Title: Ebb and Flow
Author: Jane, the Frog on the Wall
Disclaimer: Joss and entourage.
Summary: Allen Finch. Scared. Mirror.
Rating: I'll be generous and give it a PG.
Feedback: Give me feedback, I make with the cookies and oral sex.
A/N: This is my first time writing BtVS since. . .oh, season four or so. Be gentle.
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God, this is scary. Mind-numbingly scary, chest-numbingly scary, like nothing I ever thought I'd face working in politics. I picked the field for a reason, you know. Statistics have proven that being deputy mayor is a very safe position. It's not like we're targeted for assassinations or roughed up for inside information, especially not in a nondescript town like Sunnydale.
She's so pretty, even with the blood on her hands. It's odd that I notice that about her, odd that I notice the strength of her hands and the way the tendons in her wrist flex as she plunges the stake down, down into my chest. God, that's deep. I don't know if it would be hurting more or less, had she left the stake inside me, but I desperately want to find out. I really, really don't want to be lying against a dumpster - a dumpster, for Christ's sake, not a nice waterbed with velvety cushions and silk sheets like I'm supposed to die, like any proper politician - looking into her eyes, where the terror is almost violent enough to mirror my own.
Except that she's used to this. She's used to pain, and death, and jabbing vampires - and scrawny, defenseless civil servants - with stakes because it's kill or be killed. Oh, I'm bleeding. Now I wish I hadn't worn my best shirt today, the blood'll set and I'll never be able to be buried in this.
No, no. Don't touch that. The other girl can't hear me, doesn't know that this little groan of pain will be my last. I wish I wasn't about to die. I really wish everything wasn't so black, so fuzzy - I wish my head wasn't swimming, so I could take one last look at the girl who stabbed me. She was so pretty. . .
Author: Jane, the Frog on the Wall
Disclaimer: Joss and entourage.
Summary: Allen Finch. Scared. Mirror.
Rating: I'll be generous and give it a PG.
Feedback: Give me feedback, I make with the cookies and oral sex.
A/N: This is my first time writing BtVS since. . .oh, season four or so. Be gentle.
-------------------------------
God, this is scary. Mind-numbingly scary, chest-numbingly scary, like nothing I ever thought I'd face working in politics. I picked the field for a reason, you know. Statistics have proven that being deputy mayor is a very safe position. It's not like we're targeted for assassinations or roughed up for inside information, especially not in a nondescript town like Sunnydale.
She's so pretty, even with the blood on her hands. It's odd that I notice that about her, odd that I notice the strength of her hands and the way the tendons in her wrist flex as she plunges the stake down, down into my chest. God, that's deep. I don't know if it would be hurting more or less, had she left the stake inside me, but I desperately want to find out. I really, really don't want to be lying against a dumpster - a dumpster, for Christ's sake, not a nice waterbed with velvety cushions and silk sheets like I'm supposed to die, like any proper politician - looking into her eyes, where the terror is almost violent enough to mirror my own.
Except that she's used to this. She's used to pain, and death, and jabbing vampires - and scrawny, defenseless civil servants - with stakes because it's kill or be killed. Oh, I'm bleeding. Now I wish I hadn't worn my best shirt today, the blood'll set and I'll never be able to be buried in this.
No, no. Don't touch that. The other girl can't hear me, doesn't know that this little groan of pain will be my last. I wish I wasn't about to die. I really wish everything wasn't so black, so fuzzy - I wish my head wasn't swimming, so I could take one last look at the girl who stabbed me. She was so pretty. . .
