And this is my second and sadly last offering for the day. Thank you for allowing me to take part! I hoped to have more but life got in the way, as usual. And god knows I’ve got enough WIPS to finish so –
Another short fic, this one more lighthearted than the last. Which is odd because it’s about the end of the world. Who knew it could be such a jovial topic?
Title: The Apocalypse, Buffy and Spike Style.
Medium: Short fic.
Rating: PG-13 some swearing.
Disclaimer: I don’t own BTVS or the associated characters. Or the apocalypse.
Summary: Buffy and Spike face the end of the world in a characteristically understated way. i.e. They bicker.
When the world ended Buffy wasn’t where she thought she’d be. She wasn’t fighting; she wasn’t even spending her last moments with loved ones in sad splendour. She was in a roadside diner, with her ex-enemy and ex-boyfriend Spike, complaining that her shoes were giving her blisters.
As endings go, it was a lousy one.
“You do realise its raining fire out there and the whole town – nay, world – is in disarray and you’re going on about your bloody feet?” Spike sloshed the tea he wasn’t drinking around in its mug.
Buffy glared at him briefly, before looking sideways out of the window at the start of impending doom. “C’est la vie.”
“Never were much of a thinker, were you?” He snorted, stretching his legs out under the Formica tabletop that separated them.
When his heavy boots hit her shins she scowled and stabbed her heel into his kneecap. He recoiled with a wince but nothing more.
“I don’t see you making any move to go out there and fight,” she retorted as she turned back to him.
“There’s very little out there to fight for now,” he shrugged. “And we both know we’ve been bested.”
Buffy shrugged. “So, I whine. It’s all I’ve got left.”
“Fine. Just take the sodding shoes off,” he suggested.
She looked down. “I didn’t have time for a pedicure, what with all the apocalypse stuff.”
“I won’t judge, I promise.”
Buffy eyed him for a moment and then slipped the ridiculous shoes off. She placed them on the tabletop and Spike rolled his eyes and pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. Wordlessly she reached across and snatched the offending item from his hand, throwing it out of the window where it was promptly incinerated by the fiery rain.
Spike frowned in annoyance, pulling the window shut quickly. “Even at the bitter end you have to be petty.”
She said nothing, just smiled at him sweetly. The diner they were in was empty save for them but they still spoke softly, as though someone might overhear.
The sky outside was blood red, cloudless, and the orange streaks arching down made the whole debacle appear horribly clichéd. If it wasn’t for the fact that it was the end of everything Buffy would have laughed. That little fact kind of took the sarcasm out of it.
Spike sighed and downed a mouthful of cold tea. “Didn’t think it’d be like this.”
“Stuck with me?”
“No, knew I’d be with you,” he snorted. “Can’t get away from you. Thought it’d be louder, more frenzied. Thought there’d be a decent fight in it.”
Buffy nodded. “I hoped there’d be hot apocalypse sex.”
“I’d be more than happy to –”
“I’ve got a headache,” the Slayer cut him short.
“That’s alright. It’d not your head I’m interes–”
She held a hand up. “Finish that sentence and die.”
“Gonna die anyway.”
“Cheer up, Spike.”
He arched an eyebrow. “And why should I do that?”
Buffy shrugged slowly. “Things could be worse.”
“And how, pray tell, could it get any worse?”
“You could’ve been stuck here with Xander,” she smiled. “Or Riley.”
“I dread to think.”
A loud explosion erupted nearby and the diner shook slightly, half-filled cups shattered and spilt over, tabletops quaked, and the fluorescent lights dimmed for a moment before flickering back to life. Bizarrely, the incident seemed to shake the jukebox into life. It clicked as the record was set into place.
“That one was close,” Spike shook spilt tea from his hand.
Buffy just nodded. The song on the jukebox started to play – The Beach Boys ‘California Girls’. Spike laughed.
“That’s just perfect.” Buffy sighed, folding her arms.
“It’s your song, Summers.” Spike grinned happily, eyebrows raised.
Buffy was perfectly prepared to bitch slap him into submission but the smile really took all the hate out of her. It could be his last rakish grin and it was a good one. She just watched as he started half-heartedly miming along to the lyrics.
“God, what I’ve give to have a Californian girl right now.” Spike mused.
“What, to eat?” Buffy sniped.
He smirked. “If she was lucky.”
Buffy couldn’t believe he made her blush on her last day on Earth, but he did and she resolved to hold that grudge for the rest of her life. All five minutes of it.
Spike, for his part, enjoyed the blush. Of course. She turned away from him, to look out of the window again. The reflection of the flames outside danced across her face.
“You think we should’ve been braver?” She asked.
“Brave has nothin’ to do with it,” he replied. “We’re plenty brave. And righteous and true.”
“We are. We’re awesome.”
Buffy could only nod in humble agreement. Spike reached across the table and placed his cold hand on her cheek, turning her face back to him and away from the flames. She brushed his touch aside but as he pulled his hand back she grabbed it and held on.
“You ever get that new TV you wanted?” She asked.
Spike shook his head. “No. It seems I was never meant to enjoy all the perks of high definition telly.”
“I don’t get how you had electricity in that crypt anyway.”
“Best not to question it.” Spike looked around the empty diner. “I’d kill for a cigarette right now.” He glared at her as he turned back.
She shrugged dismissively. “You’d kill for a box of Weetabix.”
“Yeah, but I’d feel bad about it.”
Buffy looked down at his hand in hers. “Your nail polish is chipped.”
“Disgraceful, I know. Handy that I’ll turn to dust and nobody will have to look at such a wretch,” Spike downed the last of his tea and pushed the mug aside.
Before she could make any kind of reply, a tree smashed through the window two booths behind them. Glass flew through the air and a howling wind whipped her hair up, careening through the diner like a freight train. When she finally looked up at Spike again he was looking at her, a small cut marring his hairline with a drop of borrowed blood beading there.
Her grip on his hand had turned her knuckles white.
“Cold for this time of year, eh?” Spike shouted above the wind.
Buffy released his hand. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t.” He growled angrily.
She nodded, understanding. There would be no apologies, not now. The jukebox wailed on behind them, The Beach Boys stuck on repeat in one last fuck you to the world. Buffy glanced behind her at the fallen tree resting against the bar where patrons would have once sat and watched their food be cooked, their milkshakes prepared.
“Buffy,” Spike shouted. “We did good.”
She looked at him and smiled. “We did.”
Another window directly behind them shattered and she felt a stinging sensation on the back of her arm. She kept her eyes on Spike.
“I never told you this but I like your hair,” she admitted.
Spike paused a moment before laughing. “Thanks, Slayer. Always knew it was a favourite with the ladies.”
“Just me,” she corrected him.
“That’ll do me,” he smiled. “You think, when this is all over, you might finally agree to a date?”
“With you? Not likely.” Buffy slouched back in her seat. “Not if you were the last man on Earth. And you are.”
Spike folded his arms and regarded her. “Still playing hard to get.”
“It’s what you love about me.”
“One of many things,” he said.
“I do love you, you know,” she told him, looking down at her hands. “Sometimes, I mean.”
Spike’s face split into a grin. “I knew it!”
“Shut up, Spike.” She grouched. “Don’t get too –”
Her sentence was cut off, rudely interrupted by the end of the world.
Originally posted at http://seasonal-spuffy.livejournal.com/280543.html