A Stitch In Time - 2 | BtVS / Magnificent Seven (old west) | FRT
Title: A Stitch In Time - 2
Author: Beriaearwen
Crossover: Buffy the Vampire Slayer / The Magnificent Seven (pre-series)
Characters: Buffy Summers, Chris Larabee
Rating: Suitable for people over 13
Word Count: 1394
Disclaimer: The characters of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and The Magnificent Seven belong to their respective creators, production companies, etc. and are used here without permission. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: Another day, another duel - maybe
A Stitch In Time - 2
By Beriaearwen
With a groan, Chris deliberated whether or not it would be worth it to just shoot the little man and sleep off enough of his hangover to be able to stagger downstairs and get some more whiskey. He'd finished his last bottle...
He tried to figure out what time it was, but the throbbing in his head caused him to fail.
Just as he was reaching for his gun to shoot the man on the other side of his door, the rather loud sound of the slightly out of tune piano began below him, wrenching a groan from him as his hand reached for his temple, hoping to keep his head from exploding. “Fine,” he growled as loudly as he could.
With far more effort than it should have cost him, he managed to get his feet on the floor.
Once the room stopped spinning and his stomach settled back to the approximate place it should be, he pushed himself up to a standing position.
Eyes closed to keep the room from spinning again, he unerringly reached out for his gun belt and strapped it on.
Once he finished tying off the thigh strap, he staggered to the chair on which rested his coat.
Slipping that on, he shook himself once to try to focus, regretted it almost immediately and opened the door.
As he left the room, he sent a glare at the man who had been pounding on his door. A cruelly satisfied grin appeared on his face as he saw the man cringe backward. Placing his hat on his head, he tipped it downward to block the dim light of the hallway which felt more like a hot poker entering his eyes and headed out of the saloon.
As he stepped out into the late afternoon air, his head cleared a little more. A part of him wanted to smile at the easing of the pain, but he knew all too well that the pain of his loss would be back in no time, tormenting him, torturing him with no hope of deliverance except in death. And, if he were honest, he couldn't be sure that he would see them even in death. They were the one good and pure thing in his life and now that he'd lost them he had nothing to look forward to except for an eternity in Hell.
Shaking off those thoughts for the moment, he headed toward the restaurant across the street. It wasn't that he wanted the food, but he knew he'd have to have it.
As he settled down at his table, he wondered if tonight would be his last meal.
Five hours later, he set the empty bottle on the table and wondered if he could get another before he passed out.
It was then that some cow-hand came striding over to him. He ignored the kid as he normally did. He knew what was coming and honestly didn't care one way or the other. There was always a chance that the kid would be faster, shoot straighter, but Chris knew it wasn't a very big chance.
And it wasn't like that little blonde would show up again. He hadn't seen her in a couple months and there'd been a few duels since then. Half the men didn't even clear leather before their bodies hit the dirt.
He drank the last of his whiskey as he wondered why he bothered when none of their deaths did anything to make him feel better. Still, this is what he did, how he killed time until he got to find out what hell was really like.
The words the kid said barely registered, but they didn't need to. They both knew what this was about and, while dark wasn't his favorite time to duel, it wasn't the worst time either. Might as well keep the kid safe from himself and others safe from the kid.
Or find out what came after this life.
Either one.
He stood and watched as the kid wove his way out the door, barely able to stand straight. Or maybe that was Chris that couldn't stand straight.
He got out of the saloon and was about to step into the street when a tinkling laugh sounded and small, feminine arms wrapped around him.
“There you are,” the cheerful voice said. “You ready to come home now, Jeb?”
He looked down and blinked, trying to focus on the woman's face. He squinted to see if that helped. It didn't but, he had a sudden memory of this same woman stopping another duel.
Before he could say anything, the other man approached. “His name ain't Jeb,” he protested. “That's Chris Larabee.”
“Not again,” she whined.
Even in his drunken state, he could see the pout she sent his way. It was something else.
“I told you it would just keep leading to trouble if you insisted on dressing this way. But do you ever listen? No.”
“Hey!” the challenger called. “You can't talk to him that way. He's the fastest gun in the West and I'm going to out-draw him tonight.”
For just a moment, Chris could have sworn her face became deadly serious before she snorted and tossed her head. “Not likely. He can't even beat me. Why don't you go home and sleep it off? That's what he's about to do.
