Love the L&O x-over stuff!

Thanks, Sumi. The dialogue's kind of a bummer, too on point. No davinos or anything.:) I found shell's H:LOTS primer thing. Girlfriend talks too much, but her heart's in the right place. And she hated "Defender..." but I'm over it. Now.She just thinks Timmy's hers, poor dear. Hers and Billy Tallent's. [link] ETA: And she kind of ignores the Munchkin, except for that dumb gallery thing. I'm not too happy about that. Edited one last time to say I couldn't find one for L&O. If anyone does let me know, although more people have seen it than H:LOTS. Although Deena did tell me she never watched one, which boggled me, considering how omnipresent the series is.

Gordon Pratt: I promised somebody I wouldn't do this during the week anymore, but it's fun when it's wrong. More "People V. Angelus" BTVS/L&O “Fine,” McCoy said, “we’ll do it.”

“Excuse me?”Claire said, her green eyes wide, “Do what?”

“Empanel the undead. We are going to follow the letter as well as the spirit of the law in this one. I want this conviction, Claire.”
“You used to talk about me like that. And now it’s my turn to say ‘You can’t be serious.’

“It’s not hard,” Jack said. “There are three hundred neck ruptures a year in Sunnydale. Pretend you’re in Chicago. The dead there are surprisingly civically active.”

The rare flash of levity made Claire smile in spite of herself. “Ha ha. If anything happens to me while I’m doing that, I’ll haunt you..”

“It would be impossible for you to do that more than you already do, darling.”

“Likely story. One I’ll consider in the cemetery with Mike Logan.”

“I really wish you’d take Lennie,”
“ What would he do? Wisecrack them to death? Besides I like the leverage.” Editor's note: I typed "cemetery" and "Logan" and my A/C quit working. Y'all did this to me, I swear. I used to be hearts and flowers...now I'm Emma Zoole.

erika, for the new readers? Might work to put the fandoms atop each entry ("Homicide:Life on the Streets/AtS Crossover" or whatnot.)

Nova, I have trouble with Faith and Xander. But that Harmony/Faith thing - I could see Faith, not so much in need of solace herself, but with the confusion of the world emptying out around her, somehow needing to offer it. And the only person in that collection she could offer it to - Wes and Gunn both, in their own ways, being as strong as she is herself - would be Harmony.

Ok. I'll do that...I just never expect to have new readers. Or, hell, even old ones, with these mutant bunnies.

fwiw, erika, you've not only alerted me to the existence of H:LotS, you've made it into one of my Shows-I-Must-Get-Hold-Of list. Just 'cause of your fic. I love Kay.

Deb? Lovely Faith. Lovely lovely. You have, in fact, infected me with an urge to write Faith. With a vague sense of gift-for-Roz chaser. Which has me writing Faith/Willow PWP, to my own more than moderate surprise.

Displacement.

"So?" Faith slides the raspberry chupa chup out of her mouth long enough to cast the syllable at Willow like a challenge, and then coolly pushes its gleaming head back between her glossy lips. The slurp is comically obscene and it tickles her to see instant irritation flickering across Red's features.

"What do you mean, 'so'?" says Willow, crossly. Kennedy has been gone now for two weeks and four days. She glances away from the road for a moment and glares at Faith, sitting smug and confident, with a paper bag of groceries in her lap and snakeskin boots perched atop the dashboard. "So what?"

Faith smiles secretly around a mouthful of hard candy. They are still not friends, and likely never will be. She runs a calloused finger lazily over her damp collarbone and Willow's gaze follows it unwillingly. Her smile broadens. Willow makes an exasperated noise and keeps her attention fixed on driving. Faith stretches like a cat, feet braced precariously on the dashboard and arms reaching up to the ceiling. Her back arches, raising the paper bag up for a moment, and her breasts press against the thin fabric of a too-small t-shirt borrowed from Dawn. Faith's approach to laundry is erratic. She isn't wearing a bra.

Willow's indrawn hiss of breath is loud in the quiet confines of the car. Faith's grin widens and after a moment she leans forward to fiddle with the radio.

Flick.

Ike and Tina Turner.

Flick.

Britney.

Flick.

Melissa Ferrick's voice fills the air, singing 'Drive', and Faith laughs out loud around her candy and cranks up the volume.

"…Whatever you want/I’ll give it to you/I’ll give it to you slowly /‘till you’re just begging me to hold you/yeah whatever you want /whatever you want/but you’re going to have to ask me…"

"Is this supposed to be some kind of joke?" Willow asks, not looking at her. Willow's mouth has gone tight, and the car is fairly crackling with the tension that has been there all day. All week. All along, in fact, but never quite this loud and clear.

"Don't you like it?" asks Faith, watching Willow's pink tongue dart out to lick bare lips. "It's a cool song. Sexy. I like it."

