A Bloody Good Scrap
Sep. 23rd, 2022 07:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
apachefirecatTitle: A Bloody Good Scrap
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Author: Apache Firecat
Characters: Spike/Buffy, Dawn
Rating: PG-13/T
Summary: Spike waits, and hopes.
Word Count: 1,897
Written For: Nekid Spike Moody Weekend: Hungry and A to Z: L is for Love
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to their rightful owners, not the author, and are used without permission.
He slinks outside her window, knowing he shouldn't be there but unable to stay away. He scoffs at himself for doing so even as he creeps around the bushes, hoping she will come out, knowing she is aware of his presence, but also knowing that she does not want to be alone with him tonight. Why should she? He can give her nothing but a temporary escape. She can lose herself in the feelings he knows well how to evoke in her, but she always hates herself afterward.
And why shouldn't she? He is a monster. He should leave the woman alone. She will never, could never, love the likes of him. Cecily had spurned his every advance all those centuries ago because she had believed herself so much better than he, but Buffy actually is better. She is a heroine, and not just that. She's the bloody best Slayer there ever has been and ever will be, the Slayer who has bested all others, the one who has broken all the records and turned both Councils upside down. She's broken all the rules yet still she fights and she wins for what she sees, not anybody else, as right. She will always win.
He pauses a moment, the bushes sticking against his fingers and leather, as he considers that notion. Does he honestly believe she will always win? Yeah, he does. Now that he has a conscience, he does. Now that he can see clearly, see the world and all those in it for what they are, see her for what she is, for all the wonder she is, and all the wonders she has already performed... Yes, he does believe that there is nothing that can stop that girl, nothing but feelings she can't quite, fully resist. There isn't much left of his mind, but he knows she is the best thing that has ever happened not just to himself but to the world at large.
He also remembers teasing the Great Poof once upon a time for doing the very thing he is currently doing, skulking in the shadows and bushes outside of her house like a lowly predator, like a possum or a raccoon waiting for a scrap of meat to be thrown at him. He is waiting, he realizes, for a scrap of something. He is ravenous as well, but not for food. He's so hungry, so desperate for just a brief moment of her attention.
Maybe she will come tonight, perhaps a bit later. Maybe she will need him for... something, to make her feel, to fight alongside her, to listen to her rant and rave about all her friends and all the mistakes they've made in her absence, to pout about why she has to be the one to save the world and can never have a normal life or be a normal girl. Maybe she will need him for something, for anything, for however long or short the time he may be able to be in her presence, he may be able to smell her up close, watch her beauty, shiver inside like only she can make him do, and if he's really, really, incredibly lucky, to touch her, to let her feel something besides death and destruction, the true reasons he knows she hates herself.
She can claim it's because of him that she hates herself all she wants, but Spike knows better. He's terrible, but she could have walked away from him if he's that bloody awful. She could have walked away from him long beofre now. At times, she does do exactly that, but she also always, always comes back. And she always will. They are both love's bitches, and although Buffy may think she hates him, hate isn't the word for what they feel for one another.
She can convince herself that it's hate sex that they share all she wants, and perhaps for her, it is, at least at times. She's railed against him so many times. He always just takes it, no matter how hard, how vicious she is to him. He always just takes it, and he will continue to do so, he knows, no matter how many times he tells himself he should leave her behind or at least stand up to her. He could block her so easily when she goes to railing on him, but he rarely ever does. She's even blinded him, and he's come crawling back to her for more -- not more pain, but he's willing to take the pain if that's the only way he can be with her. He's willing to take anything, endure anything, just to be near her, as evidenced that he's now got his bloody soul thumping back in his chest and all the utter Hell he went through to attain it back.
There's a part of him that would still like to look up the Poof just to brag about the fact that he is no longer the only Vampire with a soul, but there isn't time. He needs to be here with Buffy, for Buffy, especially with what's coming. He needs her to stop hating him and let him in, while there's still a chance he might be able to help her save the world. He doesn't even care about the bloody walking, free Happy Meals any more, not like the first time he helped her save this awful place. What he cares about, all he cares about, are the two people in that room ahead of him.
