A wee bit before leaving

Several hours later, two girls whispered together about what they were supposed to do about breakfast and maybe getting a shower. Mostly breakfast. Wisdom prevailed over appetite, and the two decided to consult with their strange guardians.

Molly pulled open the connecting door cautiously and peeked into the next room. Then she gestured urgently at Annabelle to come see.

The two men were snoring in harmony. Ethan was flat on his back, and Giles lay on his stomach, left arm hanging over the edge of the bed.

Annabelle smiled. "They're kind of cu--"

Ethan rolled off the bed and came up in a crouch, faint sparks crackling off the fingers of his raised right hand. Giles' dangling hand reached under the pillow and came up with a dagger even as he searched the room for a target.

"Just us, just us!" Molly shrieked. Annabelle nodded quickly.

Ethan blinked his eyes into focus, then shook the sparks off his hand. "You two. Right. Ripper, it's the girls. At least put your glasses on before you start flinging daggers round the room."

"I'm not that blind yet, idiot," Giles said, sitting up fully. "And what were you about to summon without even knowing what the hell was going on?" He yawned and stretched, his back popping loudly.

Fighting a yawn himself, Ethan leaned on the edge of the bed and looked at the girls. "You needed something?"

"Food?" Molly said cautiously.

"Wash?" Annabelle offered.

Giles blinked a little more. "Food. Yes. Tea. That does sound lovely."

"You haven't changed a bit," Ethan smirked. "Wake up, demand tea. No matter where you woke up, you had to have your tea."

Giles reached back with his dagger-free hand, but Ethan easily dodged the smack that was headed for his head. "I'm sorry we had to go the old-fashioned route with regards to facilities," he said to Annabelle. "I believe there's something down the hall. But don't take too much time over it. When you're done we'll get something to eat."

The girls disappeared eagerly, and a few moments later, Ethan winced. "Remind me to take those wards off."

"Right." But Giles looked distracted. "I'll have to take you all with me into the Council. We don't dare get separated."

Ethan managed to keep Giles from seeing his anticipatory grin. "A follower of Janus in the hallowed halls of the Watchers. Are you sure alarms won't go off?"

"No."

There was a note in Giles' voice that bothered Ethan. "Look, save the plots for breaking and entering and thievery till after you've had your tea. You were always useless before your first cuppa anyway."

Ripper appeared very briefly. "Not always."

Ethan snickered. "Always."

A wee bit before leaving

She taunts us, she teases! Give us more, please, nice Connie!

edited for personal memfault.

Give us more, please, nice Elena!

It was Connie, wasn't it?

Edited, sorry. And thanks, Steph. I plead the beginings of post-dinner food coma.

Random start of lord knows what...

-------------------

He found her waiting tables in a nondescript town somewhere up the coast. He hadn't been looking for her, or for anything, really. Aimless wanderings had taken him around the globe and back again in the years since the world had failed to end for the last time, and this was just another stop with which to mark time.

The moment of recognition did not come instantly; the slight and faded figure refilling his coffee bore little resemblance to the girl he'd once known. Lifted of her burden, she was tiny, almost fragile, her bent head and shuffled step giving the appearance of one lost in forever in thoughts of the past. Not until a clatter of shattered dishes and broken class startled the into brief awareness did he realize who she had been, once upon a time.

Her name slipped unbidden from his lips, and he was rewarded with a vacant stare that gradually filled with first confusion, then wary recognition. He wished he could take back those syllables, leave her to the shabby peace she seemed to have found in her anonymity, but wishing never made it so, as he'd learned time and time again.

He watched her fold herself away behind shuttered eyes, leaving just polite indifference as she lifted the coffee pot and moved on to the next table.

damn, Plei, you're good at atmosphere!

Also, more, Connie, please?

lighting black candles, etc. thinking of goat sacrifice, dismissing on the grounds of bloodstains, intoning, moreconniemoreconniemoreconniemore

more of my NotAStory...

--------------

He watched her fold herself away behind shuttered eyes, leaving just polite indifference as she lifted the coffee pot and moved on to the next table.

Curiosity, loneliness, or boredom (perhaps a combination of the three) drew him back to the cafe. He learned her shift, and which section she worked, and manipulated things so that he always sat at one of her tables. She served him the same thing, day after day, always with a polite smile and nothing more.

If he'd been able to think of a way to broach the subject, any subject, he'd have spoken to her. There were endless topics he wanted to discuss, things he knew that she would understand, things he couldn't speak of to just anyone. But he couldn't think of a way to strike up a conversation that didn't seem rude or intrusive, and he knew the value of privacy even as he threatened its edges with his presence.

Eventually, she took pity on him and slipped him her phone number along with his change, cocking an eyebrow in a way that took a decade off her face. It took him three days to work up the nerve to call her. When he did, the conversation was perfunctory, just an acknowledgement of a mutual past and an invitation to her rooms.

Her cramped studio held little of value, sentimental or otherwise. No pictures on the off-white semi-gloss of the walls, nor photos on the small bookshelf. The furnishings were utilitarian at best, cheap at worst. She answered the unvoiced question, explaining quietly that things had a tendency to break when she was around, and that there wasn't any use in dwelling on the things she couldn't change.

