Best Served Cold: 10/11/04. 442 words. PG-13. Future fic, guess who's back? Written for Vixen.
Blank: 21/12/04. 136 words. R. Spike/Xander fluff. Written for Spikess at Spander132
Caged: 10/11/04. 338 words. G. Giles is left to babysit Dawn. Poor, poor Giles. Written for Jordan.
Choosers: 11/08/04. 215 words. PG. Faith/Scott. Written for Copper at Buffyverse1000.
Comfort: 23/12/04. 395 words. G. Dawn thinks about the summer Buffy was dead. D&S. Written for Tinpanalley at Fandom Wishlist.
Cornered: 09/11/04. 448 words. PG. Come on, what are the
chances 'Angel' is the only episode they slept in the same room? Back up for the 
.
Familiar: 03/08/04. 488 words. PG-15. During Origin. Connor and Illyria meet again. Written for Vixen at Buffyverse1000.
Hurts: 17/10/04. 467 words. R-ish. Dark. Drusilla and Spike find a leftover. Written for Maren.
In Good Company: 18/08/04. 416 words. PG-15. The Three Sisters pay a visit. Written for Lee at Buffyverse1000.
In Vino: 25/07/04. 401 words. G. Fluff warning. Only-dialogue B/A. Written for Kristi.
Lost Decade: 10/11/04. 269 words. G. Buffy and Angel during a snowstorm. Written for Lucey.
Pummeling: 13/11/04. 247 words. Angel and his girls. Sillyfic. Written for Dana.
Swordplay: 13/11/04. 171 words. Buffy tests her new sword. Written for Sharon.
There Is Something About Fred: 401 words. Faith's pov during AtS4. Very slight F/F. Written for Lucey at Buffyverse1000.
Untext: 09/07/04. 430 words. PG. In S2 Spike observes the Slayer. Until someone else catches his attention. Implied S/X. Written for DarkHavens at Sekrit Admirer.
A.N.: Yes, I know it's not a gryphon but a winged lion. But I hadn't known that at the time and, really, 'winged lion' doesn't work as well as 'gryphon' for this one. So, let's play pretend, k? *grins*
"You don't mind when I do this, do you?"
"I'm not answering that."
"Safe answer. If you said yes, I'd be too embarrassed to continue; if you said no, I
would be too embarrassed that you don't like me touching you."
"You are not convincing me to let you have wine again. Never. Your mother would
probably kill me if she knew."
"She'd kill you if she knew you're going out with her very minor daughter, so better
keep the secret."
"Okay. Hey! That's mine. And I told you, you're not having wine again."
"Meanie."
"I still don't know how you convinced me to buy it."
"The Worldwide Feminine Association will kill me if I tell you which feminine wiles I
used on you."
"..."
"Don't laugh!"
"I didn't say anything."
"But you wanted to. Great, now I get the Big Sigh of Death."
"We were having more fun when you were just tracing my shoulder blade."
"We? So I guess you really don't mind. I like it, it's so elegant... I never
remember what it is called, tell me again?"
"A gryphon."
"Gry-y-phon. I like that. Even the name sounds classy. Maybe I should get a tattoo
too."
"Your mother would never consent to it."
"Hah! As if she'd notice."
"Giles wouldn't approve either."
"He has no room to talk. He's got a tattoo too, I've seen it."
"Giles?"
"Wonders never cease. It's on his arm. Really wicked design. Willow and I are still
planning how to make Xander notice it. He's the only one who'd actually go and ask
Giles."
"Xander."
"There you go again."
"I'm not going anywhere."
"Would you like me with a tattoo?"
"You know I'd never stop liking you."
"Aw. Even if it had all these wacky colours and I decided to have a huge dragon all
over my left leg? It could breathe fire too."
"Mmm..."
"We could have a theme. Dragons and gryphons. Mythical creatures with elegant names.
Maybe a sphinx would go better?"
"I don't think..."
"Okay. No tattoos then. What about rings? I could have one on my tongue? Or on my
eyebrow. Or on my nip-"
"Now you're just messing with me."
