Joss owns Buffy, Numb3rs was created by Nicolas Falacci & Cheryl Heuton . I write for fun, not for profit.Summary:
Collection of one-shots written around one-word prompts given by reviewers. Multiple fandomsA/N:
I asked for one word prompts from my reviewers of Sunrise on the White House
and Shaken, Not Stirred
as a way to get my creative juices flowing again. If you have a word, please leave it in a review and I may get inspired. :DWarning:
Mentions of casual sex between consenting adults. Prompt A/N:
I am TOTALLY blaming this on a three-day Numb3rs marathon via Netflix. Really, that's the best reason I have for why this idea came to me when thinking of the prompt. *shakes head*Prompter: ozseaside
/wāk/ Verb: Emerge or cause to emerge from a state of sleep; stop sleeping.
Noun: A watch or vigil held beside the body of someone who has died, sometimes accompanied by ritual observances including eating and drinking.
They'd originally met at a wake. They'd both been at the funeral for a man they'd both knew, both respected. He'd died in defense of his country and he was buried in Arlington but the pomp and circumstance of the army service was overshadowed by the wake organized by the Council.
Miller had taken him with, said since he knew the truth, he wasn't going to the uninitiated wake. He'd gone in with the captain-turned-major who'd requested an honorable discharge a month after the funeral. He'd seen few men, a shit ton of women with familiar looks in their eyes, and gone to get a drink.
She'd been wandering around, speaking quietly to various people, calm and collected in the face of death. It had been a direct contrast to her sister, who, though she'd long ago given up on any sort of future with Finn, was barely holding herself together. Something about guilt and anger and harsh words that should have never been said.
The tall brunette had introduced herself and Ian had been taken back to a story told around a campfire, Finn groaning and turning red as his team all laughed at the story coming from Miller's mouth. A story of a first meeting, a then thirteen year old girl being completely unimpressed with her sisters new boyfriend, demanding to know why she hadn't chosen the “yummier” Miller, and then kicking Finn when he tried calling her sweetheart. He remembered thinking he'd like to meet the girl, just to see if she was still the spitfire the story indicated she was. He didn't see a whole lot of that fire in his line of work—it was something to be treasured.
Ian had been working as a sniper for years, knew a lot of good men and women. He was a ghost, a drifter, rarely staying in one place for longer than it took to get his target. Only once...once he'd managed to find a place that he thought could hold him. With Finn, Finn, Miller, Smith...they were a good group, never staying in place for long either, though they tended to keep to South America at least.
He'd been hunting a sick SOB down in the jungles, ran into something he'd never actually believed existed. In the end, he'd had his ass saved by Lady Finn and his target had had his head eaten off by something that could keep walking after a dozen or so bullets was put in its body.
After the debrief, he'd decided to stay. Getting approval to tag along was ridiculously easy and he spent almost three months wandering Brazil, Bolivia, and Peru with the team. He'd gotten into enough scraps to last a regular guy a life-time and learned that some things couldn't be taken down with a single shot to the head.
Then he'd gotten a new case, direct from the brass, and he'd left. He kept in contact with Captain Miller, Major Finn and his wife, who'd hated his nickname for her, and whenever they were in the same general location, they tried to meet up. Last time it had been in Rio, when Finn told him about the true insanity that was Sunnydale, the crater town. The DRI teams were being disbanded, as the supposed HST's were running scared, and good old Uncle Sam didn't see the point of funding a group of demon hunters when they had destined ones who did a hell of a better job and for free to boot. The last mission they were to go on ended up truly being the Finn's last—it had SNAFU'd in the worst possible way. Miller was one of only four that survived out of a team of two dozen.
Lady Finn's parents had told the government to fuck off and buried her in the family section of their small-town cemetery. Finn's parents, though devastated at the loss of their son, had agreed to Arlington, as they figured he'd have been happy being among his comrades.
Ian spent most of the wake talking with Dawn, who, he discovered, was still the spitfire from the story, only older. Even in mourning for a man she'd never truly forgiven for hurting her sister, she'd matched him word for word, drink for drink...act for act.
Despite what her family thought, he never took her to bed that first meeting. Like with the Finn's, he kept in contact with her, stopping by New York (where she lived) when they both had some free time. Buffy had been furious with Dawn; she Didn't Approve of Ian, who “hunted people for a living” and was “old.” He'd been surprised when he'd first realized the age thing was actually secondary to his job—that was, until Miller had filled him in on Buffy's own past exploits. Even for Buffy, it was hard to be disapproving of a eighteen year age gap when you'd dated a man who'd had his bicentennial
The thing Buffy failed to realize, however, was that it wasn't actually serious. It was casual at best, one-night stands at worst. Neither one was faithful when apart and there was unspoken agreement that if either found someone more permanent, it would end, no hurt feelings. Once Xander, Willow, and Giles had realized that, and that it worked for them both, they'd gotten along a lot better with him.
Two years into his casual affair, he'd met Charlie Eppes the first time. He remembered thinking, looking at the guy, that either he and Dawn would get along like a house on fire or want to tear each others throats out within minutes of meeting.
Then Cromwell came into the picture. Ian was in LA for paperwork reasons, the bane of his existence, when he'd found Team Eppes in the middle of a case that involved young girls no one could find, a lot of money exchanging hands, and seemingly no way into the situation legally. The only thing they had was a pad of paper with written numbers, a code, written by the detective who'd gone missing trying to break into the organization. Charlie thought he had managed to decode the numbers into something they could actually read but most of the words and sentences made absolutely no sense. On the one page he'd seen, he'd recognized only a dozen words and only three had been in English.
Getting a hunch, he'd called Dawn, asking her to come down from where she was visiting friends in San Francisco. Given everything she'd been through, her clearance was even higher than Charlie's so she could consult with little problem. She'd agreed to come and had arrived when most of the team had gone out for follow-ups. Only Granger, who'd been recovering from a gunshot at the time, had been there. He'd taken one look at the brunette, paled a bit, and then proceeded to help her in any way possible. It took years for Ian to discover that the Chinese had apparently briefed Granger on the demon-world and the fighters that should be avoided and, barring that, assisted in any way possible.
Ian still remembered with fond amusement the expression on Don and Charlie's faces when they walked into the conference room and found Dawn surrounded by the number translation, making it comprehensible for them to actually understand.
While Don ranted Ian out about bringing in a “civilian” on a federal case, Ian had been watching Charlie and Dawn. There had been a brief stand-off, where neither was sure what to do, before Charlie saw Dawn's partial translations of his own decoded work. A quick question, a quick answer, and Charlie was dragging a stool over and going over the work with her, pointing things out and looking more and more awed at the brunette's command of languages and history. Dawn, for her part, kept getting glassy-eyed when Charlie started talking math and it was Ian's chuckling at the picture they made that finally got Don to stop lecturing him long enough to realize what was happening a few feet away.
Once Dawn had shown Don her clearance, he'd had it confirmed, and Dawn finished the translation she'd started, they had the proof they needed to nail the bastards. While Ian and Don had gone to make the arrests, they'd left Charlie and Dawn in the office, talking quietly about something neither fed understood.
Two months and Charlie breaking things off with Amita later, he was only a little surprised when Dawn moved to California to teach languages at UCLA.