Those Who Know DeathAuthor: Koohii CafeRating:
Since I am a poor chickadee with no wealth to speak of, I think it's safe to say that neither BtVS nor Torchwood are mine. ^^;Written for: TtH August Fic A Day ChallengeSummary: Buffy's voice was unexpected, took him by surprise, although he should have known. After all, besides Jack, she was the logical choice. The only other person who knew what death was the way he did, who had experienced it first hand.Author's Notes:
Set mid-"A Day In the Death" for Torchwood. Set post "Chosen" for BtVS, no comics.
Those Who Know Death
"So, death, huh. Not all it's cracked up to be, is it?"
The voice was unexpected, took him by surprise, although he should have known. After all, besides Jack, she was the logical choice. The only other person who knew what death was the way he did, who had experienced it first hand. He sighed, eyes rolling upwards, and turned around slowly.
"Jack sent you, did he?" And there she was, with that bloody look of empathy she did so well, watching him. Like he was one of her pet projects. He really
wasn't in the mood. "Not necessary, really, I promise, so you can run along. Back to your- Council
, or whatever."
"He called me, yes, but he didn't send
me." He shot her a look, turned back away from her, back towards the damn coffee machine, but he could hear the rustling as she came up behind him, then she reached for his arm, her tiny hand settling lightly there. "He told me what happened, and I decided on my own to come visit. I kinda know a bit about the whole dying-and-coming-back thing."
"Not quite the same thing," he answered, jerking his arm back, throwing her hand off with the motion. "You died and came back to life, completely. I died and came back dead
"So I heard." And her hand was on his arm again, but this time, there was strength behind it. Not that he could really feel it, but he could tell; if he tried to yank away again, he'd end up looking foolish. He already looked foolish enough as it was. So he didn't yank, and instead just ignored her hand, reaching for the machine with his other hand.
"Yeah well, I'm not makin' you a cup too. Torchwood only, 'n you gave up that title years ago."
"Owen-" Her voice was soft, and he'd be damned if there wasn't a thread of hurt in her tone. Good. But she didn't stop there. "Owen, stop."
." Except he did stop, for a moment, to glare at her. Anger written in his eyes. "You're not part of this team anymore- got no business sailing in here like some hero here to save the day. No business with any of us, cause we're not the ones you chose. So just turn around, Buffy. Get your hand off me and stop actin' like you're concerned: you're not, and you haven't been for a long time."
She didn't answer. He glared for a second longer, then turned stiffly to the machine. Her hand slipped from his arm and there was a moment of silence. Then, a card was slipped to the counter beside the machine, just in his line of sight.
"Call me when your tantrum's over," she told him, her number typed in clean letters on the card. Then she was gone. Good riddance.
As he finished the coffee and loaded the mugs onto a tray, the card somehow found its way to his pocket.