(no subject)
I am on fire this week! Three fics! Crazy. I must have been given a sprinkle of inspiration by one of the Spuffy Muses.
Title: Not For Comfort
Word count: 2351
Time frame: End of Days/Chosen
Rating: PG
In brief: A reworking of the infamous "Cookie dough" speech. Buffy evaluates her relationship with Angel, and comes to some conclusions about Spike.
Warnings: there is quite a lot of Buffy/Angel content here. This is definitely a Spuffy fic, but I don't believe in bashing the B/A pairing either. First love is very important, so I give it value. And I also quite like Angel, so I don't give him the hard time some Spuffy fans do!
Teaser:
Buffy stood in her kitchen. Moonlight fell in shafts through the slats of the blinds on the door, feeling her stomach tighten as she tried to make herself be brave.
“Maybe when…” she began, her throat dry. Maybe she could have something that wasn’t just digging girls’ graves and wanting to despair and making herself hard so that she wouldn’t. The previous night, lying quietly in Spike’s arms, she had begun to think that maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t the end for her.
“No. Let’s just leave it,” said Spike hastily. Maybe was too painful a word. He couldn’t give himself the opportunity to hope again. It was better to just accept what he had.
“Ok,” said Buffy, her voice croaking softly. She felt a strange sense of disappointment, although she should have been relieved. Everyone was always trying to make her responsible for decisions; shouldn’t she be glad that Spike wasn’t asking her for that? But all the same, as Spike swung out of the door with one of his trademark quips, she couldn’t help thinking she’d missed some kind of opportunity.
*
Buffy fought hard and fast. She saw Caleb’s fear; she could always smell it, she guessed the way vampires could. Just a part of the demon heritage of the Slayer, she guessed. He was still pretty full of himself, but she knew he feared the Scythe. Which was unsurprising, because it was kickass. But what was really gratifying was that for the first time she saw he was a little afraid of her. About time.
Then Caleb moved, so swiftly she hardly saw the action, and took the Scythe. He would have had her if there hadn’t been a voice calling out.
Angel.
After that, the fight was hers. She knew Angel was behind her, watching her, urging her on, and that made her feel strong.
Caleb fell, and didn’t get up. Buffy stared at him, unable to believe he might actually be dead. Then a feeling of relief, so huge it almost made her knees buckle, surged through her, and in that moment Angel moved towards her, laughingly saying “At least you could tell me you’re glad to see me,” and she seized him and kissed him.
“Well,” said Angel dryly after a moment, “I guess that qualified as ‘happy to see me’.” Buffy blinked at him for a moment, and then put her hand over her mouth.
“Angel! I’m sorry.” Her tone was a mixture of embarrassment and amusement. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
“I didn’t mind,” he said, shrugging lightly, his dark eyes on hers.
“I didn’t either,” she admitted, letting the corner of her mouth quirk into a smile. “But that’s not the point. What are you doing here, anyway?”
“I heard. About your trouble.” Angel waved a manila folder at her. “I got it from an evil law firm… Along with this.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a jewel on a chain.
“Oooh, shiny,” said Buffy. “But since we’re not dating, why are you bringing me jewellery?”
“It’s an amulet,” he said. “It’s… I don’t really know what it is. It’s old, and strong, and I think it can help you. It’s meant to be worn by someone more than human.” He put his hand on her shoulder. “Me. We’ll fight shoulder to shoulder. Like it used to be.”
Buffy looked at him for a long moment. It was tempting. She could let things slip back to how they had once been. She had to admit, the past did have its charms; how close she was to the gang, for instance. Even the apocalypses weren’t that bad back then. She thought it over, and then she shook her head. There was no going back.
“No,” she said. “I need you gone.”
Buffy started to walk out of the tomb, leaving the body of Caleb behind her.
“What?” protested Angel, walking after her. “I can be useful. You need me, Buffy.”
She was tempted to retort that she didn’t, but that wasn’t true. She could use every good fighter. But the thought of Angel staying made her uncomfortable.