"Yes, I am. Do you like me less?"
"Never."
"Not even if... mmph..."
"Never."
"Okay, I guess the kiss said it better than the actual word. But could you repeat it?
Just in case I missed someth....mmmph, yeah."
feedback
back
The first time Spike saw the boy, he wrote him off as nothing special. Just another
red-blooded male lusting after the Slayer. And boy, did he lust after the little girl!
Weeks went by and Spike noticed how the nameless boy was more than a mere acquaintance. Go
figure, he was actually friends with the Slayer, showed long enough in Spike's homemade
videos to know that he'd be a weakness interesting to explore. Spike sat back on his
chair, absently caressing Dru, and thought that none of his Slayers had had friends.
"A bull in the china shop, all ready to rumble and bumble and tumble,"
Drusilla had whispered against his chest, something like resignation in her voice.
Spike had just nodded absently, observing how the darkhaired mass of possibilities moved
in contentment across the graveyard. Soon enough he was sending a second vampire to shadow
the boy. Unlike the ones he sent after the Slayer, Jonah lasted for months, until Spike
himself had to stake him because Jonah was looking at his assignment with hungry eyes.
"It's breaking, it's breaking, come and see the damn breaking," Drusilla
chanted, tip-toeing over Jonah's ashes.
Spike silenced her with a kiss while he thought about his next course of action. Common
sense - and nothing else! - dictated that to have good results, he'd have to do the job
himself. So he grabbed the video cammera, his coat and his nagging half-dreams and took
them to the boy's house.
And he observed.
Spike saw as his newest prey laughed with the Slayer, wondering in which insane moment had
his priorities changed. Spike watched as they went away together, as they danced at the
Bronze and as the blonde left him for Spike's grandsire. When the group separated, Spike
took a full minute to realise he'd followed the wrong trail. Then he shrugged and went
along, discarding the cammera because, in the darkness, he could watch the boy better
without it.
Things stayed the same for days, until Spike was too curious as to how would the boy look
with a demon inside. How would he walk, move and talk? How would he like it?
Sometimes Spike thought that he'd make sure the boy liked it all.
But first was Dru. He had to make sure that Drusilla was back to health before taking time
with his new toy. It was only a matter of hours now. Will had caught Angelus for him, the
spell was ready and only waiting for its victim.
Yes, only a matter of hours until he could play.
When the boy asks if they'd met before, Faith thinks it is the lamest pick-up line of
the night. But he's also the most handsome school boy trying to pick her up, so she
forgets and smiles as harmlessly as she can.
When he says his name is Scott, there's a little doubt nagging at her. But Faith shrugs it
off, little doubts lead to nowhere and she can think of a place or two where she'd like to
lead this guy.
When Scott invites her to dance, Faith grins and nods, grasping his hand in hers. She's a
firecracker and she knows it and she loves to watch as Scott discovers it.
When Faith finally remembers who her company is, she laughs and tugs him closer to her.
This is fair, she thinks, to have at least one leftover in her hands. Not the one she
would have chosen, but in Sunnydale Faith has learned to be a little good beggar. Besides,
Scott seems to be willing to make up for lost time.
When Faith leaves the room, without giving a phone number or even a goodbye kiss, Scott
slumps back onto the mattress and stares at the ceiling. This was the last opportunity he
gave himself, now he's sure he'll never understand girls.
"Are you sure this is it?" A female voice asked dubiously.
A second woman nodded.
The first sighed and got closer to the sleeping figure, studying it carefully. "He
doesn't seem worth our time," she decided, "nothing we couldn't have found
closer to home."
"I'm not so sure..." A thinner girl stepped in, walking from the depths of the
room and joining the other two. "He must be something. After all, he was in his
place for a long time."
"If you say so..." the first one said disdainfully.
The younger girl just smiled.
"He's unique, a self-made man who's come to great lengths to find himself," the
second woman agreed. "Come, sisters, let's see who is right in this dispute."
At once, the three women took each other's hand and stepped toward the bed.
"He looks so innocent," one sighed.
"Very fit too."
