Title: Tabula Rasa
By: sarapallas
Rating: PG
Challenge: #9 Buffy titles
Spoilers: none
Disclaimer: Bruckheimer CBS etc.
Word Count: 365
Summary: The wind wraps around you like a scarf, and it's quite possible that you don't want to leave here, ever.

***

i. and your heart is full of little arrows

Earlier; Warrick, in the locker room, are you going to Cath's party? and you were all, she's having a party? Hid your surprise by shoving your face into the depths of your locker, pretending to search for something.

At first, because you're naturally suspicious, you thought she was trying to exclude you, but no; she told you about it later that morning, when you were leaning naked out of her window, smoking, and she was twisting restlessly in the sheets.

Before you moved to Vegas you always, always had this stereotype of clandestine relationships as taking place in the evening. Funny how working night shifts turn everything upside down (or maybe it's just this job, with this these people; you'll never be entirely sure).

The bottle clutched in your hand is half-empty and cool against your burning forehead (but you're not sick). Through the glass you see the smeared brilliance of the city in the distance, and it occurs to you that she is Vegas. She appears to be lit from within by glitzy neon lights and alcohol-fuelled promises, but you know that there's nothing but brittle colored glass and meaningless words beneath the surface.


ii. find yourself a resting place

The wind wraps around you like a scarf, and it's quite possible that you don't want to leave here, ever. Sitting on the bonnet of your Tahoe in the middle of the Nevada desert, and it's so dark that you can hardly see your hand in front of your face.

Actually, you're not sure if you can feel your face. There are times, you think, when I want to drop off the face of the earth. Erase myself. But that could never happen, because you're a scientist, because you're pragmatic (a trait that Grissom taught you), because you don't own a time machine.

You see, everything was perfect, just perfect, and you, silly girl, had to push and push until the both of you came to the realization that one of you would stumble and fall (and you fell and fell and it was like freefalling through your own body onto her bed and. And.)

***