HP/Buffy Crossover Fic: Things We Can't Have
Title: Things We Can't Have
Author: bratanimus
Ratings/Warnings: PG-13 for language
Prompts: Because kerrymdb asked me to! "Remus and Spike start a Dark Creatures Anonymous support group." :D
Word Count: 1,431
Summary: Remus and Spike ponder things they think they can't have.
Author’s Note: This is my first and possibly only crossover fic. ;)
“Well, that went well,” muttered Spike from his slouched position on the big, comfy chair, the one that Bill Weasley, Oz, and Wolverine had fought over for thirty minutes at the start of the meeting.
“That’s one way of putting it,” grumbled Remus as he cast a Scourgify spell on the corners of the room where Bill had marked his territory. It was hardly his fault; he was a new werewolf. Remus had done the same when he was newly made, but at least he’d had the excuse of being only four years old at the time.
“I told Giles this wasn’t gonna work,” said Spike, twirling a stake through his fingers. He’d only had to kill four vampires tonight, one of whom had lunged at Remus as the rest of the support group had started to dissipate. “Dark creatures tend to be loners, don’tcha know.”
“Oh, I don’t know. That Clem fellow seemed a nice chap - ”
“Him?” Spike scoffed incredulously. “He’s the most pathetic excuse for a demon I’ve ever seen, with his floppy ears and his puppy dog eyes.” Spike spat the words as he got up to retrieve his bottle of whiskey from the top of the refrigerator. "Bastard can't even play poker."
“Nothing wrong with that,” mumbled Remus as he Scourgified a smear of green ichor from the stone floor. He didn’t know if Spike even cared if his place was cleaned after the meeting, but it was a compulsion that Remus couldn’t seem to inhibit at this point.
Giles’ intentions, when he’d contacted Remus, had been good ones, after all. But Sunnydale had too many Dark creatures, and like most Americans, they wanted to work things out in their own roundabout way, come hell or high water. Stubborn fools. He wondered now why he’d even bothered coming here.
“At least Angel had the decency to make himself scarce,” griped Spike in a voice tinged with venom. He poured himself a glass and drank half of it at once, then flopped back into the chair. “Los Angeles is lucky to have such a good boy in its midst. So I’ve heard.”
“Who’s Angel?” asked Remus, pulling up a chair to sit across from Spike.
Spike finished swallowing and looked hard at Remus. Then he looked away and poured another glass, handing it to him. “Didn’t Buffy tell you?”
“Erm, no, actually. She just told me about you.” Warned would be a better word, Remus thought, but because she didn’t seem frightened, Remus had decided he shouldn’t be, either. He sipped his whiskey and nodded at Spike for his good taste in liquor.
“What’d she say?” Spike asked nonchalantly.
Remus paused before he spoke. “She said you were a force to be reckoned with.” He’s the brawn, she’d said, you’re the brains. But Remus thought it better not to mention that little exchange. “She said if anyone could keep this meeting in order, it’d be you.”
“Did she now?” Spike put on a look of studied disinterest as he swirled the whiskey in the glass and tossed it back.
“And I must say you handled it rather well,” Remus admitted.
Spike raised his eyebrows and quirked his mouth into a sneer by way of acknowledgement of the compliment. He peeled off his leather coat and a loose, blood-red shirt, stripping down to his black t-shirt. The crypt was cold, but it didn’t seem to bother the vampire.
Remus shivered and stood. “Do you mind if I start a fire, just here?” He gestured to the top of a sarcophagus against the wall.
“No, it’s bloody cold in here all the time. Even in summer.” When Remus had finished, he carried a little of the blue fire with him in the palm of his hand and placed it in an ashtray on a small table between them for extra light and warmth. “Wish I could do that,” said Spike, looking at Remus with frank envy.
“Wish I could punch holes in demons’ chests with my bare fist,” Remus replied, raising his glass.
Spike raised his glass in return. “To things we can’t have,” he murmured.
They both sipped silently for a few moments, Spike’s eyes remaining dark and on the heavy door.
“Expecting someone?” asked Remus.
Spike laughed, a hollow bark of a sound that reminded him a lot of Sirius. “Yes, actually,” he replied. He took a long swig, as if considering whether he should continue, and eventually he did. “But I never know whether she’s going to think better of it.”
“Hmm,” remarked Remus. He couldn’t help thinking of Tonks, and all the times he'd expected her not to show up; and each time he’d been proven wrong. It had taken him a long time to believe that she wanted to be with him, that it wasn’t just loneliness, or pity, or a way to connect with Sirius after he was killed - that she actually wanted to be with him for him.
Remus didn’t know to whom Spike was referring, but the miserable look on the bloke’s face told him that, to Spike, the woman was everything. So much so that he’d resort to drinking with a werewolf who was, essentially, a total stranger to pass the time, in case the woman in question never came.
“She’s better than me, of course,” Spike said simply. And to Remus’ surprise, there was no venom in his voice.
