Title :: Family
Rating :: FR15
Disclaimer :: Burn Notice and all related characters are copyright Matt Nix, Fox Television Studios & The USA Network. Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all related characters are copyright Joss Whedon and ME. No infringement intended.
Synopsis :: People usually aren’t born monsters. They’re created and more often then not, that fact makes them more human, than less. A constant is someone, or something, in a spy’s life that reminds them of who they are or who they once were. It could be anything from a phone call once a year to your mother on her birthday or a wife, a family—the latter could cause you some difficultly.
Though some of us are brave, or stupid, enough to give it a try because we need that tactile memento of why we fight. Some make it work and they walk that fine line between truth and lies.
And the others… well, some don’t make it and lose everything. ~*~
The gentle whoosh of the ceiling fan lulled Buffy’s head to the side, the plastic clip holding her hair up and away from her face slipped, allowing a few pieces to fall forward. Ignoring them, for the moment, she turned the page in her newest fashion magazine—she had a small sickness, this she knew—as her husband came, lifted her feet from the couch cushion and settled down with them in his lap. Green eyes narrowed when she felt his more then adequate hands dig into the arch of her left foot and she lowered the magazine to her lap, brow arching.
“Where are you going now?” Blue eyes squinted, lines gathering around the corners as he smiled at her and pushed in just enough to shutter her gaze, head falling back as she growled, “You fight dirty.”
His laughter brought her head back up and a small smile to lift the corners of her mouth as he prompted, “Where’s Alex?”
“Your son is asleep.”
His hands moved up her to her ankles, rolling it through its full range of motion before they slid over her calf and cupped it, digging his fingers into the tired muscles as he asked, “So I have you all to myself?”
Extracting her leg from his too distracting hands she shot back, “Until you leave.”
He sighed, hands falling to his lap as he countered, “You know I like what I do. I enjoy it.”
Buffy sighed and dropped the magazine to the tiled floor of their living room before pulling her legs up, tucking them under her as she came to her knees and crawled across the small space to her husband. She caught his hands, raised them up and slid one leg over his waist until her thighs cupped his and she was staring into his not so amused face and rolled her eyes. “There’s this thing called humor. You should look into it.”
Those blue eyes narrowed as he freed his hands from hers and cupped her hips, spread his fingers wide as he looked up at her, still frowning. “I’m not sure what I’d do without you.”
She smiled. “Become a misanthropic tight-ass with zero to no sense of fun?”
The corners of his eyes gathered again as Buffy leaned closer, her mouth hovering over his as he snarked, “I’m not sure I like how quick that response was.”
“Too bad,” was breathed against his mouth and the hands spanning her hips tensed, fingers pressing deeper as she whispered, “Tell me where you’re going and I’ll do that thing you like.”
With a muffled groan, he muttered, “Mexico,” before his hands slipped up her back to cup her shoulders, pull her down enough so that her lips were pressed tight to his and his tongue was suddenly filling her mouth. Sweeping against her own and she made a pleased sound in the back of her throat as he did that thing she
liked against the roof of her mouth.
One of his hands slipped free of her back to grasp the clip she wore, tugged it free of her hair and had the long length of it cascading around them and Buffy pulled back, smirking down at her husband before he startled her into silence with, “Come with me?”
She blinked, mouth opening, closing before she finally managed, “What about Alex?”
“The home office said it’s a simple enough mission.” He leaned forward, nipped at her bottom lip and prompted, “Be my cover?”
She tilted her chin back, presenting him with her throat as she pondered aloud, “Mexico? Well, it is warm and somewhat like California.” He made an affirmative sound against the warm skin of her neck and Buffy sighed, “We could teach Alex Spanish.” A line appeared between her brows as she quickly amended, “Well, you
could teach our son Spanish.”
His teeth scraped downward, mouth burrowing in the hollow where shoulder and neck met before he whispered, “I could.”
“And you think it’s safe?”
The concern in her voice pulled him back from her skin and Buffy looked down at him, only a little disappointed to lose the feel of his mouth, as he studied her before stating, voice soft, “No less safe then living on a Hellmouth.”
“Good point.” The line between her brows smoothed and Buffy flashed him a wicked grin, “Let’s do it!”
His hands fisted in her hair, brought her mouth back down to his and Buffy sank into the embrace, welcomed the feel of his hands exploring her body and returned the favor. She did that thing he liked and more. Leaving them panting, limbs sweat-slick and intertwined as they lay curled together on the narrow couch and Buffy traced idle patterns on his flushed chest before murmuring,
“Victor?” He gave a content ‘hmm’ and Buffy finished with, “What would
you do without me?” ~*~A spy knows that their world can self-destruct at a moment’s notice. That all their hard work, all their prep work, can slip away and leave them unarmed before the enemy—or worse yet—before their own reflection. It can’t be easy to raise a family when you’re gone more often then when you’re home.
This isn’t a life I’d share.
A life in which all your choices, all your decisions have to do with following orders and procuring intel doesn’t leave you open to making connections.
It leaves you closed and that leaves you alive.
And very much alone. The End.