Story Title: Tonight and the Rest of My Life
Author: La Vie Boheme96
Chapter Title: "Excuse Me Mister"
Author's Note: Not too much to say... except THANKS for the reviews, and enjoy chapter two!
Great, Buffy thought bitterly as she tramped through the streets of Sunnydale, underneath the starless early-evening sky. This is exactly what I need to be worrying about right now. 'Guess what, Buffy! Glory's a god! But you're gonna have to put that on hold for now, because you have to play treasure hunt! Sure, sure, Glory is a being with strength that you can't ever begin to comprehend, and don't even WORRY about the fact that you aren't within fifty miles of a clue as to how to fight her! Just keep your mind focused on the damned DIAMOND!
Then Buffy Summers pondered, for perhaps the thirteenth time that day, what it was like to be normal.
At around seven o'clock, she reached a heavily wooded area of the little town that sat atop the mouth of hell. Always alert, she went deeper into the forest until she came to a strip of yellow police tape that was wrapped through the surrounding trees in such a way that it blocked her path. She rolled her eyes, ducked under it, and continued on her way. As if that was going to stop her.
The boys from the precinct, Buffy observed, probably went home for the night, because there was not a soul to be seen. As for those *unseen*, they were everywhere, having lost their way to either heaven or hell. (The hell-bound spirits, Buffy would be glad to say, did not have very far to travel.) She hoped the roaming spectres would give her some clue as to where the diamond was; frustrated, she surveyed her environment and saw nothing but bushes, plants, and trees. Any other passerby would never be able to guess why the area was blocked off by police tape.
"Wow," muttered Buffy. "This is like fun, only the exact opposite."
"Hey!" a rough voice shouted from somewhere behind her. Buffy whirled around to see a man in an official-looking uniform approaching her at an angry, quick pace, and the Slayer put on her best innocence act.
"Sir?" she said. She looked around, secretly to be certain that no one else was in the area.
"You're not supposed to be here," the large man barked, stopping a few feet away from Buffy, crossing his arms over the impressive width of his chest. "This is an official crime scene."
"Oh, I'm sorry, the official *police tape* should have given me some sort of hint."
"You're already in trouble, kid, don't press your luck." He glanced down at the bag under Buffy's arm, at the corner of the broad ax that poked out of the end corner. The sharp edge piqued the man's curiosity. "Let's see the goods, little girl."
"You wish."
Buffy's foot connected with the man's head and a second later he was sprawled on the forest floor. No harm was done; Buffy had performed that move multiple times on multiple people, and she used not to inflict injury but to buy time if the victim was unintelligently trying to prevent her from doing her job. She had given up trying to explain her Slayer gig long ago. It wasn't that she enjoyed knocking innocent people unconscious. It had just gotten to the point where she had to.
She made the most of her time and more closely scrutinized the region for anything that even remotely resembled a pilot, a diamond, or a plane.
Meanwhile, not far away, on the other side of the small patch of forest that Buffy investigated, James Bond was about to encounter a similar--if slightly more serious--interruption.
He advanced cautiously through the towering trees, wearing a pair of tinted designer sunglasses that allowed him not only to see in the dark, but also to detect the body heat of any creature--human or otherwise--that might be trying to hide in the brush. The glasses were all well and good, and James thought he looked rather striking in them, but he was waiting for the chance to use the missiles that were behind the headlights of his new BMW, parked none too far away. However, remembering the details of the incredibly tedious case he had been assigned, he thought such a prospect highly unlikely. It was unethical and just plain ungentlemanly to use a missile launcher on jewel thieves.
"Going somewhere, pretty boy?"
James stopped in his tracks, and grinned to himself. Finally . . . a little excitement. He drew his gun in case he needed to defend himself and turned around to address the gravelly male voice that came from behind him, but the British government agent produced no glib remark, for he was quite frankly stunned by what he saw. The man he now faced was as sky-blue as the rest of the trees and bushes around them, and just as cold.
No body heat.
In the next few seconds before the attack, the man's dark eyes turned a gleaming, feral yellow, and two razor-sharp fangs grew down over his bottom lip. He hissed horribly and leapt at the bewildered James, knocking him to the ground. Now trapped beneath the creature with his arms pinned at his sides, having lost his gun, James had no choice but to head-butt the thing. Their skulls cracked together, and the creature, taken by surprise, rolled away into the grass. James ignored the pain and scrambled for his gun. He grabbed it, jumped to his feet, spun around, flicked off the safety, and fired a bullet squarely into the recovering creature's throat.
