Disclaimer: I don't own House or Buffy the Vampire Slayer.
Description: Sequel to Drinks and Dead Moms, but not that closely related.
Note: Sorry in advance because I haven't watched House in a long time, so I wasn't quite sure on how to write him.
__Why does this always happen to me?
Here she was, lonely, drinking in another shithole bar, in another shithole town. But to be fair, you did ask for this one. You said you wanted to come alone, that you didn’t need Willow or Giles.
And this was true, Buffy had volunteered for this mission herself. Actually, she had stolen the mission from Carrie, a younger and very inexperienced slayer. Buffy felt a little bad about that, stealing the girl’s breakout mission, but hey, any excuse to jet off to some sleazy city, do her job, and then spend Council money drinking was a good excuse for Buffy.
The mission had been simple, drive to New Jersey, desecrate some poor old woman’s grave, steal her necklace, and go back to Canada. It really was not a job for the longest-living slayer ever, and Buffy had made easy work of it, shoveling dirt back into the grave just as the sun started to come up on her first night there.
So now she lounged in this bar, playing absentmindedly with the straw in her diet coke, staring at the wall. She didn’t have to be back at Willow’s house for two days, and she really didn’t want to go back early.
Of course, it didn’t help that she was alone. She should have just brought Willow with her. Willow loved sight-seeing, and Buffy was sure she could have found something interesting to see around this place.
She fingered the cell phone tucked in her back pocket and thought about calling her, asking her to poof over to her hotel room, when she saw him.
He was sitting at the other end of the bar, watching her. And not in that covert manner either, he was just looking at her over the top of his beer. He wasn’t leering or ogling, just watching, which didn’t particularly put Buffy at ease. Except that she wasn’t getting any evil tingling sensations from anyone in the bar, which meant that maybe he was just some weird guy with a cane watching her.
Just a guy in a bar watching a girl in a bar.
“Hi, will you send that man down there another beer?”
She watched scruffy cane man glance at the waitress when she brought the beer, and then back at Buffy.
And he smiled a little, a very small, very barely noticeable smile that hid behind his gruff exterior and his beard. And then he looked down at his phone, and stood.
It was a very sober Buffy that had walked into that bar that night, and it was an extremely drunk Buffy that walked out.
Walked out of some random bar in some strange city, following this broken, hardened man with a limp and a cane and walls even thicker than hers, completely drunk.
Drunk simply on the color of his eyes.