He can smell them both, and the emotions wafting off of them. He wonders what they're thinking, what they're saying. The Nibblet's grown well into her own now. She doesn't need him any more, but he still remembers well and fondly the little girl of whom he took such care while Buffy was dead. Even she hates him now, and she should. After all, he's done such horrors to her sister, her sister of whom she's always thought the world and she should and who she could no more be related to if they had shared actual DNA. Dawn's as real as any one of them, realer even in some senses, but she's a smart kid. She knows to hate him.
Even so, he can't help wondering what's going through her mind as he hears her tell her sister, "He's out there again."
"I know," Buffy replies softly, and he sees the subtle, telltale shift of her bedroom curtain as she peeks out at him, thinking he doesn't know, thinking he can't tell from her arousing scent exactly where she's standing and how she's feeling. She's torn. She wants to come to him, but she doesn't dare. She's not strong enough, not bold enough... yet.
"I know he's not the same, but -- "
He tilts his head slightly to the side in surprise. Is the Nibblet actually taking up for him? She had told him so many times she'd set him on fire if he ever hurt her sister again. He can't blame her. The kid should have done it long ago, especially if she's got any of the infinite thoughts of the cosmic energy from whence she was created. If she does, she knows how evil he is better than anyone else except him. He deserves to wake up in flames. He deserves the most horrible of deaths, but maybe living like this, wanting Buffy, aching for Buffy, missing and loving them both... Perhaps that is a fate more fitted for him, a fate worse than death by far.
Except that he can still hope. He can still hear Buffy's quick intake of breath, the speeding beat of her heart... He can still feel her eyes on him as he tilts his blonde head back and looks directly at her silhouette. She's looking at him now from those beautiful, green eyes filled, he can smell, with tears.
And Dawn? Dawn's actually... happy about something. About him? About the fact that he's standing out there and her sister is standing up there, watching him but pretending not to? The Nibblet had once been his dearest friend. Could she possibly... Could she have forgiven him?
But his head falls as Buffy drops the curtain. No. She couldn't have. She shouldn't have. She's smarter than that. And her sister isn't coming out, at least not to him, not yet tonight. She's smarter than that as well.
His head bent, Spike turns and begins to walk away down the street. His stomach is growling now, and he'll have to feed on bagged blood soon, but his heart isn't in it. His heart's only in one thing any longer, only in one woman, but she wants nothing to do with him, not really. If she could find another person -- like the bloody Poof -- whom she could rail on and who could heal as easily from her beatings as he does, she'd move on to them in a flash. He only has one thing to offer her.
He hears a door open somewhere and whirls back around, but neither sister is leaving the house, at least not yet and when they do, or when she does, she won't want to see him. She doesn't want to see him. She can't. She's everything wonderful, and he... He is a loathsome murderer, a filthy creature of the night. He's worse than despicable. They are right to fear him, to hate him, to want nothing to do with him.
But still she comes. She always comes back eventually. Maybe not tonight, maybe not even this week, but eventually she'll come to him. She always does. She always does, even when she could hop a car to LA or find any number of other lovers, even those with Supernatural healing capabilities. There's got to be a reason she always chooses him. Which means he has hope, and this isn't a fate worse than death after all. Spike smiles, a glimmer of hope in his darkened blue eyes, and moves on to feed. She'll come to him eventually. She always does.
His grin grows until the very tips of his fangs shine in the bright, silver moonlight. He is a predator, a blood-thirsty, badass predator at that. He is a monster. But he's the monster she can't shake, not the great Poof. She could go to him if she wants, but it's always to him she comes, and that's a scrap of hope left to him that will always keep him fighting on, keep him coming back to her, keep him trying to be good enough for her, keep him loving her... keep him wanting to exist and fighting to exist for as long as she does to. That's a scrap of hope to keep him fighting on forever, to give him a reason to still be existing, to give him a future toward which to fight. It's a scrap of hope that feeds him well this night, fills that dead, hollow center in his chest where his heart should be beating, and keeps him looking forward to the next moment he'll see her, to the next time he'll get to kiss her, to shag her, even to be struck by her. It's the scrap of hope that makes this old, awful world a bloody, pretty good place to still be after all.