James had expected the thing to die instantaneously. However, it simply stopped for a moment, dazed, and then rushed at him again, angrier than ever.
"Oh, my God," James gasped. He quickly shoved his gun back into its shoulder holster and grabbed the charging creature by the collar of its jacket, and slammed it up against the trunk of a tree. In retaliation it whapped at James' face with its taloned hand. The sharp nails caught no skin, but instead removed James' expensive sunglasses. They fell silently to the dirt. Taking advantage of the agent's momentary distraction the creature, with all its remarkable force, buried its feet in James' stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Before he knew what had happened he was once again on his back and at the mercy of this awful thing. Triumphant, it bared its hideous teeth and prepared to bury them in James' neck. Agent 007 closed his eyes tightly and gritted his teeth, unable to believe that this was the end.
But suddenly, the creature roared in pain and exploded into a spray of gray dust.
James opened his crystal blue eyes to see a young girl bent over him, her own eyes filled with boundless worry and concern.
"Shit!" she cried. "Oh, my God, mister, are you all right?"
Confused beyond all comprehension, James did not reply. The girl knelt down beside him and studied his entire body, apparently checking for injuries or blood. As she did so, she brushed the dust off his suit.
"Are you hurt?" she asked loudly.
"Wh-wh-who are . . .!" James sputtered.
"Can you stand up? Here, give me your hand."
The girl took James' hand and pulled him to his feet.
"God, I'm so glad I got here in time," she puffed, her hand over her heart. "I heard the gunshot, and I just ran . . . I didn't think I'd ever be able to find you . . . okay, enough with the babbling brook. I'm Buffy."
James didn't hear her. In fact, he didn't even seem to be listening to her. He searched the grounds around them for his gun and his sunglasses, oblivious to the fact that his life had just been saved.
"Ahem."
James turned to acknowledge Buffy, and she held a small gun and a pair of tinted sunglasses out towards him. He looked indignant, like he didn't appreciate the fact that Buffy had touched his things without asking. Yanking the objects away from her, he flicked the gun's safety switch back on and put it away in its holster, and placed the glasses in the left breast pocket of his suit jacket.
He cleared his throat and said, almost coldly, "Thank you, Miss . . ."
"Buffy," she said again. "Didn't you hear me the first time, or were you too busy making sure no one had taken your toys?"
"Buffy?" smirked James. Honestly, he thought. Where do these names come from?
"Um... excuse me? I just saved your life! If I didn't make it here in time you would've been vamp chow! A simple 'thank you' would make my day, because it sure as hell hasn't been a good one!"
James frowned, and his eyebrows knitted together.
"I beg your pardon?" he said. Then he eyed the wooden stake that Buffy clutched in her hand.
Buffy followed his gaze and said, "Oh, crap. You're from outta town, aren't you."
"I work for the British government," James said, straightening his necktie. "The name's Bond. James Bond."
"Um . . . okay, Bond James Bond," Buffy said, unimpressed. "You prefer all of that, or do I just call you James?"
"James will do, thank you very much."
"Great. So what brings you to here?"
"Classified information, young lady, that I'm not at liberty to divulge."
"Please. Don't 'young lady' me. I'm nineteen going on forty-eight." She paused, and when James said nothing, she continued. "So if you're a spy," she said, "shouldn't you be out gratuitously blowing up buildings and motor vehicles or thwarting evil counterfeiters and their big, white Persian cats?"
James was exasperated. "I'm here on business," he said, as if addressing a lower form of life. "And if you must know, I'm looking for a stolen diamond. That is all I can say."
Buffy perked up.
"The Karlotte diamond?" she asked, interested.
"Yes. I suppose you've heard news of it locally."
"Uh-huh. Well, I'm looking for it too. Maybe I could help?"
James smirked again. "You? Adorable. Well, I suggest you go home, put on your jammies, and go to bed; this is a case better left to professionals, little girl."
