I fear I don't have the handle on Darla that you do, Deena.

I'm still trying to write my Homicide Queer Eye ep, but I'm stuck. (Cause I dress about as well as Munch, I think) At the Mall

CARSON, MUNCH, and KAY get out of the Fab Five-mobile.
CARSON: Are you going to be okay in here?

MUNCH: I guess. Why not? Just because I’m about to be co-opted by some Madison Avenue ideal, and one of my best friends in the world thinks it would be a good idea, what could be wrong with that?

CARSON(happy, a little oblivious): Well, ok, then. I was just wondering if you had some kind of light allergy or something. Explain the specs....although they do kind of give you an Elvis Costello/Lou Reed thing that I understand your generation to be rather attached to.
MUNCH: It helped us outcool the dinosaurs. The glasses stay, I was wearing them when you were just a twinkle of fairy dust in somebody’s eye. Ok, babe?

KAY: Aw, c’mon, Munchkin. Take ‘em off. I’ve worked with you four years and I’ve never seen your whole eyes.

MUNCH: In my fantasy, that sentence ends a lot differently.

CARSON: Me too. Usually it’s David Duchovny.

(KAY and CARSON share a moment.) MUNCH: Don’t let my massive identity crisis interfere with your kaffeeclatch, ladies.(takes off dark glasses): I never thought this would be a bad thing, but I feel naked. Naked and blind...I’m like a week-old puppy here.

MUNCH: In my fantasy, that sentence ends a lot differently.

CARSON: Me too. Usually it’s David Duchovny.

BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Oh, mercy, woman.

There, this scene's finished. Poor, lovely, hurting Xander

The sisters insisted that they stay for lunch. Xander endured the gushing thanks of Sister Dymphna for the repairs, and Sister Agnes made an embarrassing speech of gratitude for Joyce's donations, Xander's work, and "all the wonderful help before."

After lunch, Xander managed to slip away to the chapel. The only light came from the small windows and the candles burning in front of the images of Christ, the Virgin, and Saint Eugene. Xander stood a while, then finally chose a pew at the front, where he could look up at the face of the tortured man on the cross.

"I don't want to go back," he said softly. "And I know it's only the cowardice talking. It may not be me they need, but they do need someone who knows the score and is willing to go out every night and take his lumps in the fight. But I'm not the Slayer. I'm allowed to want more. Think I'm ever going to get it?"

There was no answer from the upturned, pain-wracked face.

Xander nodded. "Yeah, you and the Magic 8 ball, conditions unclear, try again. No offense." He considered alternate universes for a while. "Should I have left when I had the chance? Taken Glory's car and driven off into the sunrise? 'Cause the Hellmouth's gonna kill me, and probably sooner rather than later. And I shouldn't be thinking 'Get it over with, already,' should I. But I shouldn't blame the Zeppo on the Hellmouth. I've got no reason to think I'd be any different anywhere else." He looked up at the carved man. "I'd just like to think there's a reason, you know? That it makes a difference that I'm the one here, not just Any Guy Who Can Take Care of Practical Home Repairs. But I guess you get that a lot, huh." He nodded and stood up. "You come up with an answer, big guy, you know where to find me. Xander Harris, Mouth of Hell."

There were some tears, of course, when they packed the Land Rover for the trip home. Sister Teresa packed some cheese and bread, and Joyce promised to come back. Xander crouched down to give Baynar a big hug.

"Don't know if I'll ever see you again, guy," he said, trying not to feel too mushy at saying good- bye to a demon.

Baynar chattered something not quite comprehensible, then looked up at his mother impatiently. Savlin smiled and patted her son on the shoulder. "He says you will, Xander Harris."

Xander nodded. "Yeah. Keep hope alive, kid. I don't think I'll be getting to San Francisco any time soon."

Savlin listened to Baynar and nodded. "He says when he is big he will come to the Hellmouth and find you."

"Oh, the Hellmouth's an icky, nasty place. He doesn't want to go there."

"He is determined. And children do grow up and do the most amazing things. Do not be surprised if before too much longer you open your door and find a Minoto there."

Xander stared at Baynar's earnest little face. "I'll warn the neighbors."

One more hug, and he was out of reasons to delay. He steadied Joyce into the passenger seat and headed for the driver's side. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sister Agnes coming towards him, but he pretended not to notice and climbed in behind the wheel. The Mother Superior appeared at his window.

"Come back if you need to, Xander," she said simply. "Or even if you just want to. We enjoy guests." He looked at her uneasily, but she only smiled, then reached in and patted him on the shoulder. "Good-bye, Xander. Take care, Joyce."

Joyce leaned forward to speak past Xander. "Good-bye, Sister Agnes, and thank you."

Xander drove out slowly, avoiding the chickens, and he let Joyce handle the waving farewell duties. He took the rutted road down the valley slowly and didn't look into the rearview mirror until they'd made the turn into the woods.

"I'm glad we came," Joyce sighed. "It was lovely to see them all again. And I'm glad you got to see Baynar again. You're going to be a wonderful father someday."

Xander hit the brakes, and he didn't apologize when the seatbelt jerked Joyce back against her seat. He had to close his eyes against the images Joyce's words had summoned: kids of his own, his and Anya's. A chance to do the job of fatherhood right, to avoid all the mistakes his own parents had made. Some little voice saying the word "Daddy," and never, ever making his kids cry. "Yeah," he whispered brokenly, "I kind of thought I would, too. Someday."

Joyce started to reach for him, started to speak, but she settled back in her seat and let him be.

Broken now.

Gah. Connie, that is wonderful and oh-so-heartbreaking.

wrod. I just wrote some cheap Vamp!Munch/Kay PWP...I thought it was part of my larger story, but now I'm thinking it's just smutty. It's at [link] And I suppose I ought to thank La Tep for the inspiring(and I mean porn) S/W that put this into my head.

Drabble this week is themed on "picking a LJ mood". First one.

Apathy

Angel sat in the warehouse, surrounded by death and high-octane gasoline. He sat on a keg, vaguely irritated by the reek of fuel. One of the would-be bad boys Darla and Dru had recruited apparently wasn't quite dead yet. Angel heard a gurgle, a sobbing breath.

"Shut up," he said harshly, and the gurgling stopped. Angel turned his attention back toward the warehouse doors.

He felt them arrive. Standing, cigarette and lighter in hand, he watched them walk through the doors, blood on their teeth and lips.

He left them burning, screaming, wondering what he'd become. He, himself, didn't care.

Nice Deb, very nice.

Thank you for the compliment, Erika. I just thought about someone kind of opposite of me, including a better clothes sense.

Lots of good stuff in here lately. I'm loving it.

Too true, Deena. Mine is more like the Munchkin's, in brighter colors.His look now features a lot of black, which started the Vamp! wheels turning(Looking good for me involves either a big conscious effort to come as I'm not, or someone else going "You're not leaving the house like that. Just...no.)

I just wrote some cheap Vamp!Munch/Kay PWP ...

Commented anonymously in your LJ (I still don't have one -- yay resistance to peer pressure). Didn't sign it with my name, but you'll be able to tell by the tone.