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.

Oh, Karl. Thank you. You encourage me so much...to do what, I think I'd best not say...I've gotten so *nasty* lately. But you love me cause I have the firm, perky, allusions of a much younger woman...if we were to truly get together, you'd catch me quoting "Friends" some night and you'd lose respect for me. Then I'd lose respect for me, too...it's better this way. But I'm very proud to be your favorite literate skank. And I'm touched that you want me to be Mrs. E. Nonymous.(hugging Karl in barely platonic manner))) It's weird how writing Munchkin has brought more of the stuff from college back than anything else ever. Sometimes, I feel like "Where'd that come from?" and without the...chemical inducements that Munch sometimes subjected himself to. And I'm sure that's what's compelling me to ask what kinds of staffs knights are carrying these days;) as well as remarking that "Hey, your smut-immunity is gone." which makes me *obscenely* happy..

There's an lj communit, impulsedriven, and the idea is you get one word under a cut tag and 2 minutes to write, then stop. The only thing you can fix are typos and spelling. That's it. any fandom.

It's produced some really intersting stuff. My two have been:

Ray K, Due South (ink)

Ray sat in the chair, tense and anxious. He wanted this---to get back something of himself after the divorce. He picked the image almost on a whim, he'd been flipping through a magazine at the garage, waiting for his plastic, boring car to be fixed and he saw the ad. He knew that this was what he needed, it reminded him of high school and the person he was before he grew up, before his Dad stopped talking to him and Stella wanted out.

and

Xander (during Hell's Bells), (flight)

Xander walks out into the rain, taking the coward's way out. Walking away. The rain pours down, swirls through down the gutter, the images swirl through his brain. Maybe he can walk forever and no one will find him. It happens here all the time. If he doesn't leave now he'll hit Anya. If she never sees him again he'll never strike that blow.

I took a stab at one of the others but after two minutes I didn't have anythign intelligible.