Pairing: Charles
Words: 276
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Well, he doesn't have a driver's license anymore because he's dead. And he doesn't have enough money for a cab because he's dead; the hospital bills alone probably drained his emergency funds. So... Yeah, bus.
Part One
The man sitting at the back of the bus was starting to make the driver nervous. It wasn't that he seemed angry they were behind schedule – though he did keep checking his watch – but that was actually the creepy part. His face was completely impassive. But his hands were gripping the headrest of the seat in front of him in an increasingly white-knuckled stranglehold.
A few passengers got off at the third to last stop, and then the bus was empty. Almost. All except for that one man in a black leather jacket, sitting in the back. The bus driver swallowed nervously, shifting in her seat. She couldn't keep an eye on him as she pulled away from the stop and back into traffic – and then suddenly he was right there.
"It is of the utmost importance," Charles said calmly, "that you drive faster. I have an appointment to keep."
Charles heard over the radio (which he had insisted be turned on, once there were no other passengers there to be bothered by it) that the concert had been powered down. He glanced over at the bus driver with a raised eyebrow; she took the hint quickly and floored the gas pedal.
As soon as the bus pulled back up, the lights came back on. A brief look of – self-reproach? pain? – crossed Charles' face. Then he looked over at the bus driver, who stared back with rapidly widening eyes.
"Well," he said. "You know what that means."
He did her the courtesy of snapping her neck quickly. If he was indeed too late, then there was no need to attract anyone's attention just yet after all.