There was a bit more grumbling, but Chris didn't hear it. His whole attention was focused on the woman who still had an arm around him. He knew that even in his current state there wasn't anyone who could beat him. His pride was pricked. Just as he opened his mouth to say so, she reached up and covered his mouth with her hand.
“Don't say it. You do this every time you get drunk. I swear you're some kind of obsessed with this man.”
The other man finally headed off and the blonde led him away from the saloon. When they reached a dark alleyway, he dropped his arm around her shoulders and dragged her into the alley with him.
There was just enough light from the moon and stars that he could see her.
“I don't care how drunk I am, woman. No one can out-draw me.” His brow furrowed as he tried to understand the look she was giving him.
“Fine,” she said. “Let's prove it. If you can get your gun before I do, I'll leave you alone to find that kid again and challenge him. But, if I get the gun before you do, then you'll go to the hotel and sleep this off.”
Chris snorted at the ridiculousness of the statement. There was no way she would get to his gun before he did. “Suit yourself,” he offered with a smirk.
“Hands down at your side,” she stated. “On three. One. Two. Three.”
Confident his gun would be there, Chris' hand hit his empty holster a second before his brain registered that he was looking down the barrel of his own gun.
Suddenly feeling much more sober, he swallowed. “Guess you win.”
“Guess I do,” she agreed with a nod. Taking a step closer, she returned his gun to his holster and slipped her arm around his. “Now let's get you to the hotel so you can sleep this off.”
Without protest he followed, shaken by the fact he hadn't even seen her move.
The next morning, when he woke up, he found himself, not unexpectedly, alone. He knew she stayed only long enough to make sure he would survive the night and then left.
His head was pounding again, but he was more used to that than not. What he was beginning to wonder, though, was who the blonde was and why she showed up when she did.
Maybe...
He shook his head and rubbed his hair. No. He would never imagine such things, they just couldn't happen.
A knock on the door distracted him from his thoughts.
“Yeah,” he called out.
“We're here with your tub and hot water, sir,” a voice said from the other side of the door.
“Hold on,” he called, standing and wondering what the blonde woman's obsession was with him having a bath. It wasn't like he didn't take one every month or so...
End
Author: Beriaearwen
Crossover: Buffy the Vampire Slayer / The Magnificent Seven (pre-series)
Characters: Buffy Summers, Chris Larabee
Rating: Suitable for people over 13
Word Count: 1394
Disclaimer: The characters of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and The Magnificent Seven belong to their respective creators, production companies, etc. and are used here without permission. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: Another day, another duel - maybe
A Stitch In Time - 2
By Beriaearwen
With a groan, Chris deliberated whether or not it would be worth it to just shoot the little man and sleep off enough of his hangover to be able to stagger downstairs and get some more whiskey. He'd finished his last bottle...
He tried to figure out what time it was, but the throbbing in his head caused him to fail.
Just as he was reaching for his gun to shoot the man on the other side of his door, the rather loud sound of the slightly out of tune piano began below him, wrenching a groan from him as his hand reached for his temple, hoping to keep his head from exploding. “Fine,” he growled as loudly as he could.
With far more effort than it should have cost him, he managed to get his feet on the floor.
Once the room stopped spinning and his stomach settled back to the approximate place it should be, he pushed himself up to a standing position.
Eyes closed to keep the room from spinning again, he unerringly reached out for his gun belt and strapped it on.
Once he finished tying off the thigh strap, he staggered to the chair on which rested his coat.
Slipping that on, he shook himself once to try to focus, regretted it almost immediately and opened the door.
As he left the room, he sent a glare at the man who had been pounding on his door. A cruelly satisfied grin appeared on his face as he saw the man cringe backward. Placing his hat on his head, he tipped it downward to block the dim light of the hallway which felt more like a hot poker entering his eyes and headed out of the saloon.
As he stepped out into the late afternoon air, his head cleared a little more. A part of him wanted to smile at the easing of the pain, but he knew all too well that the pain of his loss would be back in no time, tormenting him, torturing him with no hope of deliverance except in death. And, if he were honest, he couldn't be sure that he would see them even in death. They were the one good and pure thing in his life and now that he'd lost them he had nothing to look forward to except for an eternity in Hell.
