PROMPT: Gotta Catch ‘Em All! – Jason Todd has been Robin, Red Hood, Nightwing, Red Robin and Batman. Next: Batgirl!

( Some poor hood never saw this one coming... )

SUMMARY: Kay's moving in. And maybe moving on, in her way.

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Being a mechanoid, Kryten just didn’t understand how humans could have such lapses in memory regarding their own pasts. Take Mr. Lister, probably his favourite human ever. Despite the fact he’d done little but argue with Mr. Rimmer for the entire time they’d been together, as soon as Mr. Rimmer had left he’d started to miss him. Started to talk about him, talk about the good times, whatever they were supposed to have been. Started to dream about him; and despite Kryten’s best efforts, it seemed those dreams were persisting. He was depressed.

Kryten hated to see Mr. Lister sad, especially for such an irrational reason. After all, Mr. Rimmer had only ever been perfect for Kryten himself: obnoxious, unpleasant, a total smeee – well, anyway. Entirely unthreatening, unlike the woman on board now. With Mr. Rimmer on board, Kryten had been safe as Mr. Lister’s best friend. After all, there was no way Mr. Lister could ever have fallen in love with him. And yet, Mr. Lister persisted in his stubborn depression; for some unaccountable reason, he wanted Mr. Rimmer back.

At times like this, Kryten was glad he wasn’t human; at least there was nothing wrong with his memory.

Guildenstern’s face was buried in the crook of Rosencrantz’s neck, his arm flung heavily across his chest. Rosencrantz stirred, rolled over until they were lying nose to nose.

“It’s morning,” he observed, sleepily, “assuming, naturally, that when we went to bed it was night.”

“I don’t remember,” said Guildenstern, unconcerned, and his hand twisted in Rosencrantz’s hair as he leaned forward and kissed him.

For one moment, in the sunlight and the rumpled bed and the unruly tangle of limbs, there was perfection. Then the peace was broken.

Somebody was banging on the window. Someone who was calling their names.

SUMMARY: Vincent's had about as much as he can stand. Post-game sillyfic.

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The street is deserted, but you can feel the prickle of eyes on the back of your neck. It’s past three in the morning; you breathe dew instead of air. A slight breeze stirs the velvet drapes that serve as doors as you pass them. Darkness drips from the eves of buildings like moisture from the roof of a cave, leaving long stalagtites of shadow in its wake. The tramp of your boots echoes on the worn cobblestones, rude and out of place, and the fog rushes out and swirls around your feet to muffle them into quietness.

You must be quiet.

The breeze tugs at your sleeve impatiently, motioning you forward. You are at the door; the door you passed without seeing yesterday and many days before. Until a stranger met you at your club, and bought you drinks, and trickled red-tinged dreams of glory into your ear. Lastly, he whispered the name of this place. Where to come, when.

The door opens at your touch. A pale, featureless mask floats in the darkness behind it.

“Ah, you’re right on time.” The masked voice smiles. “Come in.”

The night reaches out a tendril, and pulls you into its heart.

"Bald men are sexy," Clark said to Chloe, blushing when he realised that Lex was standing right behind him.

Lex quirked an eyebrow, laying a casually possesive hand on Clark’s shoulder.

“Really?” he said, in a tone of innocent inquiry. “Do enlighten us.”

“Well, there’s – there’s – Captain Picard from Star Trek. He was sexy, wasn’t he?”

“I suppose so. And?”

Chloe was getting the distinct feeling that she was no longer a part of this conversation.

“And… um… the lead singer of Right Said Fred.”

“Clark! I’m impressed by your knowledge of music trivia. Anyone else?”

Clark turned his sweetest smile on him.

“Hmm… I’m not sure. No-one springs to mind.”

Lex’s answering smile swayed dangerously close to Clark’s lips. Clark’s breathing quickened.

If Chloe hadn’t been sure what was going on before, she knew now. She blurted an excuse and left as soon as possible.

Lex grinned, dropping a kiss on Clark’s shoulder.

“Whatever happened to breaking it to her subtly?”

It was the end of the beginning. An unnatural silence fell in the Swamp. It wasn't as if they had never fought before, but this fight was - harder. Symbolic of something bigger.

Hawkeye felt Trapper's words straining with the weight of representation. Heard him rant about his damned risk taking, how he was stupid to risk his reputation, their safety, knew what he was actually saying.

The rift would be healed, with soft words, soft touches, caution. An end to those first heady days, their feeling of invulnerability.

They would continue. But they both knew the honeymoon was over.

Zabini, Blaise. That was the last of them. Snape watched the procession trailing away, black, silver and green, and fought the urge to cry. Or scream.

"Fuck the Ministry's orders!" he'd yelled. "These are our students! Merlin's beard, Albus! These are our children!"

Steely eyes fixed on his, sad but resigned. "They are also their parents' children, Severus." That had been that.

They were boarding the train, now. No parents to collect them. They weren't allowed within sight of Hogwarts.

Death Eaters in training, Weasley had sneered, and Potter had nodded.

If they hadn't been before, they would be now.

WARNING: It's called Epitaph, and yes, Buffy and Giles are dead before the fic starts. I don't think of this as an unhappy story, though.
NOTE FROM 2009: OK, this isn't really a story so much as a 'ship manifesto disguised as a story. There's nothing much wrong with it, but unless you're a 'shipper it's really not that interesting. I think I did the same thing rather better in 'The Truth About Buffy and Giles'.

( Yours was the greatest love story I have ever known. )