I think it makes sense to me.

And I love

There was a Heisenbergian uncertainty principle that hovered around Lionel. Sometimes Lex knew his motivation. Sometimes he could predict his action. Knowing both seemed impossible.

Rebecca, uh-oh. I'm getting the "Netscape is unable to locate..." message.

Not good. Because Netscape's all I've got. And I've promised (and besides I want to) read "Girl One". "Girl Two", and "Faith By Nights", and I. Can't. Get. There.

Damn.

Yep, I'm being a slavish follower of trends, my attempt at 200 words (brevity! Hard!) with a motel, a note, and a gun.

The note said Xander knew about the danger posed by Buffy and Angel and would be waiting in a motel in Oxnard.

Wes knew the risk, taking a prophecy's word over that of his friends. Maybe he was being played again: as a reliable source, Xander made as little sense as a plastic hamburger loa. But he knew Xander--or at least his reputation. Loyal, dedicated, the one who would act when the signs read failure.

So much like Wesley had wanted to be at that age. How had a young man with no advantages but courage and heart done so effortlessly what Wes, with his training and experience, had struggled to do?

Xander had saved the world. Wesley had betrayed everyone who depended on him. Wesley found himself reluctant to look Xander in the eye.

The door swung open on the knock. Xander, haggard and sleepless, didn't blink at the gun tucked in Wes' belt.

"You believe me," he said.

"Yes."

A weight fell from Xander's shoulders. "Thank god," he whispered. "Can we stop them?"

"Buffy and Angel? One pulled from heaven, the other from hell, where both should have stayed? I don't know. But we have to try."

Because Netscape's all I've got.

Ask Nick (? husband's name?) about the latest version of Mozilla.

Two hundred words exactly? Hmmm.

---

The note read, simply, "Don't follow me."

He sat on the edge of an impersonal bed in a featureless room. He had chased her from town to town, a series of cheap motels, reeking of cheap perfume and abandoned dreams. The beds had all been neatly made; no impression of her body still lingered there. All he wanted was to heal her wounds, to see what the beast had done to her, to make her whole again. Room after room, the scent of Lilah tickled him like a distant pheromone. "Don't follow me."

He looked at the note. He thought of the Glock in its discreet holster. He wondered what else was following her, to make her so determined to not be found.

He found four quarters in his jacket pocket, and pushed them into the slot beside the bed. The Magic Fingers came to life, shaking the bed like a carny ride. When he caught up to her, nursed her to health, he would take her and they would shake their bed harder and faster than this.

When he left, he added the note to all the others, a talisman of denial, a thread to chase. Don't Follow Me.

Gah. I'm reading all the drabbles, and they make sense (not to mention having emotional impact). Does mine make sense? Is it apparent that he now knows Clark is special, and this has pushed him away, over the line?

I've probably watched Smallville 5 times. It still made sense to me.

My drabble is sort of a lead-in to the story whose opening will be Wes watching Xander taking a shower in the ruined building, which I posted quite a bit ago.

Gods, another huge series. Yeah, like I need this.

Hypothetically, where would a person find that story Connie?

Deb, that's *NICE*

Hypothetically, where would a person find that story Connie?

I posted all I've done of it--the opening shower scene--here on Bitchy Fic somewhere. I don't know if the search feature works. I've got it at home, too, but, sigh, I'm not there right now. I swore to myself I'd get more of V!giles done before I attempted postApocalyptic Xander and Wes, plus there's the Ethan Giles story I want to finish. But now I've got a hook, with Buffy and Angel both being pulled from planes they should have stayed in. Oh, dear.