So I tried to come up with the strangest possible individual for someone to wake up next to. I think I succeeded. Buffy of course was created by Joss Whedon, and the crossover character by the Martin Agency.
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Headache-ridden, achy, nauseated, she woke up. She could say that she knew spending a weekend in Las Vegas was a bad idea, but truth be told, it was the best idea they could come up with; she and Faith had both recently broken up with their now not-particularly-significant others and Faith was, as she out it, "Itchin' for a weekend of booze and sex."
She didn't remember if the sex part had happened, but the way her head felt, she was pretty sure she'd had more than enough in the alcohol department. Never mind that alcohol and Buffy were non-mixy things, last night she hadn't cared.
This morning she sure as hell did, though. Why couldn't those grumpy old men who'd created the Slayer have given her the ability to recover quickly from a hangover? ("Because they were bastards" seemed necessary, but not sufficient.)
Well, she may as well get the day started. She opened one eye.
Or tried to. The stupid thing seemed determined to stay closed.
Well, she'd show it who was boss. She'd taken on Gods, vampires, demons, and Harmony; she could handle opening one eye.
One burst of willpower later and . . . success! Her left eye was now open!
And the light from the nearby window shone directly into her eye, causing her even more pain. Ha ha
, her eye told her. See what happens when you ignore me
, Buffy said back.Me? You're the one having the mental conversation with your own eye.
She decided to ignore the eye this time, and looked quickly around the room. The good news was that she was in her own room, by herself (as it should be; the revived Watchers' Council wasn't swimming in money, but they could pop for a couple of hotel rooms on the Vegas strip).
The bad news was that piece of paper propped up on the nightstand. It was blurry and out-of-focus, but damned if it didn't say "marriage certificate" at the top.
She couldn't read the spouse's name -- she could see "G G" as the initials, but that was about it.
Terrific. She'd married the Gilmore Girls.
But if she'd gotten married, where was her spouse? She didn't hear the shower running and she couldn't feel a presence on the other side of the bed --
at least, nothing heavy.
A horrible fear was beginning to overtake her. Flashes of memory -- a chipper British accent, and someone who was very, very short, and being stalked by a balding man.
Buffy had vague memories of shoving the man into the hotel fountain.'
Ignoring the screams from her hangover-stricken body, she rolled over in place, opened her second eye, and stared at who was in bed next to her.
He woke up. "Hello, love," he said.
"This -- this can't be real," Buffy said, springing out of bed as fast as her aching body would allow her to.
"No worries. We haven't done anything illegal. Wouldn't have let me into the States if I hadn't been. I'm just as much a legal person as you are."
"But you're not a person! You're a lizard!" Buffy said in horror.
"Gecko, to be precise. Say, while you're waiting, would you like to hear how you could save 15% or more on your car insurance?"