"Enough to keep up with us?" the first one considered loudly.
"If he was good enough for the Slayer..."
"...then we must test him."
"Oh, okay," the grudging assent came, "things were too boring in L.A
anyway."
The three sat lightly on the bed, making sure not to awake the man lying there.
"He's ours for the entire night," the younger sister said cheerfully, making to
touch the blonde hair. Another hand stopped her movement. The girl pouted.
The owner of the offending hand pointed to the ring he was wearing. "He's
taken."
The other two shrugged.
"If he's as unique as you say then maybe he won't take us."
"Noone has ever done that!"
"Noone?"
Silence.
Then the older woman spoke. "But he's not him." As much as they'd stayed
in friendly terms, the sisters didn't like naming the one who'd refused them. "If
this one thinks it's just a dream..."
"It's not worth the effort."
"Of course it is!"
"Men like these are a dime the dozen," she insisted.
The girl narrowed her eyes, finally finishing the caress she'd been about to do and
brushing through the soft hair. "He's special. After everything he's gone through, he
must be. I want him," she said stubbornly.
"I don't."
"Shhhh." The older sister chastised the others. "Look," she told the
woman who'd been complaining. "You'll definitely want this." Her hand moved over
the sheets, caressing a thigh and going upwards. "He's very... responsive."
With widened eyes, she nodded.
The three of them licked their lips hungrily, happy to have chosen well.
Oblivious to the whispers around him, Riley moaned in his sleep.
Her stay at the Hyperion has been short, running after Angelus has barely left her with
time to breathe, much less to take into the scenery. But everytime she steps into the
hotel, there are angry vibes going all around her. First Faith believes it's the presence
of Angelus looming over Angel's friends. But no, it's something else. Something more...
personal.
She can't believe it when she finally pins down what's been bothering her. She laughs at
the mere idea, but it's truth, she can see it all over Wesley's face whenever he thinks
noone is looking at him. This animosity goes beyond the good vs. evil battle they're in,
Gunn's expression says that clearly to everyone interested about it.
Faith finally turns to the cause of this rift and can't help but laugh again. This mousy
woman, with her giggles, her big wide eyes and her neverending babbles is it? Faith was
used to see this tension in Sunnydale, an almost palpable feeling between Angel and
Xander. But that was reasonable, with Buffy behind it all tensions are reasonable. But
this Faith cannot understand.
She's used to men getting attracted to her power. To Buffy's. Even to Cordelia's, who if
not a Slayer always had as much assertive power as any normal girl could. But what does
Fred have to offer these men?
The Wesley she used to know, that Faith could understand. She met him in his most awkward
moments and Fred is someone she could have pictured him with back then. But this new
Wesley is so different, so much stronger. Faith can tell Gunn is a strong man too. Again,
how does Fred attract them both?
Faith shakes her head as she prepares to hunt for Angelus again. Wesley is at her side,
repeating advice and packing as many weapons as he can carry. Faith is tempted to laugh
again when she catches him looking at Fred.
She follows his eyes. Yes, she can see that Fred is pretty, just as many other women out
there. She's intelligent too, that gives her brownie points. But Faith fails to see
anything that special in her. She finally shrugs and shoulders her own bag. Maybe
when Angel is back and she's settled at the hotel will Faith be able to get a taste of
what's called to Wesley and Gunn. She smirks, yeah, that sounds like a good plan.
He's still waiting for Angel to come back or more news from his father's injuries when
Illyria finds him. Connor can't stop staring at her, she's exactly how many of his fantasy
women appear in his dreams. But none of those dreams ever stared back at him.
"You aren't afraid of me," she says.
Connor just shakes his head.
"They wonder at my abilities, why don't you?"
He could tell her that at eighteen there's only one of her abilities he cares about; but
he's afraid she'll pick his thoughts again. Which, of course, she does.
"I've been explained the basics of this..." She gestures at the space between
them. "...attraction." She stalks towards him, standing proudly inches away from
him, knees almost touching together. "Noone will go beyond that." Connor knows
he's being studied, feels those eyes inspecting his every reaction. "Yes, you want
to."