The End
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Author: Apache Firecat
Characters: Spike/Buffy, Dawn
Rating: PG-13/T
Summary: Spike waits, and hopes.
Word Count: 1,897
Written For: Nekid Spike Moody Weekend: Hungry and A to Z: L is for Love
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to their rightful owners, not the author, and are used without permission.
He slinks outside her window, knowing he shouldn't be there but unable to stay away. He scoffs at himself for doing so even as he creeps around the bushes, hoping she will come out, knowing she is aware of his presence, but also knowing that she does not want to be alone with him tonight. Why should she? He can give her nothing but a temporary escape. She can lose herself in the feelings he knows well how to evoke in her, but she always hates herself afterward.
And why shouldn't she? He is a monster. He should leave the woman alone. She will never, could never, love the likes of him. Cecily had spurned his every advance all those centuries ago because she had believed herself so much better than he, but Buffy actually is better. She is a heroine, and not just that. She's the bloody best Slayer there ever has been and ever will be, the Slayer who has bested all others, the one who has broken all the records and turned both Councils upside down. She's broken all the rules yet still she fights and she wins for what she sees, not anybody else, as right. She will always win.
He pauses a moment, the bushes sticking against his fingers and leather, as he considers that notion. Does he honestly believe she will always win? Yeah, he does. Now that he has a conscience, he does. Now that he can see clearly, see the world and all those in it for what they are, see her for what she is, for all the wonder she is, and all the wonders she has already performed... Yes, he does believe that there is nothing that can stop that girl, nothing but feelings she can't quite, fully resist. There isn't much left of his mind, but he knows she is the best thing that has ever happened not just to himself but to the world at large.
He also remembers teasing the Great Poof once upon a time for doing the very thing he is currently doing, skulking in the shadows and bushes outside of her house like a lowly predator, like a possum or a raccoon waiting for a scrap of meat to be thrown at him. He is waiting, he realizes, for a scrap of something. He is ravenous as well, but not for food. He's so hungry, so desperate for just a brief moment of her attention.
Maybe she will come tonight, perhaps a bit later. Maybe she will need him for... something, to make her feel, to fight alongside her, to listen to her rant and rave about all her friends and all the mistakes they've made in her absence, to pout about why she has to be the one to save the world and can never have a normal life or be a normal girl. Maybe she will need him for something, for anything, for however long or short the time he may be able to be in her presence, he may be able to smell her up close, watch her beauty, shiver inside like only she can make him do, and if he's really, really, incredibly lucky, to touch her, to let her feel something besides death and destruction, the true reasons he knows she hates herself.
She can claim it's because of him that she hates herself all she wants, but Spike knows better. He's terrible, but she could have walked away from him if he's that bloody awful. She could have walked away from him long beofre now. At times, she does do exactly that, but she also always, always comes back. And she always will. They are both love's bitches, and although Buffy may think she hates him, hate isn't the word for what they feel for one another.
She can convince herself that it's hate sex that they share all she wants, and perhaps for her, it is, at least at times. She's railed against him so many times. He always just takes it, no matter how hard, how vicious she is to him. He always just takes it, and he will continue to do so, he knows, no matter how many times he tells himself he should leave her behind or at least stand up to her. He could block her so easily when she goes to railing on him, but he rarely ever does. She's even blinded him, and he's come crawling back to her for more -- not more pain, but he's willing to take the pain if that's the only way he can be with her. He's willing to take anything, endure anything, just to be near her, as evidenced that he's now got his bloody soul thumping back in his chest and all the utter Hell he went through to attain it back.
There's a part of him that would still like to look up the Poof just to brag about the fact that he is no longer the only Vampire with a soul, but there isn't time. He needs to be here with Buffy, for Buffy, especially with what's coming. He needs her to stop hating him and let him in, while there's still a chance he might be able to help her save the world. He doesn't even care about the bloody walking, free Happy Meals any more, not like the first time he helped her save this awful place. What he cares about, all he cares about, are the two people in that room ahead of him.