She knew, she confirmed, that Angel had shanshued, become human. And that, in a twist that shouldn't have come as a shock to anyone who knew him, he had decided to live a monastic life. As she fixed them tea, she told him that growing up anticipating her own death hadn't prepared her for a reality where she lived beyond both her expiration date and her usefulness, hence the career in the restaurant industry.

Freelance translation had left him somewhat better off in this adjusted reality, but he sympathized with her feelings of uselessness. Relics of unspoken wars, they had each sacrificed several lifetimes' chances at happiness and normalcy. That the world was better for it was cold comfort on sleepless nights.

Thought you were bed-bound? I like it. Bet you a fic you can't keep it gen.

serial posting, in the form of fic. Spoilery for Season Seven up to but not after Same Time, Same Place.

-----

one.

Xander slammed his book shut, got up from the table, and started to pace. Then he started humming "Mr. Roboto." And then he unconsciously started to do interpretive dance, at which point Giles simply had to comment.

"Xander! For god's sake, either get back to your book or get out of the library! I can't concentrate with you...wiggling like that, and I absolutely must figure out what this demon is before Buffy returns from patrol."

Xander threw himself into a chair. "Yeah, but the book is so heavy. And thick. And dense. Which is really kind of the meaning of heavy and thick. And this is not prose at all. I don't know what," he looked at the spine, "Dosselhoff was thinking, but he's really not appealing to his audience at all."

Giles glared. He took off his glasses, using his shirt to wipe them uselessly, before putting them back on. He took out his wallet and grabbed a ten-dollar bill. "Go do something." He paused. "Donuts. Buy donuts."

Xander shot up from his chair, swiping the money and heading for the door. "Don't forget the jellies!" Giles called after him, delving back into his book.

two.

Around the time they started researching Angelus--not just the "this is what he was and when he lived" synopsis, more along the lines of the research that required graphs, charts, bullet points, and a PhD in Demonology to comprehend, Xander started to get antsy.

It wasn't the normal nervous energy he seemed to radiate. More like a thrumming rhythm that started in his heartbeat and spread throughout his body until his fingers drummed the staccato on the table and his leg was bouncing up and down.

Without looking up from their texts, Willow and Giles pointed at the checkout desk, where the fine money was kept. It had unofficially been dubbed "donut donation fund," and was kept surprisingly full by students who either forgot they had books out or who were seemingly scared of the library, or its most active patrons, and made as few trips into the sanctum as possible.

Xander grabbed a couple of dollars and announced, "I'm getting sustenance. Any special requests?"

"Blackberry."

"Scone, any flavor."

"Carla said she wasn't making scones this week," Xander said.

There was an audible sigh and movements toward glasses-cleaning. "Fine. Bavarian crème."

Xander nodded and headed out the door at an almost-run, checking the stake in his back pocket.

three.

Xander walked into the library carrying a familiar pink box. "Celebratory donuts! Get 'em while they're here."

Oz moved from the explosive he was wiring and opened the box. "Little pre-emptive," he said, grabbing a strawberry Danish.

"Yeah, Xand, we haven't won yet. But thanks for the vote of confidence," Buffy said as she claimed an éclair.

"Hey, what can I say, donuts always ensure victory," Xander mused moving the box to the center of the table. There was looming behind him. Xander figured it was Angel.

"Did you get a bearclaw?" Yeah, it was Angel.

"No, they were all out. Try a muffin. I hear they're great for your fiber intake," Xander said with thinly veiled sarcasm.

Angel gave a low-watt glare and grabbed a jelly instead.

Giles looked at Xander expectantly, and Xander sighed, rooting around in the box before coming up with a raspberry jelly. He handed it to Giles, who had a satisfied look on his face. Willow was the last to meander over, swiping a plain one while reading her book. She gave Xander a pat on the shoulder, before going to sit next to Oz.

There were a couple left, and Xander poked at them before choosing one randomly. He sat down and leaned back in his chair, munching on what turned out to be white crème and surveying the sight of the Scoobies at rest for a moment out of their desperate attempt to save the world. Again.

Yup, Xander thought. We prepare for battle with sugared pastry. The military should learn tricks from us.

four.

Xander worked in the donut shop work a week before Carla fired him sweetly, handing him a box of donuts for free and telling him she only wanted to see him as a customer from now on. Go give your friends a treat, she said.

The problem was, he hadn't seen his friends for days.

five.

Xander got a donut on the way to work every morning. He'd get a jelly and a cup of coffee, buy the paper that he never read just outside, and would get to work about five minutes early. They'd close up shop after a long, hard day's work around five thirty, and he'd have time to get washed up before the usual Scooby meetup at six.

When everyone got embroiled in the crazy bitch of the week, Xander would poke around the Magic Box, jumping back when Anya told him not to touch something because it would kill him/maim him/turn him purple. Then he'd meander back to the book table and open a volume at random, flipping the pages for quick looks at the pictures.

If Dawn was there, and she often was, Xander would sometimes take her along on a donut run and she'd pick out the best donuts out of all on display. He'd ruffle her hair, and they'd go back to the shop, and occasionally one of them would mumble "Thanks" from behind a mouthful of donut.

He told himself that what he was doing was important.

Thought you were bed-bound? I like it. Bet you a fic you can't keep it gen.

Yeah, well, I've already lost that bet, so I'm not making it.