She is right. After all, he's only eighteen and the reality of having her close into him
and kiss him is better than any wet dream he may have had.
It's strange, to be with this woman/something else. She feels no different than any other
girl he's been with before; but Connor can tell when she restrains herself from grabbing
him too strongly. He thanks his lucky stars for that. He's sure he wouldn't stop her, he's
too curious about his own strength. But neither does he want to find out how much damage
she could inflict.
Her hair looks like a dye job gone wrong, but when he closes his eyes and touches it, it's
still so soft. So human. Connor still doesn't know what or who she is. When he asks
Illyria turns her eyes on him, gives him a long technical discourse about dimensions and
gods, one which never points to an actual answer.
Her eyes tell him of questions and frustration, and for the longest time Connor feels them
as his own. There's one moment, just one micro second after he pulls apart from their
longest kiss, when Illyria's face looks gentler, softer in a way that makes him gasp at
how familiar it seems. But then the moment is gone when she pulls him closer to
her, as if she wanted to learn everything she could just from touching him.
Afterwards, when the veil is lifted, Connor remembers a summer under a kind woman's wings,
how she cared for him even when he didn't deserve it. How she knew enough about him that
Connor let his guard down enough to be betrayed. That had never happened before and didn't
happen since. As far as he'd known, Fred had been the closest thing to a m---
He pushes the thoughts away as he fights Sahjhan. There's not time to deal with his
foolishness right then. But when it's over and he finally connects memories to
Illyria's/Fred's face, Connor feels he'll never crawl far enough from his own skin.
Hurts. Darkness. Odd noises, like steps on wood. No, not wood. Plastic. Not plastic.
Something. Something. Something blunt against my head and it hurts.
Where am I? What is this? I can move, I know I can. This is my leg and I'm mov--- Shit.
Shitshitshitshitshit. That's not my leg and... ohmygod. Close your eyes. Breathe. No,
don't. It smells. The whole place reeks and that skin was pale and bruised and didn't move
when I shook it. Thank God it's not mine. At least I'm alive.
A chuckle. No, two. "This one is awake." Male. Who? "Sloppy. Must've been a
fledging." Another chuckle, this one clearly disapprovatory. I must see him. Must...
raise... head. Damn. My neck won't move. Stupid sonofabitch grabbed me by the neck before
slamming me against the wall. I remember now. It even stings. Must have dug the nails in.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid Edward going through the shortcut at night. Stupid Clark for
convincing me. Oh God. Clark! I close my eyes. I try to breath. Those bruises I caused in
yesterday's match.
Stupid.
Now there's giggling above my head. Just right over my hair, the air moves through it.
'Leave me alone'. It comes out in unintelligble gurgles. The giggles turn louder.
"It's broken." It's a woman. Women are always nicer. 'Help me'. Fingers through
my hair. It'll be okay. It'll be okayit'llbeokayit'llbeok--- "Can I have him?"
My head snaps upwards. "Oooooooooow." It's more a whimper than a complaint. I
can't seem to make more words come. I can see her face. Dark eyes. Beautiful. So
beautiful. Pain can be forgotten. Pain should be forgotten when I'm looking at
those eyes.
"Stop, Dru."
I blink. Her eyes are just dark again. Beyond her there are blue eyes, harsh and amused.
Focused on me, on the hand that's still against my head. My mouth opens and closes.
Gurgles. I hate the sound of them.
"We ain't picking noone's leftovers." He wears a smile now. A secret he won't
share. "Come on, pet. You should have only new toys to play with."
She smiles too. Nods. She stands up and leaves me limp against the ground again. "You
want him yourself. Bad boy," she tells him before leaving my sight. "Can I
watch?"
He smiles and nods too. Picks something from the floor. His other hands comes around my
neck and lifts me in a single move. How...? I weight more than him. He shouldn't...
Something liquid comes between his fingers and my skin. Viscous. I don't want to know
anymore.
"My sweet Spike," her voice whispers.
