More "Fledgling", which is to say, more Homicide/Angel.... I expect to be finished soon. Munch POV
It bothers me to think of leaving Drusilla. It surprises me how much. But she’s a job by herself. She talks too much and I’d be afraid to leave her in my place by herself because she’d set the place on fire or something. Maybe I should just cut out some afternoon, early, before she wakes up. Because she could get around me with those big green eyes...I know she could, even though you’d hardly expect a monster to be so schmaltzy, right? I know I wouldn’t. But we were both brought into this against our will, even if I had more of a choice than Dru.

The files are neat, like those of the Third Reich before them.”Why did they keep all this shit? Didn’t they know how incriminating it would be?” I guess it’s true what we always say around the squad. Crime does make you stupid, even when you’re not.

This must be Counselor Herrenvolk’s department. I see Lilah as more of a reckless abandon type, more or less, although thinking of her like that still presents a huge distraction, evil though I know she is. I could never be truly evil, just like I couldn’t be truly good. I have one foot on each side of either line, but just thinking the phrase “truly good” made me climb into the air vents until I could hear in the office Kay and that Manners guy went into.
Even though I know it has to be some good cop thing, it kills me to hear her laugh with him. I want to charge in there like a cowboy and hold her to my cold, bony breast, claim I was there as back-up. But she’d think I was out of my mind.
Not half as much as Angelus must be, poor bastard. That whole perfect happiness thing must really mess with his social life.But here again, I have to take issue with established accounts. Because apparently, it was so good with Buffy, the 16-year-old virgin, that the first time they did it, he lost his soul. Pardon me for not believing that for a moment...there are at least three major sociological and physiological problems with that theory.After about the third time, maybe they’d have imperfect happiness, like everyone else.

But then, I swear, against my will, my fantasies about Kay return to mind. Only this time, it’s after, and she’s got her head, with her amazing hair, across my chest. Not a lot of fireworks or gymnastics, but I can’t imagine much better on this corrupted planet, damn it.

Dying really screws up your love life. We have things in common, me and him, though, The Princess got to both of us. Kind of a small club, like the guys who married Marilyn.Nobody else knows what it’s like. He doesn’t strike me though, as the kind of guy to sit in a Cavalier and talk about it with a person, which seems like a waste if you ask me.

But on the bright side, it’s only a little bit my fault this time, that’s got to be a step forward, right? Yeah, sure, John, you just keep telling yourself that...I really hate it when I get hopeful, it clouds my thinking, even as I live for it. If I don’t watch out, I’ll end up unliving with Dru forever: his and hers mishegoss, two couches, no waiting. It’ll be like living with Nancy all over again, without the finality of death(We were great till we signed the papers, by the way.I don’t know if being married changed her too much or me not enough, but I’m taking the Fifth anyway.)

Erika, I'm so enjoying your Munch. I can't mind at all that you're ficcing so much. Such good stuff in here lately. Deb and Fay, so nice.

I wrote a (I think) funny Buffy/Angel/Cordelia fic and used the word glovebox. I've been questioned about the use of that word, and I know there's another one that's used regularly, but I can't think of it.

The fic is here: Cordelia Chase. Actress. Hero

(staggering into thread)

erika, WOOT!

Deena, it's a glovebox in the UK; here, I've always heard it called the glove compartment.

(Off to read fic)

edit: muHAH! Dying laughing here, Deena. Go Cordy, with the fractured Latin!

I finished Fledgling last night. Let's not say anything about what that makes my Saturday nights, huh?
KAY

It takes thirty-seven of my steps to pace alongside Manners’ massive desk. I’ve counted twice. It helps me focus my thinking. You can’t talk to a suspect or informant without being focused...they fuck with you otherwise.And I’m gonna need focus to be able to handle both the Cliff’s notes of the business page and the fact that I let this preppie weasel stick a sticky with “Enron” on it right between Barnes and Noble.

I fight the urge to find a bathroom and, like, scrub, for a week. Like another one of Munch’s creepy stories. About this queen, you know, that felt so responsible for somebody’s death that her hands would never come clean. “Guess they hadn’t invented Borax in those days, huh?” I said, kidding, because I really do understand. I still feel really responsible for Vaughn Perkins.

