted momentarily. “But it’s not a boy-meets-girl, girl-eats-boy thing.” Buffy looked less than convinced, but Xander soldiered on. “It’s not. I found a little purse-wallet girl-thingy on the sidewalk, and I looked inside. It had a drivers license inside, with all the usual stuff, so I looked up the name in the phone book, and called up to let them know I had it.”
“Please tell me you didn’t go to their house, Xander.”
“Buff, please, just because I’m not college-guy doesn’t mean I’m, you know, “special.” I’ve been tested, you know, and I’m not.”
“Xander. The point.”
“Yeah. The point. So I’m meeting her at a McDonald’s, ‘cause hey, public, lots of people, bad place for the big-bads, all of that, right? Right. So, I go there, but it’s just about empty, and I get a Big Mac, which I’m eating as she comes in. . .”
“How did you know it was her?” Buffy asked, interrupting.
“Drivers license picture. Long white curly hair, kind of hard to miss. So she comes barreling in yelling “help” and this thug guy following her, and I figure “oh shit, vamp,” and I’m trying to get my stake out of my pocket and get up at the same time, I knock her purse and everything in it goes scattering all over the place, and then the vamp is right there, and I can’t get the stake out of my pocket, I figure I’m about to be dinner, so I just haul off and hit it with everything I have. Caught it right on the side of the jaw, and it just goes down in a heap. And stays there. For a long time. I finally notice that he’s breathing; it turns out it was just some mugger. So I’m staring at breathing not-a-vamp guy, white-hair lady is staring and me and at him, and the McDonald’s manager is screaming and yelling and having a fit.”
“Wow, Xander. That’s - that’s so you.”
“No, me is hiding under the table screaming while you defeat the evil. This was way not me - and anyway,” Xander said over Buffy’s attempt to interrupt, “that’s really not the thing.”
“Not the thing, Xander, that’s quite a thing right there. That’s a really brave, hero thing,” Buffy said, frowning, “and you shouldn’t think it’s not a thing.” Buffy paused, a bit unsure whether or not she’d put in the correct number of negatives. “It’s a big thing,” she finished.
“OK, it’s a thing, but it’s not the thing I’m trying to get to.” He paused, then said, “No, wait, it is the thing. Yes, that’s definitely the thing of which the story I began was about. No other thing at all.” Xander stood up and started backing towards the door. “Wow, look at the time, I really gotta get going.”
“Hold it.” Buffy reached out and grabbed his shirt, halting him. “I sense deception. I think there’s a whole ‘nother thing. So, once again, spill. Now.”
“Yeah. Um, so.” Xander took a deep breath. “Here’s the thing.” And he rose up off the floor, straight up, slowly, hovering a couple feet off the ground, Buffy’s pulling on his shirt stretching it downward. Then he disappeared.
Status: Unbeta’d, WIP - feel free to comment with meaty advice. "Attaboys" will be gratefully accepted as well, but comments that help me make this and subsequent stories better are encouraged.
Disclaimer: Personally, it seems to me that disclaimers are legally useless, if not harmful; any use of copyrighted characters or settings in a work of fan fiction is probably “fair use” under US law, unless there is compensation for the work, whether in money, goods, or services, of which I am expecting and accepting none. In any case, I’m writing whatever I want until a US judge orders me to stop, even if the characters and/or setting were originally developed by Mr. Whedon and who- or what- ever he’s given or sold intellectual property rights to the same.
This is set just after episode 1 of season 4; Xander has just been helping Buffy bring her stuff back from Sunday's lair to her dorm. This may or may not be expanded into a prolog or just a paragraph tacked onto the start of this chapter.
Dropping the last armload of Buffy’s stuff onto her desk, Xander sighed and plopped himself down on the edge of her bed. “Not to be a mooch, but I don’t suppose you could spring for a soda for the sidekick?”
Buffy grinned at him. “Well, you’ve been good today, but don’t make this a habit.”
“As long as you promise not to have your room emptied again until May, you’ve got a deal.”
“Deal. Be right back,” Buffy said, not quite bouncing out of the room, but no longer having the self-pitying air she’d had earlier at the Bronze.
Xander rested his head in his hands, staring at the floor until Buffy came back in and handed him a can of Coke, drops of water already condensing on it. She leaned back on her desk, not quite sitting on it. He popped it open and poured about half of it down his throat before burping and saying “Excuse me. And thanks.” He set the can down on the nightstand.
“So,” Buffy prompted, “Fabulous. . .”
“No power on this Earth,” was the good-humored, albeit firm, interruption, as he looked directly into her eyes.
“Oh, come on, not even a hint?”
“Nope. Some things are just too horrible to contemplate.”
Buffy pouted playfully. “Well you have to have some stories you’d be willing to share.”
