Pairing # Buffy Summers / Nick Fury (Agent of SHIELD)
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters, no money made, no copyright infringement intended.
Spoilers: Season Seven of Buffy, the first Anchor FFA
Word Count: 500
He saw her sitting on his bed. He stopped. He was surprised and stunned. It was an odd moment. The last person who had been in this apartment, had sat there. Her mother had sat there. It had been years.
Why was she sitting there, in the exact same spot?
The photo from his dresser was in her lap. The light yellow sweater from his closet lay beside her. Those were his only possessions from that stolen time.
He knew that the Slayer wasn’t as dumb as she pretended to be, but would she see all the implications? He hoped not.
“You were Brian,” she said softly.
“Did you ever tell her your real name?”
“No.” He never had the chance. He had left for an emergency, a mutant standoff, and Joyce had been dead of brain cancer before he had returned. He was too professional for ‘what ifs.’
“You made her spin in new dresses and giggle.”
Nick Fury felt ridiculously proud of the accomplishment. Being one of the most powerful people on the planet only left one marginally satisfied at the end of the day.
She finally tore her gaze away from the picture of her mother and looked at him. What did this Summers woman see?
“Are you going to give Dana back?” She finally got down to business.
Nick considered it. The Council had been very careful and Dana’s escape from their custody had been sheer hap-chance. SHIELD had picked up the criminally insane Slayer. The Council was unlikely to let it happen again. Did he want to upset the Council? Did he want to upset this Slayer? There were several security devices within this apartment that would give him a decided edge in a fight, but did he want to upset this Daughter?
“Yes,” he said.
Buffy nodded. “Good. I’d hate to have to beat up another of Mom’s boyfriends.” She brushed her fingers across the face of her mother one last time before setting the picture aside. She stood and walked to the door. “She was my anchor too,” she said. Then the Oldest Slayer left.
How had she found this place? Probably the Witch. Would he move? Did he want to leave the memories, the nick-knacks, the smell of Joyce behind for a more secure location? No. Would he? Probably.
He picked up the sweater and hung it up in the closet. He picked up the picture and put in its spot on his dresser. The frame had anchors on it. It had been a sentimental whim when he had bought it. He could not afford sentimental whims in his line of work. He brushed the dust of the picture. He brushed dust off the memory. He remembered the sun, the laughter in her eyes, the cotton of her sundress.
It was time to move. To move on. He would.
First he had a call to make to SHIELD HQ. The Slayer was her mother’s daughter and he would keep his word.