Fic: Loaded For Bear (B:tVS/Dresden Files)
Title: Loaded For Bear
Author: Jedi Buttercup
Rating: PG-13
Challenge: twistedshorts: August 9, Theme Challenge (Winter)
Crossover: Dresden Files
Disclaimer: The words are mine; the worlds are not. I claim nothing but the plot.
Spoilers: Mid-"Proven Guilty" for Dresden Files; post-series AU for Buffyverse
Notes: For polgara_5. Part of the Handle With Care 'verse.
Summary: The second time I found Ms. Summers leaning against a vehicle outside my apartment, I was considerably less surprised-- and considerably more relieved-- to see her. 1200 words
The second time I found Ms. Summers leaning against a vehicle outside my apartment, I was considerably less surprised-- and considerably more relieved-- to see her.
She was also much more sensibly dressed-- for her, anyway-- in an ensemble of rugged dark jeans, a long-sleeved green silk shirt, and a pair of little black leather boots with two inch heels. Which was just as well. Much as I'd appreciated the acres of creamy skin and gentle curves of feminine flesh over lean muscle she'd had on display on her previous visit, this wasn't exactly a social occasion-- and she wasn't the only tough blonde within ten yards of me, either. The cost-benefit analysis of my devolving into drooling male at that juncture would not have been pretty.
"Buffy," I said, nodding to her as I approached Charity's minivan. "Good to see you. I wasn't sure Thomas would be able to reach you in time."
"He said it was urgent," she shrugged, then stepped away from the van. "Sounded like my kind of party." Something long and rigid moved with her as she approached, attached to her back; a scabbard of some kind, though I couldn't get a good look at the weapon from that angle.
Charity stiffened at my side at the young woman's flippant attitude, but her voice was coolly polite as she stepped forward, hand outstretched. "I'm Charity Carpenter," she said. "You're a friend of Harry's?"
Buffy smiled at her, a narrow, wry flash of teeth that was nonetheless about five times as warm as Charity's tone. "More like professional acquaintance with an option on friendship; I just met him a few months ago," she said, trading a firm grip with the older woman. Charity was several inches taller and much more visibly muscular than Buffy; but I had my suspicions about Buffy's ancestry, and she was at least as experienced in hand-to-hand combat as Murphy. She didn't back down.
"I'm Buffy Summers," she continued, as two sets of knuckles whitened. "I work with the Watcher's Council out of Cleveland; your husband's helped us out before, and I've had some experience with phages."
Charity relaxed a little at that, trading a nod with her. "Yes; I remember hearing about the Watchers. You work with a lot of girls Molly's age, don't you? Thank you for coming," she said.
"No problem." Buffy's smile gentled around the edges as they let go of one another's hands. "A lot of us were seventeen and in over our heads, once. We'll get your daughter back."
Murph had been suspiciously quiet while mother and Slayer introduced themselves; literally suspicious, eyeing the younger woman from head to toe with thoughtfully pursed lips. I winced. I'd told her a while back that I'd met one of the Watchers' key fighters, and then committed the epic fail-- Billy's wording-- of describing Buffy to her as Kincaid levels of badass in a Murphy-sized container.
I had not meant to imply that there was anything inferior about the contents of the original, but I can be a little slow, sometimes. She hadn't let me forget it for weeks.
"And you must be Lieutenant Murphy," Buffy said next, turning to the five-foot-and-change presence at my side.
Buffy had maybe an inch on her, minus heels; as they faced each other, hands out like weapons drawn, they looked as close to equals, visually, as I'd ever seen anyone with the petite director of Chicago's Special Investigations. Buffy was wearing more makeup, maybe, and her clothes had the edge in terms of price tag; but Murph made up for any monetary disadvantage with the sex-and-danger quotient inherent in a chick wearing guns. The blockbuster level of steel-jacketed cuteness going on in that handshake was going to live on in my memory for a long, long time.
I exchanged a quick glance with Thomas over the girl's heads, just to be sure it wasn't just me.
It wasn't. He raised an eyebrow back, a vague air of Hunger seeping into his expression, more than a trace of silver showing in the brightness of his gaze.
"Ms. Summers," Murphy replied, politely. "I've heard a lot about you from Harry."
Buffy grinned at her tone. "I'll bet you have. Which story did he tell, the one about the Black Court vamp and the totally egregious argument in fake Latin? Or the time he came to Cleveland on what was supposed to be Warden business and ended up covered in syrup and feathers in the Council House kitchen...?"