“No, no stories,” Xander replied, his eyes roaming around the room. “It was all, you know, the dishwashing all summer, that’s about it.” He picked up a random trinket from a box on the bed and started fussing with it.
“Uh-huh. That was about as believable as, well, some really not-believable thing. Spill.”
“Spill? Me? No, really, Buff. There is nothing to spill. My bucket is empty.”
Buffy smirked at him. “Because the one reliable sign of Xander being honest is that he’s playing with tampons.”
“Gahh!” Xander cried, tossing the bundle over his shoulder and stammering “Uh, s-sorry about - I mean, um . . .”
“Relax,” Buffy said, stifling a laugh, “That was a sock, doofus.”
“That, that was. . . some hero you are!”
“I know. We heroes have seminars on how to torment our sidekicks. There’s a buffet and everything.”
“You do see how I’m not laughing, right? That’s clear, here?”
“Very clear. Poor teased Xander isn’t laughing at all.”
“Well, good.”
“Now, you’re going to tell me everything about Oxnard that isn’t the “Fabulous Ladies’ Night Club,” or we’ll have to test that “no power on Earth” idea against resolve-face Willow.”
Xander paled. “You wouldn’t. No, no you -” Buffy just arched an eyebrow. “- Oh God, you would.” He took a long swig of Coke, set the can down, and lay back on the bed. “Ok, yeah, alright. So there’s this thing.”
“From Oxnard.”
“Yeah,” Xander said, “From Oxnard. Where I’m concerned, anyway.”
“So,” Buffy asked, “Is this like a big-bad, thing, or like a find-it-on-the-sidewalk thing?”
“Neither. Well, I found a thing on the sidewalk, but that wasn’t the thing I mean, but the thing on the sidewalk did lead me to her. . .”
“Her. The thing is a her. The surprise I’m feeling is. . . no, no surprise here.”
“Hey! I’m not that bad!”
The eyebrow arched again, and Buffy looked at Xander incredulously.
“No, I’m - OK, I am, but still, hey!” He pouted momentarily. “But it’s not a boy-meets-girl, girl-eats-boy thing.” Buffy looked less than convinced, but Xander soldiered on. “It’s not. I found a little purse-wallet girl-thingy on the sidewalk, and I looked inside. It had a drivers license inside, with all the usual stuff, so I looked up the name in the phone book, and called up to let them know I had it.”
“Please tell me you didn’t go to their house, Xander.”
“Buff, please, just because I’m not college-guy doesn’t mean I’m, you know, “special.” I’ve been tested, you know, and I’m not.”
“Xander. The point.”
“Yeah. The point. So I’m meeting her at a McDonald’s, ‘cause hey, public, lots of people, bad place for the big-bads, all of that, right? Right. So, I go there, but it’s just about empty, and I get a Big Mac, which I’m eating as she comes in. . .”
“How did you know it was her?” Buffy asked, interrupting.
“Drivers license picture. Long white curly hair, kind of hard to miss. So she comes barreling in yelling “help” and this thug guy following her, and I figure “oh shit, vamp,” and I’m trying to get my stake out of my pocket and get up at the same time, I knock her purse and everything in it goes scattering all over the place, and then the vamp is right there, and I can’t get the stake out of my pocket, I figure I’m about to be dinner, so I just haul off and hit it with everything I have. Caught it right on the side of the jaw, and it just goes down in a heap. And stays there. For a long time. I finally notice that he’s breathing; it turns out it was just some mugger. So I’m staring at breathing not-a-vamp guy, white-hair lady is staring and me and at him, and the McDonald’s manager is screaming and yelling and having a fit.”
“Wow, Xander. That’s - that’s so you.”
“No, me is hiding under the table screaming while you defeat the evil. This was way not me - and anyway,” Xander said over Buffy’s attempt to interrupt, “that’s really not the thing.”
“Not the thing, Xander, that’s quite a thing right there. That’s a really brave, hero thing,” Buffy said, frowning, “and you shouldn’t think it’s not a thing.” Buffy paused, a bit unsure whether or not she’d put in the correct number of negatives. “It’s a big thing,” she finished.
“OK, it’s a thing, but it’s not the thing I’m trying to get to.” He paused, then said, “No, wait, it is the thing. Yes, that’s definitely the thing of which the story I began was about. No other thing at all.” Xander stood up and started backing towards the door. “Wow, look at the time, I really gotta get going.”
“Hold it.” Buffy reached out and grabbed his shirt, halting him. “I sense deception. I think there’s a whole ‘nother thing. So, once again, spill. Now.”
“Yeah. Um, so.” Xander took a deep breath. “Here’s the thing.” And he rose up off the floor, straight up, slowly, hovering a couple feet off the ground, Buffy’s pulling on his shirt stretching it downward. Then he disappeared.