There was the "little girl" again, twice in one night. Buffy was now decidedly irate. She had listened to authority figures talk to her this way all her life, and she was absolutely sick of it. All of her frustrations began to pour out when she confidently said, "Maybe it's okay for you to treat people that way back in jolly old England, but there's a lot you don't know about Sunnydale, smart guy. Not to sound . . . well . . . like you, but I'M the only professional around here. The cops, the FBI, the CIA . . . they're all on the outside looking in. They wanna play *my* game when they don't even know the rules."
"What are you talking about?"
"What do you think that thing was that almost ripped your neck open? Huh?"
"Obviously some drunk man with--"
"It was a vampire! They're real, and they're EVERYWHERE, and I kill them with these!" She held up her stake for James to see. "Ever seen one of these? In the movies, I guess, right? Bet you never thought some people actually have to use them every day of their lives. I don't know what they call your clubhouse over in the motherland, but I think you and all the other suits like you fall into the category of pompous, overstuffed jerks who think they know everything! Well, you don't. Not by a long shot."
James stared back at her without emotion.
"I think you're insane," he said.
"Fine. Think what you want. All I want to do is help you."
"I don't need help from anyone."
"This is Sunnydale, pal. New game plan, new set of rules. This town has the highest mortality rate of any other town in the country, and it's the idiots like you who turn into a statistic. You're the ones we have memorial services for every month. Some of those people were innocent . . . didn't deserve what they got . . . but you're the ones who make their own graves and sleep in them. I have information about the diamond, and information that'll keep you alive, but if you don't want it, I don't really care. We'll see how well you do when you run up against another 'drunk' guy." As she stomped away from him, she said, "I'll be looking for your obituary in the paper."
James just stood there dumbfounded. No one had EVER spoken to him that way before, save for M, and not even her words had been so harsh. This girl-- this Buffy--was a highly admirable individual, not to mention most intriguing. Clearly she knew something that he did not, and having to admit this was like subjecting his ego to a vat of acid. Maybe Buffy WAS telling the truth, and maybe she was as crazy as any of the criminal masterminds James had faced over the course of his career with the British Secret Intelligence Service. Either way, there was no question that she was fascinating, and James would not let her get away from him so easily.
"Wait!" he called after her.
Buffy impatiently and abruptly stopped in her tracks, raising her eyes heavenward as if pleading for divine assistance.
"What do you want?" she huffed.
"Well, I . . . exactly what KIND of information?"
Author: La Vie Boheme96
Chapter Title: "Excuse Me Mister"
Author's Note: Not too much to say... except THANKS for the reviews, and enjoy chapter two!
Great, Buffy thought bitterly as she tramped through the streets of Sunnydale, underneath the starless early-evening sky. This is exactly what I need to be worrying about right now. 'Guess what, Buffy! Glory's a god! But you're gonna have to put that on hold for now, because you have to play treasure hunt! Sure, sure, Glory is a being with strength that you can't ever begin to comprehend, and don't even WORRY about the fact that you aren't within fifty miles of a clue as to how to fight her! Just keep your mind focused on the damned DIAMOND!
Then Buffy Summers pondered, for perhaps the thirteenth time that day, what it was like to be normal.
At around seven o'clock, she reached a heavily wooded area of the little town that sat atop the mouth of hell. Always alert, she went deeper into the forest until she came to a strip of yellow police tape that was wrapped through the surrounding trees in such a way that it blocked her path. She rolled her eyes, ducked under it, and continued on her way. As if that was going to stop her.
The boys from the precinct, Buffy observed, probably went home for the night, because there was not a soul to be seen. As for those *unseen*, they were everywhere, having lost their way to either heaven or hell. (The hell-bound spirits, Buffy would be glad to say, did not have very far to travel.) She hoped the roaming spectres would give her some clue as to where the diamond was; frustrated, she surveyed her environment and saw nothing but bushes, plants, and trees. Any other passerby would never be able to guess why the area was blocked off by police tape.
"Wow," muttered Buffy. "This is like fun, only the exact opposite."
"Hey!" a rough voice shouted from somewhere behind her. Buffy whirled around to see a man in an official-looking uniform approaching her at an angry, quick pace, and the Slayer put on her best innocence act.
"Sir?" she said. She looked around, secretly to be certain that no one else was in the area.
"You're not supposed to be here," the large man barked, stopping a few feet away from Buffy, crossing his arms over the impressive width of his chest. "This is an official crime scene."
"Oh, I'm sorry, the official *police tape* should have given me some sort of hint."