Murphy cocked an eyebrow at that last. "Do tell," she murmured to Buffy.
I replied with an exaggeratedly innocent expression. A guy's got to keep some secrets, doesn't he?
Buffy laughed. "Later, I promise."
"So which stories did he tell about me?" Murphy continued, intrigued.
"Enough to be glad you're coming with," Buffy replied, sobering again as she steered the conversation back to the order of the day. "Pretty smooth, taking down an agent of Faerie with a chainsaw. Too bad we can't take one with us today."
Murphy smirked. Yeah; she'd pretty much worn the monster-kicking boots in that particular endeavor. Tonight's Winter hunt wasn't going to be anywhere near that simple, but it was better to go in confident and loaded for bear than tiptoeing tremulously through the snowflakes. Buffy's years of experience were showing again; she'd been in the monster-hunting business at least as long as I had, despite being several years younger. I was very glad she'd made it in time to join us.
"And this is Thomas," I said, making the final introduction as my half-brother stepped forward.
Unlike Charity and Murphy, however, he stopped several feet shy of her, inclining his head respectfully. "Slayer," he said.
She stiffened in surprise-- and the sheathed weapon on her back suddenly lit the air around her with a tingling weight of energy that reminded me of nothing so much as the spiritual presence of Charity's husband's blade, the faith-imbued sword known as Amoracchius. "Vampire," she replied, warily.
I swallowed. Yeah, I'd kind of forgotten to share that tidbit before. "Is that going to be a problem?" I asked, carefully.
She turned to me, pupils wide and dark with surging adrenaline. "You trust him?"
I shrugged, as casually as I could manage. "He doesn't exactly sparkle, but you could call him a vegetarian," I said.
The tension in the air ratcheted down a notch at that; she snorted, and the watchful presence of the blade she wore dimmed again until it was almost unnoticeable. Almost, but not quite; it really did remind me of the swords borne by the Knights of the Cross, now that I knew it was there.
"I'll take your word on that for now," she said calmly, and nodded back at Thomas.
Introductions over with, we all piled in the minivan and headed out. I rode shotgun; Murphy and Buffy took the middle row of seats, and Thomas rode in the back, watching our six while I followed the magical trail toward Molly Carpenter.
It was going to be a rocky ride. I knew I'd be more than grateful for each one of my companions by the time we were through.
-~-
Author: Jedi Buttercup
Rating: PG-13
Challenge: twistedshorts: August 9, Theme Challenge (Winter)
Crossover: Dresden Files
Disclaimer: The words are mine; the worlds are not. I claim nothing but the plot.
Spoilers: Mid-"Proven Guilty" for Dresden Files; post-series AU for Buffyverse
Notes: For polgara_5. Part of the Handle With Care 'verse.
Summary: The second time I found Ms. Summers leaning against a vehicle outside my apartment, I was considerably less surprised-- and considerably more relieved-- to see her. 1200 words
The second time I found Ms. Summers leaning against a vehicle outside my apartment, I was considerably less surprised-- and considerably more relieved-- to see her.
She was also much more sensibly dressed-- for her, anyway-- in an ensemble of rugged dark jeans, a long-sleeved green silk shirt, and a pair of little black leather boots with two inch heels. Which was just as well. Much as I'd appreciated the acres of creamy skin and gentle curves of feminine flesh over lean muscle she'd had on display on her previous visit, this wasn't exactly a social occasion-- and she wasn't the only tough blonde within ten yards of me, either. The cost-benefit analysis of my devolving into drooling male at that juncture would not have been pretty.
"Buffy," I said, nodding to her as I approached Charity's minivan. "Good to see you. I wasn't sure Thomas would be able to reach you in time."
"He said it was urgent," she shrugged, then stepped away from the van. "Sounded like my kind of party." Something long and rigid moved with her as she approached, attached to her back; a scabbard of some kind, though I couldn't get a good look at the weapon from that angle.
Charity stiffened at my side at the young woman's flippant attitude, but her voice was coolly polite as she stepped forward, hand outstretched. "I'm Charity Carpenter," she said. "You're a friend of Harry's?"
Buffy smiled at her, a narrow, wry flash of teeth that was nonetheless about five times as warm as Charity's tone. "More like professional acquaintance with an option on friendship; I just met him a few months ago," she said, trading a firm grip with the older woman. Charity was several inches taller and much more visibly muscular than Buffy; but I had my suspicions about Buffy's ancestry, and she was at least as experienced in hand-to-hand combat as Murphy. She didn't back down.