“I need you to set up a second front in LA. If I lose…” she paused. “If I lose, it’s days, maybe hours, before the rest of the world goes. I need you to protect it. In case I fail.”
“Ok,” said Angel, getting between her and a gravestone, “that’s one reason. What’s the other?”
“There is no other,” she insisted. There wasn’t. Absolutely none.
“Is it Spike?”
Buffy felt her pulse leap in her throat. Had Angel turned into a mind reader?
“What?”
“His scent, I can remember it pretty well. It’s…” Angel made a moue of distaste. “It’s all over you.”
“Did anyone ever tell you that smelling people is a little gross?” said Buffy, moving away from him determinedly.
“Is he your boyfriend?” said Angel. “Because the last time I checked, he was evil. Ok, so maybe a year of the unstoppable horror of the First has made Spike look a little whiter, but he’s still a monster.”
Sighing, Buffy turned around and swung herself into a sitting position on a tomb.
“It’s different. He’s different,” she said, wishing she could just tell Angel it was none of his business but unable to curb the desire to explain things to him. “Spike has a soul now.”
“Oh,” said Angel, looking crestfallen. “A soul. Right.” He sat down on the tomb and studied his hands.
“So things are different now. He, he helps me, and… we’re close,” Buffy finished lamely.
“That’s great. Just great,” said Angel. “Everybody’s got a soul now.”
“What?”
“Well, I had one first, before it was the cool new thing,” he mumbled, determinedly not meeting her eyes. Buffy gave an exasperated sigh.
“My God, are you 12?”
“Come on, I’m getting the brushoff for Captain Peroxide. Doesn’t bring out my inner champ,” said Angel, folding his arms and raising his eyebrows.
“You’re not getting the brush off. For one thing, Spike’s not my boyfriend, and for another, you never had the brush on,” Buffy pointed out.
“What about that kiss?” yelped Angel. “That seemed very on to me.” Buffy blushed.
“I was pleased to see you. I still am. But Angel, it nearly killed me both times we broke up and I’m really not ready to go through that again,” she said.
“It doesn’t have to be like that,” he insisted, seizing her hands. “I’ve been doing some thinking. I slept with Darla - which is a long story I don’t have time to explain what with the coming apocalypse,” he said hastily, seeing Buffy’s jaw drop, “and I didn’t turn evil. So that proved it’s not just, ah, sex that does it. It was… you. The happiness I had with you. But the thing is, I know now what happens, and being worried about that would always stop be being 100% happy. Believe me, Buffy, I’d be happy with 90% happy. Wouldn’t you?”
Buffy met his eyes and saw the eagerness there, but also the desperation.
“I’d like that,” she said softly. “But we won’t ever have that, Angel.” She drew her hands away. “Life just doesn’t work that way. I love you. I always will. But…” she drew a deep breath, not wanting to hurt him, but knowing what she was about to say was important. “Not enough to risk everything again.”
“Oh.” Angel looked down at his hands again. They sat for a moment in silence, and then Buffy forced herself to say something.
“So, how is everyone in LA?” Her voice sounded gratingly cheery.
“Fine,” said Angel automatically, then caught himself. “Not fine. Cordelia… she’s sick. In a coma.” He looked at Buffy, and suddenly she understood the strange desperation she had seen in his eyes, his feverish desire to persuade her to be with him. This wasn’t about love. It was about needing comfort. And because of their past, she was the person he turned to, just as he was the person she wanted when her mother died. It wasn’t about love; at least, not the romantic kind. It was about wanting solace from someone who knows you well enough to not need you to explain what you want from them.
“I’m sorry,” said Buffy, and she meant it. Ok, the idea of Cordelia and Angel was deeply weird, and later on she would ask Willow what the hell she thought they saw in one another, but for now she saw only Angel’s sorrow, and grieved for him, and for Cordy.
“Me too,” said Angel. Once again they sat in silence. “So, are you going to give that to Spike?” said Angel, gesturing to the amulet.
“Maybe. Yes, I think so,” said Buffy. “He can do this, Angel. He can be a champion.” She was surprised by the quiet sincerity in her voice, and she realised it had been a long time since she had doubted Spike.
