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| Regarding Birthdays, cont'd |
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| "All gone now." He squinted at her again, and turned his head a bit in her direction. He was clearly very addled, and didn't believe he'd heard correctly. " 'S what?" "They took it out. They could have replaced it, but eventually, that one would have failed, too. Besides, you have a real conscience now, you don't need it." He tried to sit up then, but lay back down quickly as a wave of wooziness washed over him. One forearm lay across his eyes to relieve what seemed, to him, like dazzling brightness seeping through his lids, making his head pound.. "Sure that was the best thing?" "Yeah, I'm sure. I said it before, Spike, and I think telling them to take it out says it again. I believe in you." She laid a hand on his shoulder to punctuate this assertion. His hand crept over hers and gave it a squeeze. " 'F I'm still in an ether dream, I hope I don' wake up. Don't deserve you worryin' 'bout me, takin' care of me. Sittin' here by me. But I'm grateful for't all th' same." They were quiet again for a bit, before Spike spoke again. "Mmmm, guess it's whatever they gave me, but I'm feeling every one of my hundred..." He paused to check his math. "Hundred forty-six years." Buffy snorted out a short laugh. "You actually had to stop and remember how old you are?" "Not 'xactly at my best here, pet. 'Sides, it's not like I really observe birthdays any more." "Why not?" "Well...partly just not really a vampire thing. Birthdays're a celebration of life 'n' we're dead. Then, too, ya have enough of them, 'n' are immortal, they stop meaning anything." "But what about the presents? Don't you want an excuse for presents?" He lifted the arm over his eyes, tilted his head up a few inches, cracked open his bleary eyes and looked at her. "You serious? Who would bother giving me presents? Not exactly the guest of honor type, here, luv. More like the 'on sufferance' type." He laid his head back down with a sigh. "Anyway, recent years, there's usually so much trauma going on that it would get lost in the shuffle." Buffy waited a few moments, but discovered that she was intrigued at the idea of Spike's birthday. Birthday of Spike. Images of him in a birthday hat, or blowing out candles. She stifled a chuckle, and persisted on her line of questioning. "But, if you did observe your birthday, when would it be?" "April 11th. 1856. Same spring that the Crimean War ended and the Covent Garden Opera House burned...so, me mum used to tell me. 'T also turned out I shared a birthday with Arthur Shrewsbury. 'Course, you'll never have heard of him, but when I was young, he was quite well known for playing cricket. 'Fact, 'e was huge; he was like bloody Beckham is now...." "Beckham? Isn't that the church guy that Peter O'Toole played in that movie?" Spike shook his head weakly, rubbing his eyes. He had to smile at her, though he wondered how she could know O'Toole, but not Becks! He explained with exaggerated patience, "No, luv, that's Beckett, a 12th century English saint. David Beckham? Footballer? Man U?" She was still looking at him blankly. "Married to one of those Spice Girls?" She shrugged at him. "Well, trust me, he's huge in the rest of the world, and so was Shrewsbury in his day. I rather enjoyed the association, however tenuous, back when I was alive. Anyway, water over the dam now." He tried again, this time with more success, to sit up, shaking his head to try and clear away the cobwebs. His eyes were still squinty when he turned to look at her. "I notice that you took my advice this year, and didn't bother with your own birthday...." "Yeah, it just seemed safer that way." "Thought maybe." "In fact, after so many crummy birthdays, no one else mentioned it either. I thinkw e were all a bit afraid to jinx things by even bringing it up." " 'S why I didn't say anything. Nor get you anything, either. Seemed like a quiet day was the best gift, if ignoring it did the trick. Musta done...." Spike finally swung his legs over the side of the table, pausing to see if he was going to get dizzy again and, evidently deciding that all was well, slid off the cold metal surface to a standing position. He kept his hands on the side of the table, gripping it hard as his knees proved still wobbly. Buffy hopped off the stool, ready to lend a hand, but waited to see if he would rally without her support. At last, he let go of the table, lifted an eyebrow and gave her a faint lopsided smile. "Since the floor's not coming up to meet me, I guess I'm ready to get out of here." Buffy smiled back, letting out the breath she'd been holding. Mental note: stop holding breath without realizing it. Or at all, for that matter. She shook her head, then stood back to allow Spike to slowly lead the way to the door. ~ / ~ Nine Weeks Later ~ He was awakened by the clanking of his shackles being unlocked. His waking breath told him it was Buffy, and his instinctive alarm receded. "Buffy, what's going on? Something the matter?" "No, nothing's the matter. I just...." She stopped. She was standing next to his cot, not looking at him. Like she was debating changing her mind regarding whatever she'd come down after. "What brings you down to my borrowed lair in the middle of the night?" He asked gently, but warily. Never know with my Slayer, when she'll turn 'round and surprise hell outta you. Can't be she has an itch wanting for scratching...? He banished the speculation immediately, but not before his body reacted to the idea. Damn the old man, for having a mind of his own! |
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