"You're already in trouble, kid, don't press your luck." He glanced down at the bag under Buffy's arm, at the corner of the broad ax that poked out of the end corner. The sharp edge piqued the man's curiosity. "Let's see the goods, little girl."
"You wish."
Buffy's foot connected with the man's head and a second later he was sprawled on the forest floor. No harm was done; Buffy had performed that move multiple times on multiple people, and she used not to inflict injury but to buy time if the victim was unintelligently trying to prevent her from doing her job. She had given up trying to explain her Slayer gig long ago. It wasn't that she enjoyed knocking innocent people unconscious. It had just gotten to the point where she had to.
She made the most of her time and more closely scrutinized the region for anything that even remotely resembled a pilot, a diamond, or a plane.
Meanwhile, not far away, on the other side of the small patch of forest that Buffy investigated, James Bond was about to encounter a similar--if slightly more serious--interruption.
He advanced cautiously through the towering trees, wearing a pair of tinted designer sunglasses that allowed him not only to see in the dark, but also to detect the body heat of any creature--human or otherwise--that might be trying to hide in the brush. The glasses were all well and good, and James thought he looked rather striking in them, but he was waiting for the chance to use the missiles that were behind the headlights of his new BMW, parked none too far away. However, remembering the details of the incredibly tedious case he had been assigned, he thought such a prospect highly unlikely. It was unethical and just plain ungentlemanly to use a missile launcher on jewel thieves.
"Going somewhere, pretty boy?"
James stopped in his tracks, and grinned to himself. Finally . . . a little excitement. He drew his gun in case he needed to defend himself and turned around to address the gravelly male voice that came from behind him, but the British government agent produced no glib remark, for he was quite frankly stunned by what he saw. The man he now faced was as sky-blue as the rest of the trees and bushes around them, and just as cold.
No body heat.
In the next few seconds before the attack, the man's dark eyes turned a gleaming, feral yellow, and two razor-sharp fangs grew down over his bottom lip. He hissed horribly and leapt at the bewildered James, knocking him to the ground. Now trapped beneath the creature with his arms pinned at his sides, having lost his gun, James had no choice but to head-butt the thing. Their skulls cracked together, and the creature, taken by surprise, rolled away into the grass. James ignored the pain and scrambled for his gun. He grabbed it, jumped to his feet, spun around, flicked off the safety, and fired a bullet squarely into the recovering creature's throat.
James had expected the thing to die instantaneously. However, it simply stopped for a moment, dazed, and then rushed at him again, angrier than ever.
"Oh, my God," James gasped. He quickly shoved his gun back into its shoulder holster and grabbed the charging creature by the collar of its jacket, and slammed it up against the trunk of a tree. In retaliation it whapped at James' face with its taloned hand. The sharp nails caught no skin, but instead removed James' expensive sunglasses. They fell silently to the dirt. Taking advantage of the agent's momentary distraction the creature, with all its remarkable force, buried its feet in James' stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Before he knew what had happened he was once again on his back and at the mercy of this awful thing. Triumphant, it bared its hideous teeth and prepared to bury them in James' neck. Agent 007 closed his eyes tightly and gritted his teeth, unable to believe that this was the end.
But suddenly, the creature roared in pain and exploded into a spray of gray dust.
James opened his crystal blue eyes to see a young girl bent over him, her own eyes filled with boundless worry and concern.
"Shit!" she cried. "Oh, my God, mister, are you all right?"
Confused beyond all comprehension, James did not reply. The girl knelt down beside him and studied his entire body, apparently checking for injuries or blood. As she did so, she brushed the dust off his suit.
"Are you hurt?" she asked loudly.
"Wh-wh-who are . . .!" James sputtered.
"Can you stand up? Here, give me your hand."
The girl took James' hand and pulled him to his feet.
"God, I'm so glad I got here in time," she puffed, her hand over her heart. "I heard the gunshot, and I just ran . . . I didn't think I'd ever be able to find you . . . okay, enough with the babbling brook. I'm Buffy."
James didn't hear her. In fact, he didn't even seem to be listening to her. He searched the grounds around them for his gun and his sunglasses, oblivious to the fact that his life had just been saved.
"Ahem."
James turned to acknowledge Buffy, and she held a small gun and a pair of tinted sunglasses out towards him. He looked indignant, like he didn't appreciate the fact that Buffy had touched his things without asking. Yanking the objects away from her, he flicked the gun's safety switch back on and put it away in its holster, and placed the glasses in the left breast pocket of his suit jacket.