“I hope so.” Angel stood. “I guess this is goodbye, then.”
“I don’t know,” said Buffy, slipping off the tombstone and facing him. “I don’t know if it’ll ever be goodbye between you and me. But I don’t think we can ever be the way we were.”
“No, Buffy,” said Angel, looking faintly amused, “what I meant was, I guess I should head off now. Let you get on with the saving of the world.”
“Oh. Right.” Buffy felt herself colour, and she couldn’t help laughing slightly at herself. What was it about Angel that made her so po-faced? “Yes, I guess so.”
Angel started to walk away, and Buffy looked after him. He had come to her when she had grieved; surely she could give him more than an “I’m sorry”. She called his name. He turned, and she put her arms around his neck and kissed him hard, closed lips to closed lips. Drawing back, she studied his face. It showed understanding, and a little sadness. He touched her cheek.
“Thank you,” he said, and walked into the darkness.
*
Buffy walked back to the house, feeling drained but calm. She felt as if at last she and Angel had broken up, which was strange, considering he had left her four years before, but not until tonight had she been able to say goodbye without regret.
She was so caught up in thinking about Angel that when she walked into the house and was asked by Giles about the Scythe, she hardly knew what he was talking about.
“Oh! That. Slices, dices, and makes julienne preacher,” she said, her brain finding the automatic slayer quip as her thoughts remained elsewhere. The kitchen exploded into excitement, but Buffy slid away as soon as she could. There was someone she wanted to see.
Downstairs in the basement, Spike was hitting a punching bag.
“Where’s tall, dark and forehead?” he said, not even looking at her. Buffy stopped on the final stair and rolled her eyes.
“Let me guess… You can smell him?”
“Yeah. But I also used my enhanced vampire eyeballs to see you kissing him.”
Buffy’s stomach clenched suddenly, and she had to put her hand on the bannister to steady herself.
“That was a hello.”
She walked down towards him as Spike continued grumbling, and caught sight of the front of the punching bag. Spike had taped a badly drawn marker pen picture of Angel to it. Buffy rolled her eyes, and felt a swell of affection mixed with exasperation for the stupid bleached haired vampire.
“Nice picture. Take you long?” she asked.
“He wears lifts, you know,” said Spike, pointedly ignoring her comment, and rifling in his pocket for a cigarette. “Anyway, I want the trinket.”
“The who-ket?” said Buffy, feigning ignorance.
“You know, the necklace your sweetie pie gave you. I heard what he said about it. Needs to be worn by someone with a soul who’s more than human.” Spike held out his hand.
“I… don’t know what it does yet,” said Buffy. “It could be dangerous.”
“All the better,” said Spike, jiggling his hand impatiently. “Give it.”
Buffy drew the amulet out of her pocket slowly. She felt reluctant to give it to him. She had a feeling it wasn’t going to destroy the First by showering it in rainbows, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to risk Spike wearing it.
“Angel said it should be worn by a champion,” she said slowly. Spike looked away, his expression humiliated, and she realised he didn’t even know that she thought he could be one. If he didn’t realise that, he must not realise a lot of other things, which might explain why he had cut her off earlier in the evening when she’d tried to talk to him.
Buffy leaned forward and caught Spike’s hand. Opened it. Put the amulet in his palm and closed his fingers over it.
Spike stared at her, speechless. She thought of all the things she might say to him, the speeches she might make now about how she valued him, but she couldn’t think of the right words. Maybe there weren’t any. She didn’t know if she could make protestations of love; she wasn’t even sure how she felt about Spike. There was just too much going on in her head right now, and she needed a quieter time to deal with the maelstrom. But there was one thing she needed to say. Something she had realised as she gave Angel his kiss of solace, and he had accepted it for what it was.
“Last night. I didn’t just want you for comfort. I… wanted to be with you,” she said. Spike stared at her, and in the silence that followed she could feel every nerve in her body strain and hum.
“What does that mean?” he said quietly, his eyes never leaving hers.
“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “But it does mean something. Not tomorrow, not when this is over, but already. Now.”
“That’s something,” he said, nodding gravely.