"Not my real name, mate," he laughs and twirls around what he picked up. I don't
want to know. I don't want to see. "Time to amuse the lady." A wink.
It doesn't hurt as much.
He really hadn't intended for this to happen. But Buffy had been so tired last night that
he had to accompany her home and help her climb to her window. He'd stayed because she
asked and he couldn't deny her, promising to watch her until she fell asleep. He'd sat
beside her a bit longer, still amazed at how young and safe she looked in her sleep. Then
he'd closed his eyes to capture the image forever.
When he opened them, light was already coming from her window. He'd jumped up, hurriedly
drawn the curtains closed and stared in shock at the bedside clock. The shock had turned
into panic when he head the noise downstairs. Almost time for Buffy to leave for school
and her mother was already making breakfast. Nothing good could come from that.
Angel decided to shake Buffy awake, two heads thought better than one. She'd opened her
eyes, still disoriented from her trip through dreamland, and smiled when she recognised
him. Then she'd curled her hand around his neck and tugged him down into a kiss. Angel had
been reluctant to end it, so much that he'd only broken apart when he heard the steps
coming up the stairs. "Your mother," he whispered urgently.
Buffy's dazed eyes widened, body backing away from Angel's embrace. How had his arms
sneaked around her waist again? Buffy obviously didn't care for such a detail as she threw
a terrified glance at the door.
The steps stopped right in front of it. Dead. Angel gulped. He was so dead.
"Closet," his girlfriend hissed.
He wouldn't be told twice. Hearing the knob turning at his back, Angel dived into the
relative safety behind Buffy's clothes and closed he door behind him.
"Mommy." He could hear his girlfriend's whining voice. "I'm sick."
Angel would bet she was using The Pout now. The rings around her eyes from the difficult
night and her flustered state from when they'd just kissed only helped her cause.
Joyce only had to look at her daughter to be convinced. The older woman spent minutes
berating Buffy for catching the flu while she tucked her baby comfortably under the covers
and said goodbye with a kiss on her daughter's forehead. "I'll be back soon,"
she promised before leaving the room.
Angel waited for another minute, listening for the jeep to drive away. Then the door
opened, showing a smiling Buffy behind it. "Well, well. All alone at home and you
without a place to go." She cocked her head to a side, studying him intently, all
sleep now gone from her eyes. "Whatever should we do now?"
Buffy's sudden predatory smile answered her own question.
Third (fourth? Whatever) time was the charm.
Angelus wasn't sure what had happened. The clause had been a goner for years, courtesy of
Willow and a strong coven. No soul stealers were around and he was sure he hadn't been in
contact with happy pills of any sort. But one day Angel had gone to sleep and never woken
up. After three weeks Angelus was too thrilled about its permanence to care about hows or
whys.
He'd played it different this time. He'd learned his lessons after the last encounters
with his 'friends'. Before it didn't matter how many of them he killed and how hard he
fought, the White Hats always found him and magicked him back into limbo. Well, not this
time, sir. Angelus had a very strong desire to keep the leash of his body and he wasn't
relinquishing it for old vengeances or the thrill of watching these annoying humans die.
Besides, it looked like he'd get his wish anyway.
Buffy had been whining for the whole month that she didn't want a party, that her
birthdays depressed her. Her friends should have listened. But of course the stubborn
brats hadn't, a minuscule prompt from his part had them planning the party anyway. He was
supposed to ask Buffy to stay at his apartment for the weekend, an escape of anything
birthday-related and keep her distracted so she wouldn't come home.
So far, so good. He'd distracted her, alright. That had been the easiest part of this
plan. Distracted her enough for her strength to be in dire need of replenishment. He
smiled when he remembered her sleeping body in his bed; he couldn't wait to get back.
But first things first. He hadn't been lying when he said he had an urgent meeting with
Giles at the headquarters, he'd lied about the clue to Drusilla's location, knowing she'd
exclude herself from such a 'private' matter. Not wanting to repeat their mistakes, Buffy
and her boyfriend were very aware of each other's personal space. Angelus shrugged, worked
for him. Before he left, Buffy had muttered about making sure her friends weren't planning
anything, this time of the year tended to be catastrophic for their little group.
