Nah. Maybe not a "mega-happy" ending, to quote Wayne and Garth, but still fairly happy. What would be a reasonably hip way for Teenage! Frank Pembleton to say "I'm out of here." cause apparently Cher from "Clueless" has got the brain today cause all I can think of is her stuff "Gotta motor." and "I'm Audi" and like that. And, um, no. (I don't even say that!) They're ditching.

I've killed Buffy (twice, once in Slayer!Willow and once in a story I'm writing now), Xander, and Anya. Oh, and Cordy, if drabbles count.

I haven't killed anyone (except myself), but I did make Willow wet herself, and that was fun.

Here's my 30 minute response to Cindy's challenge:

Spike surveyed the space he'd cleared. It'd be enough for the moment - he didn't need the shrine anymore anyway, since he had the girl. He did need money, though. Mugging was out of the question - humans off limits, and demons just not carrying that much cash these days.

He liked junk food more than the next vampire, but he didn't like it on his woman. And he didn't like she had to smell like that. She was born for more. Plus everyone with half a nose could smell it from a mile off. He knew she hadn't noticed it getting in the way of her slaying, but it was a klaxon of odour she carried with her everywhere.

So, money. A bit of trafficking here, a touch of informing. The Sunnydale demon underground was pliable enough that even a Slayer-shagger like himself could get in on the action. He knew where to find stuff, the good stuff. He'd found the Gem of Amarra when no one else could, hadn't he?

"Aargh." Those were not memories he liked to pull up. Punching the wall a couple times did make it feel a little better. It had been fun, though, until it all went pear-shaped. Everything from stabbing Harmony … he smiled, absently stroking the chipped crypt wall ... through wearing the ring and being back in the sunlight.

He forgave Buffy for taking the ring from him. It was her job after all, and she'd been damned good at it. Not so for Angel. He growled again, shaking his head to clear the memory of his failure at the hands of his former, failed, nelly-souled mentor.

There was plenty of room here for the eggs, close enough for him to keep an eye on them, far away enough that Buffy wouldn't stumble on them. She only showed up for one thing, anyway. So far. He was working on that. She was showing up more and more often, and doing more and more, sliding closer and closer to the person he knew she was meant to be.

Getting her out of that damned meatshop should accelerate the process. He had some ideas, a potion he'd been hearing about that might just have interesting interactions with the physiology of a darkened Slayer. Giving her a bit of free time, and taking away one of her worries would help him convince her to explore it with him. He figured it was only polite to give her the choice. And there was always slipping it into her drink if she said no.

He waved his hand impatiently.

"In here, pillocks!" It was impossible to find decent help these days.

The vamps helping him out lumbered down the stairs, arms filled with eggs. Following his gestured commands, they deposited them gently on the floor.

"There you go, guv," said the tall one, face curled into perma-vampface.

"Yeah - that's what … fifty bucks?" His slight companion crept ever closer to Spike, rubbing his hands like nothing so much as an undead Peter Lorre.

Spike didn't like Peter Lorre. Ingratiating, weak little bugger, always second fiddle or failing or both. Always pathetic. Never winning.

A stake flashed into his right hand. Keeping his gaze on the taller vamp, letting a small smile creep onto his face, he stabbed the Lorre-alike through the heart.

"Does that mean I get his money too?" his partner asked.

"Yeah, mate, you get exactly what I owed him."

He tossed the stake from right hand to left, and with an overhand stab he dusted the second vampire.

"Some people are too dumb to get paid," he muttered, brushing dust off the leather.

The handover should be any time now. Maybe he'd have time to finish The Goblet Of Fire before his buyers showed.

I killed Angel.

And I'd do it again.

Slayer-shagger

Bwah!

Maybe he'd have time to finish The Goblet Of Fire before his buyers showed.

BWAHAHAHA!

(wiping streaming eyes)

I so do love this.

(erika, can't think of a teenaged Pembleton's version of I'm outta here, but remember, as a teen? He'd have been in NYC. Slang from there?)

That's true. This is why I hesitated. Will write around it for the time being.

a teenaged Pembleton's version of I'm outta here, but remember, as a teen? He'd have been in NYC.

As I am completely Homicide-clueless, what years would contain a teenaged Pembleton?

The great thing is that even my absolute lack of familiarity with half of the crossover 'verse is no impediment to my enjoyment of the story.

That's great to hear. Um, mid to late seventies, I think.

mid to late seventies, I think.

"Let's book"

"Check ya later" or "Later"

"See ya on the flipside"

Any of those work?

edit: "later" is the one that immediately popped into my head, but flipside is more evocative, I think. It might also be too Californian, which is where I picked up all of my slang....

Yeah, any number of those could be right. And yes, I looked up the actors' birthdates and did the math, just cause. I think maybe my life is not fulfilling enough. I haven't taken that much time with my original stories. Of course, maybe that's how they fail...