“That’s something,” she agreed, and raising her face to his, kissed him.
Title: Not For Comfort
Word count: 2351
Time frame: End of Days/Chosen
Rating: PG
In brief: A reworking of the infamous "Cookie dough" speech. Buffy evaluates her relationship with Angel, and comes to some conclusions about Spike.
Warnings: there is quite a lot of Buffy/Angel content here. This is definitely a Spuffy fic, but I don't believe in bashing the B/A pairing either. First love is very important, so I give it value. And I also quite like Angel, so I don't give him the hard time some Spuffy fans do!
Teaser:
Buffy stood in her kitchen. Moonlight fell in shafts through the slats of the blinds on the door, feeling her stomach tighten as she tried to make herself be brave.
“Maybe when…” she began, her throat dry. Maybe she could have something that wasn’t just digging girls’ graves and wanting to despair and making herself hard so that she wouldn’t. The previous night, lying quietly in Spike’s arms, she had begun to think that maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t the end for her.
“No. Let’s just leave it,” said Spike hastily. Maybe was too painful a word. He couldn’t give himself the opportunity to hope again. It was better to just accept what he had.
“Ok,” said Buffy, her voice croaking softly. She felt a strange sense of disappointment, although she should have been relieved. Everyone was always trying to make her responsible for decisions; shouldn’t she be glad that Spike wasn’t asking her for that? But all the same, as Spike swung out of the door with one of his trademark quips, she couldn’t help thinking she’d missed some kind of opportunity.
*
Buffy fought hard and fast. She saw Caleb’s fear; she could always smell it, she guessed the way vampires could. Just a part of the demon heritage of the Slayer, she guessed. He was still pretty full of himself, but she knew he feared the Scythe. Which was unsurprising, because it was kickass. But what was really gratifying was that for the first time she saw he was a little afraid of her. About time.
Then Caleb moved, so swiftly she hardly saw the action, and took the Scythe. He would have had her if there hadn’t been a voice calling out.
Angel.
After that, the fight was hers. She knew Angel was behind her, watching her, urging her on, and that made her feel strong.
Caleb fell, and didn’t get up. Buffy stared at him, unable to believe he might actually be dead. Then a feeling of relief, so huge it almost made her knees buckle, surged through her, and in that moment Angel moved towards her, laughingly saying “At least you could tell me you’re glad to see me,” and she seized him and kissed him.
“Well,” said Angel dryly after a moment, “I guess that qualified as ‘happy to see me’.” Buffy blinked at him for a moment, and then put her hand over her mouth.
“Angel! I’m sorry.” Her tone was a mixture of embarrassment and amusement. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
“I didn’t mind,” he said, shrugging lightly, his dark eyes on hers.
“I didn’t either,” she admitted, letting the corner of her mouth quirk into a smile. “But that’s not the point. What are you doing here, anyway?”
“I heard. About your trouble.” Angel waved a manila folder at her. “I got it from an evil law firm… Along with this.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a jewel on a chain.
“Oooh, shiny,” said Buffy. “But since we’re not dating, why are you bringing me jewellery?”
“It’s an amulet,” he said. “It’s… I don’t really know what it is. It’s old, and strong, and I think it can help you. It’s meant to be worn by someone more than human.” He put his hand on her shoulder. “Me. We’ll fight shoulder to shoulder. Like it used to be.”
Buffy looked at him for a long moment. It was tempting. She could let things slip back to how they had once been. She had to admit, the past did have its charms; how close she was to the gang, for instance. Even the apocalypses weren’t that bad back then. She thought it over, and then she shook her head. There was no going back.
“No,” she said. “I need you gone.”
Buffy started to walk out of the tomb, leaving the body of Caleb behind her.
“What?” protested Angel, walking after her. “I can be useful. You need me, Buffy.”
She was tempted to retort that she didn’t, but that wasn’t true. She could use every good fighter. But the thought of Angel staying made her uncomfortable.
“I need you to set up a second front in LA. If I lose…” she paused. “If I lose, it’s days, maybe hours, before the rest of the world goes. I need you to protect it. In case I fail.”