He looked at me like I was hopeless and said “It’s *symbolic*, Kay. For God’s sake...” and he started snorting and bitching about the educational system, and some other stuff that I sort of lost the thread of. Heaven help me, but I enjoyed that. At least, he had stuff he cared about, not walking around at half-wattage like this guy, having to be hit to get a thrill...and if the Munchkin enjoys that, I’d rather not know. It’s over. For above all, he’s dead. Surprisingly animated but dead. At the very least, I require my lovers to have a heartbeat.
And most of them have sucked the life out of me by losing interest, not with their teeth. Or, well, Tommy had a wife. That was probably more painful than this...listening to him tell some other broad he loved her after we steamed up the windows of a Cavalier together and had a big laugh at her expense. What kind of demon gets inside a guy that makes him do stuff like that?
For a minute, I want to ask Manners, but he’s on the hot seat, not me. And I’m not Kay. Mistress Katrina doesn’t have these problems. “Ok, Holland,” I say. “Can I call you Holland?"

“Call me whatever it pleases you to call me, Mistress.”

I have a feeling I could have cause to make him regret that.Ten years on the Job and spending your teenaged years around oystermen don’t make for many flowery phrases...at least not ones you’d repeat somewhere nice. “Let’s stick with Holland, shall we?”

To my relief, he just nods. Doesn’t go through the “Yes, sir, no sir, three bags full, sir” bit again. Where are his stones?I would think it would be hard to argue in court without them.That was the thing, between me and Ed, I’d watch him in court, and get kind of excited, you know.Because right from court, he’d be all feisty. But not enough to fight past my shooting. Maybe I am wrong. Maybe one less human in a relationship is a good thing. Maybe I could come off shift, warm up some pig’s blood(or should it be cow’s?Munch *is* Jewish.) a couple nights a week, and let him screw me silly. I kind of like the way he looks at me in this Mistress of Pain get-up, even as it makes me feel exposed and naked. (The funny thing is, he already saw that, too, probably, if he was there when the EMTs were. He will *not* talk about that.Can you imagine? Munch being modest about nudity?)

But the way he looks at me makes me feel young, like being sixteen. Like thinking murders were Agatha Christie, puzzles with clear meanings where only bastards get hurt. Sometimes I miss that, huh?

“Come on, Holland. Explain about the chads, Holland. Cause you know,I’m not good at math enough to follow the Enron thing.”

“Your assets lie in other areas,” Manners said and licked his flabby lips. Oh, God,better an unattended death in July. At least then, I could just go outside and heave without worrying about looking cute.

“Actually, that was Lilah’s baby.”

“Honesty is the best policy, Holland.” And I lashed him with the crop. And felt better, Me, who got pissed off when I found out I couldn’t be a priest.(Hey, I was eleven. Poverty and chastity look a lot better when you think boys have cooties and you get an allowance)

“Oh, ok, I did it. I got wizards to enchant the ballot paper.”

Damn. Munchkin was right. I wish he was here. I say his name, into the vent, pretend I’m coughing, feeling like I’m in seventh grade. “Wow, you’re taking my breath away, Manners,” letting my chest stick out even further, attempting to tantalize him with whatever promise lay in my cold-sweat-drenched flesh. I couldn’t believe there was any.I felt sure he could see my shaking and confusion, the fact that I’ve been sitting here for the last hour thinking about my personal problems. All of it. But I must be good undercover, too. Or he could be, you know, blinded by his little hobby. But I’m gonna let people think I’m a hundred percent confident in this area. I wouldn’t want anyone thinking I’m a chick who doesn’t believe in herself. That’s one problem with women. A lot of us don’t take enough credit.

But I pat myself on the back a little too hard, because right at that very instant? Holland Manners finds his stones. First time in maybe twenty years...lucky me. He crosses the continent of desk before I am prepared for it and embraces me, puts his greasy money-grubbing hands all over my body. I’m torn. Is democracy worth the most disgusting ten minutes of my life? Eh, he’s not that bad. I’ve danced with worse-looking people, and after this evening there’s not too much high ground left for me. I’m about to close my eyes and think of Washington when he takes the fun a little bit too far. He goes for my “weapon”...trying to feel manly, I guess. A little late, in my opinion, and in total conflict with years of training that says that I should never give my weapon up.

