Title: Love Story
Author: Wonderland Toy
Summary: Faith finds a kindred spirit. [Buffy/X-2 crossover]
Disclaimer: Joss owns Faith, Marvel/whoever does the movies own Pyro. I own nothing.
Author's Note: The hell? Too much X-Men, too much Buffy, too much weirdness. Don't ask. Just... no. Also, my titles are consistantly suckful. Truly. I need to learn these things.
It's the middle of the night and there's this kid sitting across from her in this crappy diner, right, and he's got a lighter and he's flicking it onoffonoffonoff like it's some kind of lifeline. She knows he's nothing extraordinary because he looks human and he smells human and he feels human, Slayer sense all comfortingly numb whenever she looks at him which is a change. She knows he's nothing extraordinary because she's got eyes, doesn't she? Cute, sure, with the sort of full lipped mouth that gets her all twitchy but aside from that he's average. Nothing to compare to the fine men and vampires of good old Sunny D. She knows he's nothing extraordinary because she doesn't want to take him home and make him cry and bleed until he passes out, so he must be normal. And she knows this but she can't keep her eyes off him.
It's the morning after and she's not sure what to call him. St. John is too formal, John is too bland. SJ is just too fucking preteen. She briefly entertains the possibility of calling him Saint before he steps in.
"Most people call me Johnny," he says in husky morning voice and then it's all right.
It's three weeks later and they're on one of the damn Greyhound buses, the ones that are everywhere no matter where you go. The bus is filled with people, all silent and sleeping except for the two of them. And she turns to him and he's just staring at her with those goddamn eyes, all dark and deep-set. So instead of climbing on to his lap she grabs his hand instead and tells him a story about slayers and vampires and the mouth of hell.
When the story comes to an end the bus has pulled over for some gas, so the two of them duck off behind the toilets for a cigarette break. "I'm not a normal girl," she finishes, and asks him for a light.
He doesn't reach into his pockets for his precious lighter but instead holds his hand before her face, letting little flames dance across his fingers before lighting her cigarette. "I'm not a normal boy," he starts, and he tells her his own story.
It's been almost two months and he keeps a candle by the bed. She thinks it's fair enough. After all, she broke his wrist the other day - heat ((ha)) of the moment type thing naturally but when your partner lacks super healing it can take a while to fix. So Johnny lights a candle and keeps the flames under his skin, letting her know when she's pushed his fragile human body too far. And she always pushes too far.
Afterwards, he likes to watch the burns on her hands scab over and disappear. He tells her of a mutant he once knew who regenerated faster than she did. Shot at point blank range, straight in the forehead. Dead on the ground for all of five minutes and then the bullet worms its way back out again and he's back on his feet, scowling at the policeman who did it and just _daring_ him to try again.
The story's tinged with sadness, like all stories of their former lives, but it's okay. She curls up against his warmth and they share their guilt together.