“Ok,” said Angel, getting between her and a gravestone, “that’s one reason. What’s the other?”
“There is no other,” she insisted. There wasn’t. Absolutely none.
“Is it Spike?”
Buffy felt her pulse leap in her throat. Had Angel turned into a mind reader?
“What?”
“His scent, I can remember it pretty well. It’s…” Angel made a moue of distaste. “It’s all over you.”
“Did anyone ever tell you that smelling people is a little gross?” said Buffy, moving away from him determinedly.
“Is he your boyfriend?” said Angel. “Because the last time I checked, he was evil. Ok, so maybe a year of the unstoppable horror of the First has made Spike look a little whiter, but he’s still a monster.”
Sighing, Buffy turned around and swung herself into a sitting position on a tomb.
“It’s different. He’s different,” she said, wishing she could just tell Angel it was none of his business but unable to curb the desire to explain things to him. “Spike has a soul now.”
“Oh,” said Angel, looking crestfallen. “A soul. Right.” He sat down on the tomb and studied his hands.
“So things are different now. He, he helps me, and… we’re close,” Buffy finished lamely.
“That’s great. Just great,” said Angel. “Everybody’s got a soul now.”
“What?”
“Well, I had one first, before it was the cool new thing,” he mumbled, determinedly not meeting her eyes. Buffy gave an exasperated sigh.
“My God, are you 12?”
“Come on, I’m getting the brushoff for Captain Peroxide. Doesn’t bring out my inner champ,” said Angel, folding his arms and raising his eyebrows.
“You’re not getting the brush off. For one thing, Spike’s not my boyfriend, and for another, you never had the brush on,” Buffy pointed out.
“What about that kiss?” yelped Angel. “That seemed very on to me.” Buffy blushed.
“I was pleased to see you. I still am. But Angel, it nearly killed me both times we broke up and I’m really not ready to go through that again,” she said.
“It doesn’t have to be like that,” he insisted, seizing her hands. “I’ve been doing some thinking. I slept with Darla - which is a long story I don’t have time to explain what with the coming apocalypse,” he said hastily, seeing Buffy’s jaw drop, “and I didn’t turn evil. So that proved it’s not just, ah, sex that does it. It was… you. The happiness I had with you. But the thing is, I know now what happens, and being worried about that would always stop be being 100% happy. Believe me, Buffy, I’d be happy with 90% happy. Wouldn’t you?”
Buffy met his eyes and saw the eagerness there, but also the desperation.
“I’d like that,” she said softly. “But we won’t ever have that, Angel.” She drew her hands away. “Life just doesn’t work that way. I love you. I always will. But…” she drew a deep breath, not wanting to hurt him, but knowing what she was about to say was important. “Not enough to risk everything again.”
“Oh.” Angel looked down at his hands again. They sat for a moment in silence, and then Buffy forced herself to say something.
“So, how is everyone in LA?” Her voice sounded gratingly cheery.
“Fine,” said Angel automatically, then caught himself. “Not fine. Cordelia… she’s sick. In a coma.” He looked at Buffy, and suddenly she understood the strange desperation she had seen in his eyes, his feverish desire to persuade her to be with him. This wasn’t about love. It was about needing comfort. And because of their past, she was the person he turned to, just as he was the person she wanted when her mother died. It wasn’t about love; at least, not the romantic kind. It was about wanting solace from someone who knows you well enough to not need you to explain what you want from them.
“I’m sorry,” said Buffy, and she meant it. Ok, the idea of Cordelia and Angel was deeply weird, and later on she would ask Willow what the hell she thought they saw in one another, but for now she saw only Angel’s sorrow, and grieved for him, and for Cordy.
“Me too,” said Angel. Once again they sat in silence. “So, are you going to give that to Spike?” said Angel, gesturing to the amulet.
“Maybe. Yes, I think so,” said Buffy. “He can do this, Angel. He can be a champion.” She was surprised by the quiet sincerity in her voice, and she realised it had been a long time since she had doubted Spike.
“I hope so.” Angel stood. “I guess this is goodbye, then.”