"I'm Buffy Summers," she continued, as two sets of knuckles whitened. "I work with the Watcher's Council out of Cleveland; your husband's helped us out before, and I've had some experience with phages."
Charity relaxed a little at that, trading a nod with her. "Yes; I remember hearing about the Watchers. You work with a lot of girls Molly's age, don't you? Thank you for coming," she said.
"No problem." Buffy's smile gentled around the edges as they let go of one another's hands. "A lot of us were seventeen and in over our heads, once. We'll get your daughter back."
Murph had been suspiciously quiet while mother and Slayer introduced themselves; literally suspicious, eyeing the younger woman from head to toe with thoughtfully pursed lips. I winced. I'd told her a while back that I'd met one of the Watchers' key fighters, and then committed the epic fail-- Billy's wording-- of describing Buffy to her as Kincaid levels of badass in a Murphy-sized container.
I had not meant to imply that there was anything inferior about the contents of the original, but I can be a little slow, sometimes. She hadn't let me forget it for weeks.
"And you must be Lieutenant Murphy," Buffy said next, turning to the five-foot-and-change presence at my side.
Buffy had maybe an inch on her, minus heels; as they faced each other, hands out like weapons drawn, they looked as close to equals, visually, as I'd ever seen anyone with the petite director of Chicago's Special Investigations. Buffy was wearing more makeup, maybe, and her clothes had the edge in terms of price tag; but Murph made up for any monetary disadvantage with the sex-and-danger quotient inherent in a chick wearing guns. The blockbuster level of steel-jacketed cuteness going on in that handshake was going to live on in my memory for a long, long time.
I exchanged a quick glance with Thomas over the girl's heads, just to be sure it wasn't just me.
It wasn't. He raised an eyebrow back, a vague air of Hunger seeping into his expression, more than a trace of silver showing in the brightness of his gaze.
"Ms. Summers," Murphy replied, politely. "I've heard a lot about you from Harry."
Buffy grinned at her tone. "I'll bet you have. Which story did he tell, the one about the Black Court vamp and the totally egregious argument in fake Latin? Or the time he came to Cleveland on what was supposed to be Warden business and ended up covered in syrup and feathers in the Council House kitchen...?"
Murphy cocked an eyebrow at that last. "Do tell," she murmured to Buffy.
I replied with an exaggeratedly innocent expression. A guy's got to keep some secrets, doesn't he?
Buffy laughed. "Later, I promise."
"So which stories did he tell about me?" Murphy continued, intrigued.
"Enough to be glad you're coming with," Buffy replied, sobering again as she steered the conversation back to the order of the day. "Pretty smooth, taking down an agent of Faerie with a chainsaw. Too bad we can't take one with us today."
Murphy smirked. Yeah; she'd pretty much worn the monster-kicking boots in that particular endeavor. Tonight's Winter hunt wasn't going to be anywhere near that simple, but it was better to go in confident and loaded for bear than tiptoeing tremulously through the snowflakes. Buffy's years of experience were showing again; she'd been in the monster-hunting business at least as long as I had, despite being several years younger. I was very glad she'd made it in time to join us.
"And this is Thomas," I said, making the final introduction as my half-brother stepped forward.
Unlike Charity and Murphy, however, he stopped several feet shy of her, inclining his head respectfully. "Slayer," he said.
She stiffened in surprise-- and the sheathed weapon on her back suddenly lit the air around her with a tingling weight of energy that reminded me of nothing so much as the spiritual presence of Charity's husband's blade, the faith-imbued sword known as Amoracchius. "Vampire," she replied, warily.
I swallowed. Yeah, I'd kind of forgotten to share that tidbit before. "Is that going to be a problem?" I asked, carefully.
She turned to me, pupils wide and dark with surging adrenaline. "You trust him?"
I shrugged, as casually as I could manage. "He doesn't exactly sparkle, but you could call him a vegetarian," I said.
The tension in the air ratcheted down a notch at that; she snorted, and the watchful presence of the blade she wore dimmed again until it was almost unnoticeable. Almost, but not quite; it really did remind me of the swords borne by the Knights of the Cross, now that I knew it was there.
"I'll take your word on that for now," she said calmly, and nodded back at Thomas.
Introductions over with, we all piled in the minivan and headed out. I rode shotgun; Murphy and Buffy took the middle row of seats, and Thomas rode in the back, watching our six while I followed the magical trail toward Molly Carpenter.
It was going to be a rocky ride. I knew I'd be more than grateful for each one of my companions by the time we were through.
-~-