"I – you – could you ever, just for a moment, *not* act like a bitch in heat?" demands Willow, helplessly. "I suppose it's too much to expect you to notice that *some* of us don't have our sweeties waiting back at the motel. *Some* of us might not much appreciate being reminded about this." She shakes her head. "You never change."

Faith tugs the lollipop out of her mouth again and licks it thoughtfully. "Guess you're missing your little chew toy, hey?" Willow rolls her eyes.

"Tact just isn't in your vocabulary, is it?"

"Not my favourite four-letter word, no," agrees Faith. They sit quietly for a moment or two, and Ferrick's song coils through the air like smoke.

"…I’ll hold you up/and drive you all night I’ll hold you up/and drive you baby ‘till you feel the daylight…"

She leans a little closer, close enough to smell the motel's flowery shampoo on Willow's hair. "Not that I blame you – she's not the sharpest stake in the box, maybe, but she's feisty, and she's kind of hot. If you can't have B or me, then she's not a bad little substitute. And the pierced tongue – now *that's* got to be a blast in the sack."

The car swerves only slightly, and Faith snickers.

"You," says Willow, after a long moment, "are well on your way to being turned into a frog. Also? You really, *really* need to get over yourself." Her voice is even. Grown up. Faith pouts.

"And you're no fun."

"I thought you knew that already."

"Nah, I think you could be a lot of fun, Red," says Faith, and she means it. Her voice has gone dark and furry. "You just need to kick loose a little."

"I've tried that," said Willow, shortly. "It was all End-of-The-Worldy, and I had this whole veiny complexion thing going on. Not of the good. Really. Uptight is much better all round, trust me on that."

Faith says nothing, but her eyes trace the line of Willow's throat as hungrily as any vampire and she resumes sucking on her lollipop with vigour. Willow shifts uncomfortably after a while, conscious of Faith's silent gaze.

"…Your mouth waters/stretched out on my bed your fingers are trembling/and your heart is heavy and red and your head is bent back/and your back is arched and my hand is under there/holding you up…"

"What?" she says at last, torn between irritation and amusement. They are still fifteen minutes away from the motel, where Xander and Andrew and Robin and Dawn are waiting for apples and pizza and cherry coke. Faith gives an odd little laugh.

"You don't want to know," she says, and there is a husky note in her voice that makes Willow shiver.

"Okay, if I didn't before, *now* I do. I'll bite. I mean, not in a yellow-eyed, crinkly-forehead way, obviously, because, hello, not a vampire, but – well, yes, okay, metaphorical biting." Her cheeks are reddening, and she doesn't want to ask herself why. "There will be biting of a strictly metaphorical kind. So go on. Spill."

"I was just wondering what your face looks like when you come," says Faith, her voice shockingly soft. "If you get that anguished expression, or kind of blissed-out, or dumb, or – I was just wondering, you know. How you look." Willow, for once, has absolutely no words. She gapes. Faith is looking at her with the sort of focus normally reserved for sword-toting demons. "I b

"I was just wondering what your face looks like when you come," says Faith, her voice shockingly soft. "If you get that anguished expression, or kind of blissed-out, or dumb, or – I was just wondering, you know. How you look." Willow, for once, has absolutely no words. She gapes. Faith is looking at her with the sort of focus normally reserved for sword-toting demons. "I bet you're beautiful."

"I don't – I – that isn't – okay, having difficulty finding words for how very much not your business that is," Willow manages at last. She is wet now, and trembling. Her pulse is jumping. She has never liked Faith very much, but she has always noticed her, because how could anyone possibly not notice her? Faith was like a slap in the face. Stealing Buffy. Stealing Xander. So painfully beautiful in her trashy clothes that nobody could take their eyes off her when she strutted into a room, vibrating with energy and careless desire – and maybe, just maybe, Willow has a little more idea of what it might feel like to make the wrong choices now, and to give in to rage and despair.

"I'd like to make it my business, Red." Faith is very close now. Her breath is sweet. "Where's the harm in that? Don't tell me you're not ready to pop, because we both know you are. 'Sides, I've always had a bit of a thing for you." The chupa chup, temporarily exiled, slides back into Faith's mouth.

"You've always had a thing for Buffy," snaps Willow, because they both know it, and it has always been their big, unspoken rivalry. It strikes her, a moment too late, that what she should be saying is that Faith has a sort-of boyfriend, and that she definitely has a girlfriend, so it doesn't matter a bit whether Faith has any kind of thing for her. She swallows, dry-mouthed.

Faith smiles. It's a huge shit-eating grin that Willow has seen before too many times, the sort of fuck-you-very-much smile that Faith would undoubtedly wear under torture. She withdraws her candy again with a wet popping sound and gestures with it, not meeting Willow's eyes. Willow knows she should be watching the road – it would be too damned stupid for both of them to die in a car crash after all this time – but she can't stop looking at Faith.