“I don’t know,” said Buffy, slipping off the tombstone and facing him. “I don’t know if it’ll ever be goodbye between you and me. But I don’t think we can ever be the way we were.”
“No, Buffy,” said Angel, looking faintly amused, “what I meant was, I guess I should head off now. Let you get on with the saving of the world.”
“Oh. Right.” Buffy felt herself colour, and she couldn’t help laughing slightly at herself. What was it about Angel that made her so po-faced? “Yes, I guess so.”
Angel started to walk away, and Buffy looked after him. He had come to her when she had grieved; surely she could give him more than an “I’m sorry”. She called his name. He turned, and she put her arms around his neck and kissed him hard, closed lips to closed lips. Drawing back, she studied his face. It showed understanding, and a little sadness. He touched her cheek.
“Thank you,” he said, and walked into the darkness.
*
Buffy walked back to the house, feeling drained but calm. She felt as if at last she and Angel had broken up, which was strange, considering he had left her four years before, but not until tonight had she been able to say goodbye without regret.
She was so caught up in thinking about Angel that when she walked into the house and was asked by Giles about the Scythe, she hardly knew what he was talking about.
“Oh! That. Slices, dices, and makes julienne preacher,” she said, her brain finding the automatic slayer quip as her thoughts remained elsewhere. The kitchen exploded into excitement, but Buffy slid away as soon as she could. There was someone she wanted to see.
Downstairs in the basement, Spike was hitting a punching bag.
“Where’s tall, dark and forehead?” he said, not even looking at her. Buffy stopped on the final stair and rolled her eyes.
“Let me guess… You can smell him?”
“Yeah. But I also used my enhanced vampire eyeballs to see you kissing him.”
Buffy’s stomach clenched suddenly, and she had to put her hand on the bannister to steady herself.
“That was a hello.”
She walked down towards him as Spike continued grumbling, and caught sight of the front of the punching bag. Spike had taped a badly drawn marker pen picture of Angel to it. Buffy rolled her eyes, and felt a swell of affection mixed with exasperation for the stupid bleached haired vampire.
“Nice picture. Take you long?” she asked.
“He wears lifts, you know,” said Spike, pointedly ignoring her comment, and rifling in his pocket for a cigarette. “Anyway, I want the trinket.”
“The who-ket?” said Buffy, feigning ignorance.
“You know, the necklace your sweetie pie gave you. I heard what he said about it. Needs to be worn by someone with a soul who’s more than human.” Spike held out his hand.
“I… don’t know what it does yet,” said Buffy. “It could be dangerous.”
“All the better,” said Spike, jiggling his hand impatiently. “Give it.”
Buffy drew the amulet out of her pocket slowly. She felt reluctant to give it to him. She had a feeling it wasn’t going to destroy the First by showering it in rainbows, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to risk Spike wearing it.
“Angel said it should be worn by a champion,” she said slowly. Spike looked away, his expression humiliated, and she realised he didn’t even know that she thought he could be one. If he didn’t realise that, he must not realise a lot of other things, which might explain why he had cut her off earlier in the evening when she’d tried to talk to him.
Buffy leaned forward and caught Spike’s hand. Opened it. Put the amulet in his palm and closed his fingers over it.
Spike stared at her, speechless. She thought of all the things she might say to him, the speeches she might make now about how she valued him, but she couldn’t think of the right words. Maybe there weren’t any. She didn’t know if she could make protestations of love; she wasn’t even sure how she felt about Spike. There was just too much going on in her head right now, and she needed a quieter time to deal with the maelstrom. But there was one thing she needed to say. Something she had realised as she gave Angel his kiss of solace, and he had accepted it for what it was.
“Last night. I didn’t just want you for comfort. I… wanted to be with you,” she said. Spike stared at her, and in the silence that followed she could feel every nerve in her body strain and hum.
“What does that mean?” he said quietly, his eyes never leaving hers.
“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “But it does mean something. Not tomorrow, not when this is over, but already. Now.”
“That’s something,” he said, nodding gravely.
“That’s something,” she agreed, and raising her face to his, kissed him.