Remus knew a little bit about that feeling. “That’s not true,” he said, and Spike laughed mirthlessly. Remus leaned forward and went on. “No, really. Just because you’re a Dark creature doesn’t mean you don’t have qualities that outweigh - ”
“Oh, shut it, Doctor Ruth,” spat Spike. “What do you know about it?”
“More than you can guess,” replied Remus coolly. “And I nearly ruined something because I thought a woman was too good for me. It took more than a year before I started to trust - ”
“Ah, but there’s the difference, don’t you see?” Spike got up and began pacing the length of the room. “You thought your woman was too good for you.” He stopped in front of the door and stared at it. “I know Buffy is.”
So, Buffy and Spike. Remus could say nothing. He’d been there, and nothing anyone did or said had made him change his mind, not until Dumbledore ...
“I know she’s better than me,” repeated Spike, breathing heavily with his back to Remus. “And what’s more, so does she.”
And in a lightning flash of rage, Spike hurled his glass at the door, tiny pieces scattering everywhere like so many shards of diamond.
At that moment the heavy door opened, and Buffy stood in the doorway silhouetted in the moonlight, feet set wide like the superhero she was, her face hard and desperate at once. She didn’t see Remus as she stepped across the threshold, her shoes crunching across the broken glass as she reached for Spike with one hand open and one closed in a fist. As the open hand grasped his t-shirt, Spike placed a hand over it, over his heart, and whispered something in her ear. His face looked tender and vulnerable, unlike the angry, spurned lover Remus had seen seconds before. With his words, Buffy’s eyes darted to Remus.
“Oh. Hi,” she said, stepping away from Spike immediately and wiping her hands on her jeans. That unconscious motion nearly broke Remus’ heart, and he could see in Spike’s slumped posture that he didn’t know the half of it. “I didn’t realize you’d still be here. How was the meeting? Any converts?”
“Erm, not exactly,” Remus said, standing and putting his half-finished whiskey on the table. He crossed to the door. “Sorry to be rude, but I’m pretty tired. It’s actually - ” He checked his pocket watch. “ - seven in the morning, London time. I’ll let Spike tell you all about the meeting, and I’ll visit you and Giles tomorrow afternoon before I go.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Buffy smiled, her face lighting up. Then she glanced at Spike and the look between them was electric, full of something unmistakably dark and desperate and familiar.
“Well … good night,” Remus nodded.
As he stepped out into the cemetery, the door shut with a soft thud behind him, followed a second later by the muffled thump of a body being slammed against it.
Remus walked slowly through the graveyard, winding his way back to the little bed in the spare room at Giles’ house, thinking of all the things people can’t have.
Author: bratanimus
Ratings/Warnings: PG-13 for language
Prompts: Because kerrymdb asked me to! "Remus and Spike start a Dark Creatures Anonymous support group." :D
Word Count: 1,431
Summary: Remus and Spike ponder things they think they can't have.
Author’s Note: This is my first and possibly only crossover fic. ;)
“Well, that went well,” muttered Spike from his slouched position on the big, comfy chair, the one that Bill Weasley, Oz, and Wolverine had fought over for thirty minutes at the start of the meeting.
“That’s one way of putting it,” grumbled Remus as he cast a Scourgify spell on the corners of the room where Bill had marked his territory. It was hardly his fault; he was a new werewolf. Remus had done the same when he was newly made, but at least he’d had the excuse of being only four years old at the time.
“I told Giles this wasn’t gonna work,” said Spike, twirling a stake through his fingers. He’d only had to kill four vampires tonight, one of whom had lunged at Remus as the rest of the support group had started to dissipate. “Dark creatures tend to be loners, don’tcha know.”
“Oh, I don’t know. That Clem fellow seemed a nice chap - ”
“Him?” Spike scoffed incredulously. “He’s the most pathetic excuse for a demon I’ve ever seen, with his floppy ears and his puppy dog eyes.” Spike spat the words as he got up to retrieve his bottle of whiskey from the top of the refrigerator. "Bastard can't even play poker."
“Nothing wrong with that,” mumbled Remus as he Scourgified a smear of green ichor from the stone floor. He didn’t know if Spike even cared if his place was cleaned after the meeting, but it was a compulsion that Remus couldn’t seem to inhibit at this point.
Giles’ intentions, when he’d contacted Remus, had been good ones, after all. But Sunnydale had too many Dark creatures, and like most Americans, they wanted to work things out in their own roundabout way, come hell or high water. Stubborn fools. He wondered now why he’d even bothered coming here.
“At least Angel had the decency to make himself scarce,” griped Spike in a voice tinged with venom. He poured himself a glass and drank half of it at once, then flopped back into the chair. “Los Angeles is lucky to have such a good boy in its midst. So I’ve heard.”
“Who’s Angel?” asked Remus, pulling up a chair to sit across from Spike.
Spike finished swallowing and looked hard at Remus. Then he looked away and poured another glass, handing it to him. “Didn’t Buffy tell you?”
