This is the first round I’ve participated in and I’m pretty stoked. I regret I don’t have more to post, but I fully intend on posting something more on the open day. In the meantime, I have a quick little one-shot for you all. Hope you enjoy it. I adore feedback. Constructive crits are welcome.
Title: Washed Away
Rating: G
Disclaimers: Um, yeah.. don’t own it. It’s all Joss.
Spoilers: Post Dead Things
Summary: I’ve always felt there was a huge gap between Buffy beating the ever-loving crap out of Spike and then him showing up at the birthday party. So this is the in-between.
Authors Note: This hasn’t actually been betaed. I went over it the best I could, but I’m tired and there was no time to send it to my lovely beta. I apologize.
I watch the beads of rainwater drift in little trails down the window, hands moving on autopilot scrubbing tonight’s dishes. Lightning streaks across the sky and thunder cracks so hard I jump, spinning around.
The back door’s open and he’s standing in the middle of it, black leather dripping water all over my floor. “Easy there, Slayer. Just a bit of noisemaker.” He swaggers across the kitchen, all balls and brass as I reach for a hand towel. “Some storm, eh love?” he asks lightly, leaning against the counter. Like nothing happened. Like I didn’t leave him beaten and barely moving on the asphalt.
The kitchen light catches up the purple and yellow and blue covering his face. The cuts that have yet to heal. The swelling around his eye. Cotton rips and I jerk my eyes away. The towel in my hands is suddenly two pieces. I just let them fall. “Don’t, Spike.” The words come out flat and hard like stone. Little chips of Buffy stone. My breath shudders and hitches high in my chest, fists grabbing and tightening on the counter edge.
His eyes narrow and his lips curl. “Christ, don’t start –”
“Don’t forgive me.” It comes out in a rush, barely above a whisper, but it silences him completely. A beat, and then his heavy steps sound across the floor. I can’t look up.
He stops in front of me, those black and dirty boots edging into my view. Fingers come up, ghosting through my hair. A muscle in my jaw tightens and I fight not to jerk away.
His voice comes out somewhat hoarse. “I’ve tried holdin’ a grudge against you pet.” He clears his throat, rubbing a thumb against his brow. “It didn’t take.”
I want to snap at him. That he gave it a real good try, but I bite my tongue. When I first came back he was the only one I could talk to. And let’s be honest, I enjoyed it. In comparison, at least. In comparison with the others. So I try to meet him halfway. “I guess we both tried pretty hard, huh?”
I chance a look up in time to see the surprise flutter across his face before he schools it back. His throat moves and my gaze falls to that mouth of his. You wouldn’t guess it’d be so soft, but it is. My heart picks up and he’s too close now, way too close. Gently, I put my hand over his chest and push him back a couple steps.
“I just need my space right now.”
His hand twitches and I think he’s going to grab mine for a second, but he doesn’t. He just stands there and gives a slight nod. “Yeah. Sure thing.” His words kind of tumble out, like he doesn’t know what to do. There’s a pause and he jerks his thumb toward the door. “I’ll… just be going then.” Another pause, like he’s waiting for something, before he gives another tight nod. “Right.” He promptly turns on his heel to leave.
“Friday’s my birthday.” Did I just say that?
He stops dead, just past the threshold, turns. “Yeah, I remember.”
I blink. But yeah, I guess he has been around a while. “Well, we’re um –” I look at my hands, suddenly nervous and fidgety. “Um. Having a party. You can come, I mean if you want. You could invite a friend. If you want. If you have one.” One eyebrow arches up. “I mean, not that you don’t have any friends, but, if you wanted to bring one… I really didn’t mean –”
“I’d love to.”
“You – what?”
“To come. With bells and whistles.”
“Good. …Good.” That tight feeling in my chest eases just a bit. Glancing up I catch those heavy blue eyes, fixing me in place. My hands lock behind my back. So he can’t see the nervousness. So I won’t grab the collar of that duster and pull him closer, or give him a solid blow to the jaw. Maybe both. God, when did I start thinking like this?
The corner of his mouth twitches just a bit, curling upward. “G’night Buffy.” Without waiting for a reply he’s turning and slipping off into the rain. The swagger is gone from his step. It’s just him now. Just Spike… walking in the rain. All you can see in the dark is that pale gleaming hair. He’ll have curls by the time he gets back to the crypt.
Originally posted at http://seasonal-spuffy.livejournal.com/83056.html