He can smell them both, and the emotions wafting off of them. He wonders what they're thinking, what they're saying. The Nibblet's grown well into her own now. She doesn't need him any more, but he still remembers well and fondly the little girl of whom he took such care while Buffy was dead. Even she hates him now, and she should. After all, he's done such horrors to her sister, her sister of whom she's always thought the world and she should and who she could no more be related to if they had shared actual DNA. Dawn's as real as any one of them, realer even in some senses, but she's a smart kid. She knows to hate him.
Even so, he can't help wondering what's going through her mind as he hears her tell her sister, "He's out there again."
"I know," Buffy replies softly, and he sees the subtle, telltale shift of her bedroom curtain as she peeks out at him, thinking he doesn't know, thinking he can't tell from her arousing scent exactly where she's standing and how she's feeling. She's torn. She wants to come to him, but she doesn't dare. She's not strong enough, not bold enough... yet.
"I know he's not the same, but -- "
He tilts his head slightly to the side in surprise. Is the Nibblet actually taking up for him? She had told him so many times she'd set him on fire if he ever hurt her sister again. He can't blame her. The kid should have done it long ago, especially if she's got any of the infinite thoughts of the cosmic energy from whence she was created. If she does, she knows how evil he is better than anyone else except him. He deserves to wake up in flames. He deserves the most horrible of deaths, but maybe living like this, wanting Buffy, aching for Buffy, missing and loving them both... Perhaps that is a fate more fitted for him, a fate worse than death by far.
Except that he can still hope. He can still hear Buffy's quick intake of breath, the speeding beat of her heart... He can still feel her eyes on him as he tilts his blonde head back and looks directly at her silhouette. She's looking at him now from those beautiful, green eyes filled, he can smell, with tears.
And Dawn? Dawn's actually... happy about something. About him? About the fact that he's standing out there and her sister is standing up there, watching him but pretending not to? The Nibblet had once been his dearest friend. Could she possibly... Could she have forgiven him?
But his head falls as Buffy drops the curtain. No. She couldn't have. She shouldn't have. She's smarter than that. And her sister isn't coming out, at least not to him, not yet tonight. She's smarter than that as well.
His head bent, Spike turns and begins to walk away down the street. His stomach is growling now, and he'll have to feed on bagged blood soon, but his heart isn't in it. His heart's only in one thing any longer, only in one woman, but she wants nothing to do with him, not really. If she could find another person -- like the bloody Poof -- whom she could rail on and who could heal as easily from her beatings as he does, she'd move on to them in a flash. He only has one thing to offer her.
He hears a door open somewhere and whirls back around, but neither sister is leaving the house, at least not yet and when they do, or when she does, she won't want to see him. She doesn't want to see him. She can't. She's everything wonderful, and he... He is a loathsome murderer, a filthy creature of the night. He's worse than despicable. They are right to fear him, to hate him, to want nothing to do with him.
But still she comes. She always comes back eventually. Maybe not tonight, maybe not even this week, but eventually she'll come to him. She always does. She always does, even when she could hop a car to LA or find any number of other lovers, even those with Supernatural healing capabilities. There's got to be a reason she always chooses him. Which means he has hope, and this isn't a fate worse than death after all. Spike smiles, a glimmer of hope in his darkened blue eyes, and moves on to feed. She'll come to him eventually. She always does.
His grin grows until the very tips of his fangs shine in the bright, silver moonlight. He is a predator, a blood-thirsty, badass predator at that. He is a monster. But he's the monster she can't shake, not the great Poof. She could go to him if she wants, but it's always to him she comes, and that's a scrap of hope left to him that will always keep him fighting on, keep him coming back to her, keep him trying to be good enough for her, keep him loving her... keep him wanting to exist and fighting to exist for as long as she does to. That's a scrap of hope to keep him fighting on forever, to give him a reason to still be existing, to give him a future toward which to fight. It's a scrap of hope that feeds him well this night, fills that dead, hollow center in his chest where his heart should be beating, and keeps him looking forward to the next moment he'll see her, to the next time he'll get to kiss her, to shag her, even to be struck by her. It's the scrap of hope that makes this old, awful world a bloody, pretty good place to still be after all.
The End