“Erm, no, actually. She just told me about you.” Warned would be a better word, Remus thought, but because she didn’t seem frightened, Remus had decided he shouldn’t be, either. He sipped his whiskey and nodded at Spike for his good taste in liquor.
“What’d she say?” Spike asked nonchalantly.
Remus paused before he spoke. “She said you were a force to be reckoned with.” He’s the brawn, she’d said, you’re the brains. But Remus thought it better not to mention that little exchange. “She said if anyone could keep this meeting in order, it’d be you.”
“Did she now?” Spike put on a look of studied disinterest as he swirled the whiskey in the glass and tossed it back.
“And I must say you handled it rather well,” Remus admitted.
Spike raised his eyebrows and quirked his mouth into a sneer by way of acknowledgement of the compliment. He peeled off his leather coat and a loose, blood-red shirt, stripping down to his black t-shirt. The crypt was cold, but it didn’t seem to bother the vampire.
Remus shivered and stood. “Do you mind if I start a fire, just here?” He gestured to the top of a sarcophagus against the wall.
“No, it’s bloody cold in here all the time. Even in summer.” When Remus had finished, he carried a little of the blue fire with him in the palm of his hand and placed it in an ashtray on a small table between them for extra light and warmth. “Wish I could do that,” said Spike, looking at Remus with frank envy.
“Wish I could punch holes in demons’ chests with my bare fist,” Remus replied, raising his glass.
Spike raised his glass in return. “To things we can’t have,” he murmured.
They both sipped silently for a few moments, Spike’s eyes remaining dark and on the heavy door.
“Expecting someone?” asked Remus.
Spike laughed, a hollow bark of a sound that reminded him a lot of Sirius. “Yes, actually,” he replied. He took a long swig, as if considering whether he should continue, and eventually he did. “But I never know whether she’s going to think better of it.”
“Hmm,” remarked Remus. He couldn’t help thinking of Tonks, and all the times he'd expected her not to show up; and each time he’d been proven wrong. It had taken him a long time to believe that she wanted to be with him, that it wasn’t just loneliness, or pity, or a way to connect with Sirius after he was killed - that she actually wanted to be with him for him.
Remus didn’t know to whom Spike was referring, but the miserable look on the bloke’s face told him that, to Spike, the woman was everything. So much so that he’d resort to drinking with a werewolf who was, essentially, a total stranger to pass the time, in case the woman in question never came.
“She’s better than me, of course,” Spike said simply. And to Remus’ surprise, there was no venom in his voice.
Remus knew a little bit about that feeling. “That’s not true,” he said, and Spike laughed mirthlessly. Remus leaned forward and went on. “No, really. Just because you’re a Dark creature doesn’t mean you don’t have qualities that outweigh - ”
“Oh, shut it, Doctor Ruth,” spat Spike. “What do you know about it?”
“More than you can guess,” replied Remus coolly. “And I nearly ruined something because I thought a woman was too good for me. It took more than a year before I started to trust - ”
“Ah, but there’s the difference, don’t you see?” Spike got up and began pacing the length of the room. “You thought your woman was too good for you.” He stopped in front of the door and stared at it. “I know Buffy is.”
So, Buffy and Spike. Remus could say nothing. He’d been there, and nothing anyone did or said had made him change his mind, not until Dumbledore ...
“I know she’s better than me,” repeated Spike, breathing heavily with his back to Remus. “And what’s more, so does she.”
And in a lightning flash of rage, Spike hurled his glass at the door, tiny pieces scattering everywhere like so many shards of diamond.
At that moment the heavy door opened, and Buffy stood in the doorway silhouetted in the moonlight, feet set wide like the superhero she was, her face hard and desperate at once. She didn’t see Remus as she stepped across the threshold, her shoes crunching across the broken glass as she reached for Spike with one hand open and one closed in a fist. As the open hand grasped his t-shirt, Spike placed a hand over it, over his heart, and whispered something in her ear. His face looked tender and vulnerable, unlike the angry, spurned lover Remus had seen seconds before. With his words, Buffy’s eyes darted to Remus.
“Oh. Hi,” she said, stepping away from Spike immediately and wiping her hands on her jeans. That unconscious motion nearly broke Remus’ heart, and he could see in Spike’s slumped posture that he didn’t know the half of it. “I didn’t realize you’d still be here. How was the meeting? Any converts?”
“Erm, not exactly,” Remus said, standing and putting his half-finished whiskey on the table. He crossed to the door. “Sorry to be rude, but I’m pretty tired. It’s actually - ” He checked his pocket watch. “ - seven in the morning, London time. I’ll let Spike tell you all about the meeting, and I’ll visit you and Giles tomorrow afternoon before I go.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Buffy smiled, her face lighting up. Then she glanced at Spike and the look between them was electric, full of something unmistakably dark and desperate and familiar.
“Well … good night,” Remus nodded.
As he stepped out into the cemetery, the door shut with a soft thud behind him, followed a second later by the muffled thump of a body being slammed against it.
Remus walked slowly through the graveyard, winding his way back to the little bed in the spare room at Giles’ house, thinking of all the things people can’t have.