"Well, yeah. So that's another thing we've got in common, hey? Little Miss Straighter-than-thou fucking with our psyches." She sounds brassily cheerful, even amused, and Willow isn't fooled for a minute. The pain is so raw that Willow almost feels ashamed. "Guess you win there, though. You were always the one she cared about, even if she wasn't trying to jump your bones." Her voice hitches slightly. "She's always loved you."

Willow finds, once again, that she doesn't know what to say. She stares at the road in front of them as a new song fills the car. This time the song sounds more like something she would expect Faith to listen to. Something by VAST, but Willow can't place it. Oz would know. Tara probably wouldn't. Kennedy probably would. She thinks about Kennedy, and manages to squash her momentary rush of sympathy for Faith.

"If she does love me, maybe it's because I didn't go all psycho killer on her – " Willow falters, and then resumes. "Or Single White Slayer, or whatever. And, and at least – I was always there for Buffy. I wasn't trying to get into her boyfriend's pants, I wasn't trying to get into her pants, I wasn't trying to make her act all skanky cool bad girl and mess up her life. Lie about her. Steal her *body* from her. So, yes, I guess I won the big Be-Buffy's-Best-Friend contest. Go me." There is an uncomfortable pause. Willow draws a deep breath. "Do you really think it's made my life happier or less complicated?" She is back on familiar ground, scrabbling away from the disconcerting sense of kinship Faith had briefly forced upon her. "And okay, yes, I may be feeling lonely without my girlfriend right now, but hello? Earth to Faith? I wouldn't sleep with you if you were the last girl on the planet."

"Phew. You really have embraced your inner Cordelia, haven't you?" Willow is conscious that she has said too much. She can feel herself reddening. Faith licks her lollipop thoughtfully, and then leans right over to whisper in her ear. "So how come you're banging Faith-lite now, if you've never had the hots for me at all?"

Willow presses down on the brakes too hard, but she checks her mirrors automatically before doing so. The car comes to a halt. Willow sits quite still for a moment, both hands clasping the steering wheel, knuckles whitening, and then she turns and glares at Faith. She can feel the darkness welling up in her head and damps it down fiercely.

"Fuck. You."

Faith hasn't flinched at all. She is looking straight into Willow's pitch coloured eyes with an expression of frank fascination. Of course. Faith isn't about to be scared away by anyone else's dark streak. "That's what I'm talking about, dummy," Faith says, and she smiles like a kid with a brand new toy.

Faith's mouth is sweeter than sin and her unpierced tongue slides inside Willow's mouth like the wickedest kind of candy imaginable. Yes, Willow thinks, startling herself, and then there is only the crumple of discarded groceries hitting the back seat and the scramble of limbs against limbs whilst fingers clasp and grasp and squeeze and bruise, and zippers slither and fabric tears. There is some undignified scrabbling to unfasten and unpeel, moments during which she could have stopped, could have rethought, but Willow is too far gone in this already. (And it's true, of course. Part of Kennedy's attraction is that she is a Slayer. That she is, in fact, who Faith might have been, with a different hand of cards.) Soon Willow is straddling Faith's thighs, kissing her hard enough to sprain something, and her hands are shoving aside cotton to reach Faith's warm flesh, to pinch and squeeze and own. Faith's hands are busy too

Faith's hands are busy too, fingers dipping deep inside Willow's jeans and making Willow cry out with fierce delight.

This is nothing like sex with Tara ever was. Angry. Hungry. Untender. Unfriendly, even. Passionate, though, and Willow has thought of this too many times now to regret that it's happening at last. She squirms with pleasure and need, relishing the chance to be utterly selfish. Faith's kisses are sharp and demanding, but Willow can play that game too. She really doesn't give a damn about whether Faith comes or not, and it's a blessed relief that for once she doesn't have to play at being nice. She doesn't have to worry about hurting the other person. Unbidden, the memory of Faith holding that knife at her throat back in the days when Willow felt pretty excited about being able to levitate a pencil comes swimming up out of nowhere, and Willow slams herself down harder on Faith's hand, gasping and half-intoxicated with sensation. Faith is a Slayer, but Willow has become something bigger even than that. She knows she's strong enough to kill Faith now.

The thought probably shouldn't make her hot.

She is going to have bruises in the morning, but nothing important will be broken.

* * *

...eh. I may have just committed songfic. Possibly.

See, Willow/Faith? That works for me. Doesn't make me happy, but works for me. Especially in light of Kennedy (blah). I still prefer, y'know, happy sweet sex/love for Willow, but have no trouble believing the hard stuff.

In other words, Fay, good stuff.

"I don't – I – that isn't – okay, having difficulty finding words for how very much not your business that is,"

erika: well, that sort of explains why I'm confused. I've clearly never watched H:LOTS or L&O. I've put the first homicide disc on my netflix queue, but there's a bunch of movies ahead of it, so I'll probably just stay confused for a while. I'll probably figure out what's going on eventually. =) Thanks for the clarification, though.

DAMN, Fay!

Also -- are you coming to the F2F?