”Oh”, he says, trying to be clever, like some supervillain or something. “Your friend is gone, your weapon is gone. What do you have now?”

That just tore

aaagh! more, Erika!

Changed to glove compartment. I'm guessing I have too many british authors in my past. Either that, or the weird way my father speaks is some sort of throwback to his Irish ancestors.

I'm really glad you liked it, Deb. It wasn't supposed to be funny, but I couldn't put those three together and it not be funny. The muse didn't want to go that way.

Ok, I think I've fixed our technical problem now.

That just tore it. “Me.” I said, and put that stiletto where it would do maximum damage, thinking all the while “What is this? National Nad-Kicking Month?” But I didn’t live to put up with that. Then there was a noise from the ceiling as the tiles crumpled and Munch fell into the room with us.
“Munchkin!” I say, before I think it over. What are you doing here?”

“You, dressed like that? Cries of pain? Where else am I going to want to go?” And he turned to Holland Manners and said “And you should think of me as gone, but not forgotten. Ok, babe? Or do you prefer “Commandant”?"

“Lilah is a brilliant lawyer. Undeniably. But she doesn’t have much of an instinct for human resources. Or inhuman resources.” Manners said, looking at Munch with complete distaste.

I expected the dislike to carry over, but when Munch stepped away, Manners adjusted his injured assets and looked at me with a goofy captivated expression on his face. I don’t even want to *think* about that.
”I haven’t paid you yet.” Manners says, goofy look in place.

“That’s quite all right,” I say. “You’ll get my invoice.”

“ Just a gratuity, then. That last part really added to my enjoyment of our game. It’s too bad you can’t stay longer.”And he threw five hundred dollars on the table like Kleenex.

I try to act cool, like that happens all the time. My first instinct was to stuff the cash in my bra, but I remembered that the other secret stuff was in there, so I handed the money to Munch who had switched faces and was working his best vampire intimidation on Manners(It still scared *me*, for Crissake. Manners was probably gonna have to change his imported underwear. I kept my cop face on the whole time.)
“The Mistress has another engagement.”

”In Redmond,” I offered.

“Ah,” Munch said. “The Evil Empire...well, I expect they’re just The Empire to you, nu?”

Manners didn’t say anything but I could feel his gaze like a laser on my butt.Maybe if I’d spit on him, we’d be engaged.

I made one more sweep through the main room then told Hallie I had to get my coat. “Oh, you leaving?”she said, with such real disappointment I was almost sorry to give up Katrina’s life. Very few people, especially women, have ever felt that way about me. I can be a real bull in a china shop sometimes, not to mention knowing stuff most people would rather forget.

“Yeah. Early start in the morning.”

“Oh, hon,” Halfrek said, making me pause. Could this demon be a Balmer girl? “Oh, isn’t that funny...Felicia in the office says that, and now we all do it...cute, right?...apologize to your friend...he can’t be Felicia’s client. He doesn’t look like a cop.”

“Oh, no. Don’t make me laugh.” Holy shit...Felicia’s a...but Munch and I have a bigger conversation in store.

Munchkin and I are now even. For Pratt, for everything. But I am still sad that after looking at slime and blood all day, there is no way I can face blood at night too. If I was going to change my life for a creature of the night, it would be for him. But, for whatever reason, I’m alive. I have to choose the living world, and guys that sweat.

Munch and I walk out together.

”Oh, thank God,” I say, and pull my hair back. Was it my imagination or was he looking at my neck?”Don’t look at my neck. You’re creeping me out.”

“I’m sorry. Where should I look?”

“Anywhere else.”

“Well, I’m open to suggestions.”

“In the interests of regaining my respectability, I’m not touching that.”

“If I had a dollar for every time a woman told me that.”

“Look, Munchkin...”

“I’m going home, Kay.”

Oh, God, this felt like losing him all over again. “You don’t have to...stake yourself, John. V...creatures in your situation can live for a long time on animal blood.”

