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Wish

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Summary: It was Friday afternoon and she was leaning against the same wall she always leant against. Drabble-fic. COMPLETE

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Anita Blake > Buffy-Centered(Moderator)FaithUnbreakableFR155436,613104902524,4332 Feb 0830 Mar 08Yes
CoA Winner

Pangs

A/N: I'm being naughty, giving you this chapter without having written a new one. Thanks you for the reviews. Would it be shameless to ask for more?

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Pangs

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Anita spent the next hour driving around town aimlessly, grabbing some take away dinner and then slowly making her way back to the Circus. Not to apologize. She was looking for Nathaniel. Nothing made her feel as safe as Nathaniel did and he wasn’t home, or answering his phone. She’d exchange a few quick words with her vampiric lover to test the waters, grab Nathaniel and then get home and crawl into bed with him.

And when she woke up the next morning, the world would be a better place. Right. She made her way downstairs and stepped into the living room under the Circus, only half surprised to see Jean-Claude sitting there, doing some paper work.

“I just met Elisabeth,” she offered in lieu of a proper greeting.

Unhurriedly, the vampire put down his papers and pen before turning o face her. His voice carried none of its usual charm as he asked, “Did you shoot her?”

Anita closed the door before leaning against it. She never trusted herself around Jean-Claude and that made arguing hard. So she stayed away.

“We talked,” she corrected.

“You did.” He actually sounded surprised. Bastard.

“Yes.” She was already hissing again. This wasn’t going the way it was supposed to. “Have you seen Nathaniel?”

“He is not here. Have you asked Micah?”

She nodded. “He’s not answering his phone. It’s his day off from Coalition emergencies.”

“Then I am afraid I cannot help you, ma petite. “ He wasn’t calling her by her name anymore. That was a good sign, right? Right? God, she was getting desperate in her old age.

“Is there…” She stopped, reconsidered her words and carefully asked, “Is there any new information on Summers?”

The look Jean-Claude gave her wasn’t cold, not exactly. Nor was it calculating. It was….an evaluation. He evaluated whether she was worth an answer, whether she was worth the truth. He didn’t automatically tell her what she wanted to know. That hurt. When had her men stopped trusting her?

“Asher has informed me recently that Miss Summers has a very interesting tattoo that might in fact be a prophecy and an explanation as to why she’s here.”

Immediately all warning signs in Anita’s head started blinking. Prophecies? Tattoos? To her that sounded a lot like some plot to get in to the Master’s good graces. But she bit her tongue. It was no use. The last few days had proved that without a doubt. Every time she tried to warn someone about Summers she got cut off and sent away like a naughty child. She’d be there when the shit hit the fan, but not a second earlier. Maybe they’d listen then.

Jean-Claude seemed to be waiting for a reaction so she gave a tiny nod.

“She also seems to have taken Damien under her wing,” he continued.

Another one of the men she considered hers was jumping ship. The pang of anger felt duller than usual and again she nodded before turning to the door.

“I got to get to work,” she said. It was a bold lie and they both knew it but the Master of the City merely inclined his head in goodbye and let her go. He didn’t yell. But he wasn’t kind to her either. Anita decided to take that as a good sign and gently closed the heavy wooden door behind her.

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There's an itty bitty chip of rock in my sock.
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