Angelus grinned. Wouldn't want to break tradition, would he?
He chuckled darkly, testing the weigth of the gas cans and making sure all flamethrowers
were carefully hidden around the back- and frontyard. They would never see it coming. Not
even the toughest Scoobies could survive to fire.
Angelus couldn't wait to be there for Buffy when she heard the news. Wouldn't that be the
perfect timing to tell her his own surprise?
If he ever made his way back to the Council, there was one thing Giles swore to teach to
every Watcher on the planet:
Never, never, let a teenage girl consume coffee and sugar-high cereal on the same
night. Not even if she looked at you with the largest doe eyes and pouted that Summers
pout that had been his fall in countless times. Stand strong, he'd say to his colleagues.
Forget about Slayer's mythical strengths and martial arts, a girl's power lays in the
pout. The Pout!
His internal rambling sounded crazy to himself, but Giles didn't care at this point. He'd
been trapped in this house for the entire night. Six hours and counting. Dawn had already
sung, danced, eaten and sworn to all deities that she didn't have one lick of homework.
Giles had waved her off, too exhausted to even wonder where she'd picked that strange turn
of phrase.
Now he was drinking his fifth cup of tea, silently despairing at the lack of alcohol in
the house. He knew the kids were crestfallen about his imminent departure. Had they
thought of this as a way to punish him for his abandonment?
Dawn squeed and jumped unstoppabbly in the other room. If her cries were to be believed,
her favourite actor had just stepped into scene. Dear Lord, surely the children he'd
tutored weren't this cruel!
Giles jumped out of the sofa when Tara opened the door, practically running towards them
as he grabbed his jacket and tried to get into it. He didn't care about interrupting the
joke Willow had been telling. He only pressed the cup he'd been nursing into Tara's
surprised hands and walked menacingly to the redhead in front of him.
"Next time," he began, aware that his expression was in full berating-Watcher
mode. "Call Spike." Then he stalked past them, not fast enough to reach his car
and get back to the safety of his apartment.
Willow blinked.
Tara shrugged.
Hidden behind the wall, Dawn whooped at her success.
Ten years ago he watched her rub her hands together and breath some little warm air in an
attempt to warm them. He'd taken them in his, protecting them from the worst of the snow
and kept them warm against his coat.
Today she's warm enough under the covers, even as she watches the snow fall outside the
window. He's taken her hands in his too, brought them against the place where his heart
should be beating. He said that her touch was enough, made him believe in the miracle he'd
once signed away.
Ten years ago she had been relieved that he survived the dawn, that she'd have him at her
side. She had almost cried when she'd hugged him to her, reassuring himself that he wasn't
ashes in the winds. That he was still there.
Tonight she knows that he wouldn't leave come hell or high water. God knows they'd had
more of both than anyone sane could handle. He says it's a miracle that she was there when
he felt complete enough to deserve her; confesses that he almost cried when she accepted
him back. She whispers that her tears burned down her cheeks when she first heard his
voice at the phone.
Ten years the snow told him that he deserved another chance. Proved that he meant enough
for Nature herself to save him. Ten years ago she told him that she couldn't bear his
departure, that the horrors of the past didn't stop her from loving him.
Today he believes it.
The snow keeps falling slowly as they fall asleep, hands still entwined together.
His nightmares came from decades of horrors inflicted by his own hand. Shapes of
darkness and red screaming for mercy and revenge around him.
Sweetness and puffy clouds when compared to this.
They are in front of him, leaning comfortably against a sofa. The three smile in welcome,
and he's beginning to smile back when he notices the spark of mischief that appears
simultanously. Blue, green and brown look at him curiously, then in recognition, then
those eyes narrow and his choice to flee or... flee is taken when they move toward
him, their steps synchronised and determined.
His back finds a wall; Cordelia smiles.
His eyes dart right and left uselessly; Buffy smiles.
His throat won't work, no words for questions; Darla smiles.
Darla brings two guns from behind her back, looks at them appreciatively. Plays with them
and, still smiling, offers one to the girl at her left.