“Not ‘ashes to ashes dust to dust’ home, Kay. Just Charm City...and you can say it. I’m a vampire. You might want to practice, what with your ghostbusting gig, babe. Cause we’re lobbying for Creatures of Photophobia, but I don’t think it’s gonna catch on. I sense a real backlash...some demons feel it’s too politically correct.”

What the hell was he talking about? “Damn it, Howard. Don’t look so puzzled. I’m kidding. Remember? I told you once there was nothing I wouldn’t joke about, and there’s not. Okay?”

“I’m sorry...it’s been a long...life, lately, Munchkin.” I looked down at my shoes. One heel was hanging on by a thread. “I hope these shoes aren’t favorites of Cordy’s. They’re toast.”

“That’s been going around. This year’s been a rough one for shoes.”And he got that soft look he always gets about the shooting.I would never think he had it in him, if I hadn’t seen it.

He stopped walking abruptly and he asked “Would you really care? If I ate the big Dustbuster, I mean.”

“Of course,” I say. “No question.” I thought he was going to ask me something hard. But Munch questions usually come in parts, so I waited.

“Of course,” he says. “Kay, my God, you are amazing. In the world right now, there are probably ten women who don’t care that I died...followed by another three or four who wish they knew where my grave was so they could dance on it.”

“Munch, don’t, ok? This is hard enough, huh?”

“I know it bothers you, but technically I’m...10-7.” He pauses, waving away my attempts to talk. “And you, Kay Howard, have dragged yourself across the country, have seen me change my physical being, and yet, this doesn’t repulse you.”

“It repulses me a little, “ I admit. “But you’re my bunky. I owe you, huh?”

“That was a very sweet bit of ‘obligation’ you laid on me at Caritas, babe. I think if Poindexter had waited to spill the beans, you might have obligated me with tongue. Hmm, French obligation...a lost art. But I bet you’re good at it. One for the road?”

“That...might not have been all that was.”My God, better he should drain me than embarrass me this way. But I don’t say it. Because he might do it. And I might want him to.

“What’s this? Words of love from the blushing Detective Howard?”

“Ok, yeah...I love you, all right? But I didn’t find out till there was no future in it, so there’s no point in even talking about it...”

“Believe it or not, that was the most beautiful thing anybody ever said to me.”

“Oh, bullshit, Munchkin.” I say. He doesn't have to make fun of me. And I know all his routines, anyway.
“Elizabeth Browning couldn’t have said it better.” He teased. “OK, you caught me...I was just pretending cause it’s you. And I kind of love you, too. I can say that now...it’s one of my special dead-guy privileges. Cause what’s the worst that can happen?”

“You gonna be all right? In Balmer?”

“I’ll manage, babe. I always do.”

“Cause if you needed to...I have a place.Till I come back in September.”

“You know what I want.”

“As long as I don’t have to kick you in the crotch. Do one thing for me. Give a hundred to Timmy. I owe him too.”

“Not with tongue, though.”

“No.”

And I kissed him goodbye. We had to hurry so he could get to the docks while it was still dark.”Oh,” I said, feeling the sticky notes fall forward out of my bra.
“Wow, that view was good enough I wish I had time for more than a kiss.”

“You’ve got two minutes, right?” I say. “Sorry. Habit. You’re the primary on that one, huh? Connect the dots. Make me proud.”

END (Maybe it's too open?) Deena, awesome Cordy voice, babe.(Heh, just when I have that habit conquered, I write Munch again.)

sigh

I don't want it to be over.

Aw, that's nice. Be glad I didn't go with my original "I kissed him, told him that I loved him, then I killed him." concept. Mega-dramatic, but I also want to write Vamp! Munchkin again. Sometime. And big piles of dust don't make dirty jokes. And I'd probably still be crying, to tell you the truth. ETA: I had fun trying to make their "revelation" as unschmoopy as humanly possible...almost completely non-romantic romantic moment. I think it's in character though.

t applause Lovely stuff, Erika. The actors were just having a little staged reading in my brain. Very cool. t /applause

Deena, yours is bookmarked for later perusal; I'm off to breakfast and blessed caffeine.