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Title: Restless
By: sarapallas
Rating: PG
Challenge: #9 Buffy titles
Spoilers: none
Disclaimer: Bruckheimer CBS etc.
Word Count: MS Word tells me 400. Score.
Summary: But you weren't looking to be prey tonight.

***

i.
(It used to be that driving would calm you down. You'd climb into the car, all tense shoulders and awkward angles, and gradually, as the road slid under your wheels and the streetlamps flickered against the dark, your breathing would slow; your fingers would unclench from the wheel and your headache would slither away into the shadows.)


ii.
This, the voice in the back of your head mutters, is very ill-advised, and you wonder why it hasn't been drowned out by all those spiked whatevers that some stranger insisted on buying you earlier this evening. You could see the curve of her body tilting slowly towards you, but you weren't looking to be prey tonight, so you waited, waited until she had the courage to whisper in your ear, and as she leaned forward you ducked neatly under her arm (all but ran out of the bar).

iii.
You go through the motions of looking through your phone book for her number; dial from a phone booth and pretend that you don't know it by heart. She snaps and snarls at you down the phone, says she's busy, damnit, that someone else is round and yes, I do in fact have a life, Sara, even after you. And you, unashamed, silently beg, eyes wide though she can't see you, and it works (always does).


iv.
And now, you're padding down the streets in heels sharp as knives (but it's not like you know the way to her house from here by heat, either). This is so contrived, you say out loud, but actually, actually it's just a set of coincidences. This is what you tell yourself; your ride skipped on you. You drank too much. It is too far to walk home. There was no other sensible option (and you're a scientist, you are, so you should know).


v.
(You remember when she used to stumble into your apartment, vodka and smoke on her breath, her teeth bared in a lopsided smile that told you everything. Talk about role-reversal.) Cath opens the door, and her eyes run straight through you. You notice her fingers gripping the doorframe; indecision flickers in her irises.

She turns, shutting the door behind her. You hear her walking away. But she left it unlocked, and you wait for three drawn-out seconds (count them under your breath; one. two. three.) before reaching for the handle.

***