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...

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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.

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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.

six.

It was pretty early, and the crew had been called down because of a water main busting loose on the site, so he had the day off. He figured he'd stop by the donut shop and grab a box, surprising Anya at work.

When he finally stepped out, he was inordinately pleased. They had chocolate crullers, with which he could surprise Anya. He started to hum, some random happy tune he must've heard on the radio this morning.

Then the electric guitar riffed in the background, and he started to do a little dance.

Xander couldn't dance. That didn't seem to stop him.

"Donuts!" he sang out, holding the box high above his head.

"There is no better food than--DONUTS! There is no greater prize than--DONUTS! I defy anyone to tell me so And if they do, they're spewing lies.

My friends all need them--DONUTS! They have their awesome--DONUTS! Because of me, I feed them I am their donut man.

Yet sometimes, sometimes, I wonder if it always must be me To give them their sugar cravings And occasionally provide them tea.

But in the end there's--DONUTS! There always must be--DONUTS! So I will bring to them Their precious source of life."

Xander stopped in front of the Magic Shop door. He looked right, then left. Then up and down. Finally he shook his head and entered the building.

seven.

He gave Dawn rides to school every morning so she wouldn't have to ride the bus or walk, but he didn't have time to grab donuts before heading to work.

They didn't really do cram sessions that often now, and there was a new database online for demonology searches that speeded up their ident time in a major way.

More often than not, they'd all break to go home at the end of their day, when everything was finished, things were killed and disposed of.

The Summers' house was their meeting place more than anywhere, really, and there was always something stocked in the fridge, or Dawn would lobby for pizza.

Sometimes, though, Xander'd take his lunch break and eat donuts for an hour.

(SA knows me WAY TOO WELL)

Finished ficlet. Rest is above.

------

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.

Initial awkwardness aside, the conversation flowed with a great deal more ease than any in his recent memory. It was pleasant, not having to censor one's self or pretend that none of it had ever happened. More pleasant still to simply relax in the company of someone who knew both what he had been and what he had done, and didn't judge him on either count.

When she lifted her hand and cautiously stroked his cheek before leaning in to kiss him, it moved beyond pleasant. The shock of her mouth against his sparked something he'd thought dead, some long-buried urge for connection and comfort of warmer sort, so he buried his hands in her hair and pulled her closer, kissing her until kissing was no longer enough for either of them, and kisses turned to shaky caresses; trembling hands turned to silent understanding and tangled limbs in sweat-damp sheets.

He woke as the first faint hints of morning flitted through the blinds, the warmth of her body nestled safely against him, her hair spilling over his arms and tickling his nose. Be it benediction or beginning, it felt like belonging. He brushed the strands away, content to watch her breathe, to watch the soft movement of her chest in the watery light.

((((((you guys)))))))

Loving Ethan'n'Giles. Really loving them.

The prospect of Angel spending his mortality in a monastery is deeply satisfying. Good call.

Donuts. Heh. And bless.

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

connie, I love it.

Her name slipped unbidden from his lips

thinks

looks at name

fills in blank

"Buffy," Wesley said....

Nice work, Plei. I like the style.

SA, I am wondering where you're taking that. It's... interesting.

SA, I am wondering where you're taking that. It's... interesting.

Yeah. It's also finished. I may poke at it a little, but that's pretty much it. Not sure if there's a point.