He cleared his throat and said, almost coldly, "Thank you, Miss . . ."
"Buffy," she said again. "Didn't you hear me the first time, or were you too busy making sure no one had taken your toys?"
"Buffy?" smirked James. Honestly, he thought. Where do these names come from?
"Um... excuse me? I just saved your life! If I didn't make it here in time you would've been vamp chow! A simple 'thank you' would make my day, because it sure as hell hasn't been a good one!"
James frowned, and his eyebrows knitted together.
"I beg your pardon?" he said. Then he eyed the wooden stake that Buffy clutched in her hand.
Buffy followed his gaze and said, "Oh, crap. You're from outta town, aren't you."
"I work for the British government," James said, straightening his necktie. "The name's Bond. James Bond."
"Um . . . okay, Bond James Bond," Buffy said, unimpressed. "You prefer all of that, or do I just call you James?"
"James will do, thank you very much."
"Great. So what brings you to here?"
"Classified information, young lady, that I'm not at liberty to divulge."
"Please. Don't 'young lady' me. I'm nineteen going on forty-eight." She paused, and when James said nothing, she continued. "So if you're a spy," she said, "shouldn't you be out gratuitously blowing up buildings and motor vehicles or thwarting evil counterfeiters and their big, white Persian cats?"
James was exasperated. "I'm here on business," he said, as if addressing a lower form of life. "And if you must know, I'm looking for a stolen diamond. That is all I can say."
Buffy perked up.
"The Karlotte diamond?" she asked, interested.
"Yes. I suppose you've heard news of it locally."
"Uh-huh. Well, I'm looking for it too. Maybe I could help?"
James smirked again. "You? Adorable. Well, I suggest you go home, put on your jammies, and go to bed; this is a case better left to professionals, little girl."
There was the "little girl" again, twice in one night. Buffy was now decidedly irate. She had listened to authority figures talk to her this way all her life, and she was absolutely sick of it. All of her frustrations began to pour out when she confidently said, "Maybe it's okay for you to treat people that way back in jolly old England, but there's a lot you don't know about Sunnydale, smart guy. Not to sound . . . well . . . like you, but I'M the only professional around here. The cops, the FBI, the CIA . . . they're all on the outside looking in. They wanna play *my* game when they don't even know the rules."
"What are you talking about?"
"What do you think that thing was that almost ripped your neck open? Huh?"
"Obviously some drunk man with--"
"It was a vampire! They're real, and they're EVERYWHERE, and I kill them with these!" She held up her stake for James to see. "Ever seen one of these? In the movies, I guess, right? Bet you never thought some people actually have to use them every day of their lives. I don't know what they call your clubhouse over in the motherland, but I think you and all the other suits like you fall into the category of pompous, overstuffed jerks who think they know everything! Well, you don't. Not by a long shot."
James stared back at her without emotion.
"I think you're insane," he said.
"Fine. Think what you want. All I want to do is help you."
"I don't need help from anyone."
"This is Sunnydale, pal. New game plan, new set of rules. This town has the highest mortality rate of any other town in the country, and it's the idiots like you who turn into a statistic. You're the ones we have memorial services for every month. Some of those people were innocent . . . didn't deserve what they got . . . but you're the ones who make their own graves and sleep in them. I have information about the diamond, and information that'll keep you alive, but if you don't want it, I don't really care. We'll see how well you do when you run up against another 'drunk' guy." As she stomped away from him, she said, "I'll be looking for your obituary in the paper."
James just stood there dumbfounded. No one had EVER spoken to him that way before, save for M, and not even her words had been so harsh. This girl-- this Buffy--was a highly admirable individual, not to mention most intriguing. Clearly she knew something that he did not, and having to admit this was like subjecting his ego to a vat of acid. Maybe Buffy WAS telling the truth, and maybe she was as crazy as any of the criminal masterminds James had faced over the course of his career with the British Secret Intelligence Service. Either way, there was no question that she was fascinating, and James would not let her get away from him so easily.
"Wait!" he called after her.
Buffy impatiently and abruptly stopped in her tracks, raising her eyes heavenward as if pleading for divine assistance.
"What do you want?" she huffed.
"Well, I . . . exactly what KIND of information?"