Shaking off those thoughts for the moment, he headed toward the restaurant across the street. It wasn't that he wanted the food, but he knew he'd have to have it.
As he settled down at his table, he wondered if tonight would be his last meal.
Five hours later, he set the empty bottle on the table and wondered if he could get another before he passed out.
It was then that some cow-hand came striding over to him. He ignored the kid as he normally did. He knew what was coming and honestly didn't care one way or the other. There was always a chance that the kid would be faster, shoot straighter, but Chris knew it wasn't a very big chance.
And it wasn't like that little blonde would show up again. He hadn't seen her in a couple months and there'd been a few duels since then. Half the men didn't even clear leather before their bodies hit the dirt.
He drank the last of his whiskey as he wondered why he bothered when none of their deaths did anything to make him feel better. Still, this is what he did, how he killed time until he got to find out what hell was really like.
The words the kid said barely registered, but they didn't need to. They both knew what this was about and, while dark wasn't his favorite time to duel, it wasn't the worst time either. Might as well keep the kid safe from himself and others safe from the kid.
Or find out what came after this life.
Either one.
He stood and watched as the kid wove his way out the door, barely able to stand straight. Or maybe that was Chris that couldn't stand straight.
He got out of the saloon and was about to step into the street when a tinkling laugh sounded and small, feminine arms wrapped around him.
“There you are,” the cheerful voice said. “You ready to come home now, Jeb?”
He looked down and blinked, trying to focus on the woman's face. He squinted to see if that helped. It didn't but, he had a sudden memory of this same woman stopping another duel.
Before he could say anything, the other man approached. “His name ain't Jeb,” he protested. “That's Chris Larabee.”
“Not again,” she whined.
Even in his drunken state, he could see the pout she sent his way. It was something else.
“I told you it would just keep leading to trouble if you insisted on dressing this way. But do you ever listen? No.”
“Hey!” the challenger called. “You can't talk to him that way. He's the fastest gun in the West and I'm going to out-draw him tonight.”
For just a moment, Chris could have sworn her face became deadly serious before she snorted and tossed her head. “Not likely. He can't even beat me. Why don't you go home and sleep it off? That's what he's about to do.
There was a bit more grumbling, but Chris didn't hear it. His whole attention was focused on the woman who still had an arm around him. He knew that even in his current state there wasn't anyone who could beat him. His pride was pricked. Just as he opened his mouth to say so, she reached up and covered his mouth with her hand.
“Don't say it. You do this every time you get drunk. I swear you're some kind of obsessed with this man.”
The other man finally headed off and the blonde led him away from the saloon. When they reached a dark alleyway, he dropped his arm around her shoulders and dragged her into the alley with him.
There was just enough light from the moon and stars that he could see her.
“I don't care how drunk I am, woman. No one can out-draw me.” His brow furrowed as he tried to understand the look she was giving him.
“Fine,” she said. “Let's prove it. If you can get your gun before I do, I'll leave you alone to find that kid again and challenge him. But, if I get the gun before you do, then you'll go to the hotel and sleep this off.”
Chris snorted at the ridiculousness of the statement. There was no way she would get to his gun before he did. “Suit yourself,” he offered with a smirk.
“Hands down at your side,” she stated. “On three. One. Two. Three.”
Confident his gun would be there, Chris' hand hit his empty holster a second before his brain registered that he was looking down the barrel of his own gun.
Suddenly feeling much more sober, he swallowed. “Guess you win.”
“Guess I do,” she agreed with a nod. Taking a step closer, she returned his gun to his holster and slipped her arm around his. “Now let's get you to the hotel so you can sleep this off.”
Without protest he followed, shaken by the fact he hadn't even seen her move.
The next morning, when he woke up, he found himself, not unexpectedly, alone. He knew she stayed only long enough to make sure he would survive the night and then left.
His head was pounding again, but he was more used to that than not. What he was beginning to wonder, though, was who the blonde was and why she showed up when she did.
Maybe...
He shook his head and rubbed his hair. No. He would never imagine such things, they just couldn't happen.
A knock on the door distracted him from his thoughts.
“Yeah,” he called out.
“We're here with your tub and hot water, sir,” a voice said from the other side of the door.
“Hold on,” he called, standing and wondering what the blonde woman's obsession was with him having a bath. It wasn't like he didn't take one every month or so...
End