'Half-Loop Topstitch' by Quinara (500 words; post-Sleeper; PG)
For the Xander's Closet prompt, because I couldn't let that go. And no, I am not a massive Legally Blonde geek, why do you ask? Stop looking at me!!
(I also have a feeling I'm going to continue to fail in writing anything shorter than on the very limit... Life on the edge this is, life on the edge.)
Half-Loop Topstitch.
by Quinara
What should have happened is this: she should have decided Spike was staying in her house and he should have been able to stay there. Xander could have voiced his disagreement, then gone home to stew over pepperoni pizza.
Unfortunately, like everyone these days - despite having a minimalist wardrobe and being recently insane - Spike has stuff. And so, once they reach the most hesitant of détentes, Buffy has to bundle a nervous, miserable vampire into Xander’s car and ride along with him all the way back to Xander’s closet, where she then has to hit up her still unconvinced friend for a duffle bag, while said vampire nervously folds up his things.
“You know, maybe Xander could have done this,” she says when Spike pauses, standing at the foot of the bed with a t-shirt in his hands. Then she sees there’s a stain on the collar and that’s what’s transfixing him. She knows it’s blood. “Or not.”
“I didn’t know where this came from,” he comments. “Didn’t want to put it in the washer - bloody machine would have got it on one of milord’s shirts. Thought I could do without the hassle.”
Stepping to his side, she decides to ignore Spike’s lack of washer understanding and asks hesitantly, “You remember now?”
He laughs, shaking his head before folding the shirt over his thumbs, into quarters like a napkin. “No.” He sets it to the side of his clothes pile. “Could belong to any one of them - I don’t remember what I wore.”
Why is she surprised? She shouldn’t be surprised. That’s not surprising.
Is it?
“Oh,” she says, hoping he’ll work out her intonation for her. They’d best continue with the practicalities. “Do you wanna throw it out or…?”
“No point, is there?” he replies brusquely, balling up a pair of socks and setting it on the bedclothes. “Memory’s come and it’s not even a reminder.”
“No, but, I mean,” she begins, then breathes, controlling her words. “I know you changed your look, you know, after- and I guessed you weren’t wearing the coat because of all the memories and stuff.” Wow, Buffy, she thinks, you’re sensitive. “There’s no reason you can’t do that again, even though it’s only been a couple months.” He isn’t scowling too hard yet, so she wonders if she’s getting somewhere. “Start fresh,” she continues. “Khaki didn’t work out? There’s always blue.” Oh no, he did try that. “Or brown. Or, like, ochre - I think ochre could work for you.”
Now he’s glaring. “This isn’t a chick flick, Buffy - you can’t fix me with a makeover.”
Actually, she expects it’s like Legally Blonde, and Spike won’t strike gold until he accepts the 80s reject look is part of who he is. Unfortunately he isn’t ready to hear that. But maybe this is a start? “OK then,” she accepts. “What would you suggest?”
“Watch me,” he says resignedly, regarding the clothes on the bed. “Let it come then find out why. There’s no hiding now.”
(I also have a feeling I'm going to continue to fail in writing anything shorter than on the very limit... Life on the edge this is, life on the edge.)
Half-Loop Topstitch.
by Quinara
What should have happened is this: she should have decided Spike was staying in her house and he should have been able to stay there. Xander could have voiced his disagreement, then gone home to stew over pepperoni pizza.
Unfortunately, like everyone these days - despite having a minimalist wardrobe and being recently insane - Spike has stuff. And so, once they reach the most hesitant of détentes, Buffy has to bundle a nervous, miserable vampire into Xander’s car and ride along with him all the way back to Xander’s closet, where she then has to hit up her still unconvinced friend for a duffle bag, while said vampire nervously folds up his things.
“You know, maybe Xander could have done this,” she says when Spike pauses, standing at the foot of the bed with a t-shirt in his hands. Then she sees there’s a stain on the collar and that’s what’s transfixing him. She knows it’s blood. “Or not.”
“I didn’t know where this came from,” he comments. “Didn’t want to put it in the washer - bloody machine would have got it on one of milord’s shirts. Thought I could do without the hassle.”
Stepping to his side, she decides to ignore Spike’s lack of washer understanding and asks hesitantly, “You remember now?”
He laughs, shaking his head before folding the shirt over his thumbs, into quarters like a napkin. “No.” He sets it to the side of his clothes pile. “Could belong to any one of them - I don’t remember what I wore.”
Why is she surprised? She shouldn’t be surprised. That’s not surprising.
Is it?
“Oh,” she says, hoping he’ll work out her intonation for her. They’d best continue with the practicalities. “Do you wanna throw it out or…?”
“No point, is there?” he replies brusquely, balling up a pair of socks and setting it on the bedclothes. “Memory’s come and it’s not even a reminder.”
“No, but, I mean,” she begins, then breathes, controlling her words. “I know you changed your look, you know, after- and I guessed you weren’t wearing the coat because of all the memories and stuff.” Wow, Buffy, she thinks, you’re sensitive. “There’s no reason you can’t do that again, even though it’s only been a couple months.” He isn’t scowling too hard yet, so she wonders if she’s getting somewhere. “Start fresh,” she continues. “Khaki didn’t work out? There’s always blue.” Oh no, he did try that. “Or brown. Or, like, ochre - I think ochre could work for you.”
Now he’s glaring. “This isn’t a chick flick, Buffy - you can’t fix me with a makeover.”
Actually, she expects it’s like Legally Blonde, and Spike won’t strike gold until he accepts the 80s reject look is part of who he is. Unfortunately he isn’t ready to hear that. But maybe this is a start? “OK then,” she accepts. “What would you suggest?”
“Watch me,” he says resignedly, regarding the clothes on the bed. “Let it come then find out why. There’s no hiding now.”