Buffy shakes her head, glares at him, crackles her fists as her smile widens. She nudges
the women at both sides into taking a step forward.
Cordelia doesn't, looks longingly at Buffy's boots. Seeing the blonde's fond nod, she
bends and retrieves the hidden dagger.
Now they step forward, the same wicked determination burning in their eyes...
They are advancing and there's no place to hide.
Angel wakes up in a sweat, thinking he can still feel the feminine hands attacking him.
Nothing. There's nothing. He slumps back onto the bed. No more late-night feedings. Never
more.
She brandished her new weapon with pride. It was beautiful, the exact length to be
concealed under her clothes, the precise weight to be handled efficiently. Perfect.
Only for her, a gift designed for her hands.
For long minutes the only sound in the room was her breath, the swift hissing as her
precious sword cut through the air.
She willed her movements to be more controlled, to follow complicated patterns. Finally,
satisfied, Buffy turned to her one-person audience.
"What do you think?" she asked her younger sister, who was sitting against the
bed's headboard.
Dawn stared at her sister, eyes wide with awe and mouth open in wonder. Then she began
clapping enthusiastically, happy gurgles breaking the silence.
Buffy smiled smugly, then raised her head when she heard a chuckle.
Joyce entered the room, picking up the toddler and ruffling Buffy's hair. "I didn't
know Supergirl carried swords," she said conversationally as she led her girls to the
kitchen.
Buffy shrugged, hugging her newest favourite toy tighter. "She does now."
Xander crossed his arms on his chest; he was not giving up. Not this time. Not even
Spike's 'you can't resist me' trademark pout could deter him.
But his decision obviously wasn't sinking in Spike's mind. "Come on, pet. When have I
ever lead you wrong before?"
Xander opened his mouth to list all those instances, and they were many! But unexpectedly
he closed it again, hard enough to rattle his teeth and graze against his tongue. In the
next second he was tempted to bite it, anything to contain the moan escaping him.
"Were you saying?" Spike asked innocently, looking up at him from his position
on the floor.
Xander's Adam's apple rose, then dropped forcibly. He tried to remember what could be so
important that it was interrupting Spike's ministrations.
He came up blank.
Dawn remembers awkward hugs in that lonely summer. Arms going slowly around her body, not
fully touching her and half prepared to jump away. The first were the worst, when she
wasn't sure why he did it and he wouldn't tell her. When it felt strange to feel him so
near, side against side, bodies touching from shoulders to knees. When she didn't have the
words to describe her feelings, and he looked at her as if worried she'd flee scared in
the next instant.
Usually he caught her crying around the house, in her mother's room, at her mom's roses,
kneeling in the kitchen besides Mom's burned recipe. He had always dabbed at her tears
with his sleeves, clumsily going around her eyes and down her cheeks. 'A pretty face
should always look pretty,' he said sometimes, while she closed her eyes and relished the
touch of hard leather against her skin. It was the most real touch those days, the most
honest because it acknowledged her pain.
She was always thinking along those lines when she felt herself being lifted, mostly to
the couch or the nearest comfortable surface, and she welcomed the weight of his arms
around her shoulders. Spike was the only one who didn't anger her in his attempt to
comfort her. He felt genuine. While the others tiptoed around her hurt, Spike dived
straight in and attuned his own grief to hers. He never said that it would get better, or
that nobody was at fault. He just let her cry, didn't judge her words. He stayed silent,
looking off into space as he tightened his grip on hers. While Buffy's friends hid their
feelings from her, Spike made her his audience.
Sometimes she reached out, touched the leather covering his shoulders, her hands making a
round, slow motions like her mother's had when Dawn was feeling sad. He didn't smile at
her, but he always looked down after a while, staring at his shoulder as if he'd never
seen it before. Sometimes he took her hand between hers, studying it before putting it in
her lap. Sometimes he even let his hands rest above hers for long moments, his large palm
covering hers completely.
In the months where she lost the most and mourned the bitterest, he was the only one who
let her comfort him back.