Life As We Know It
Life As We Know It
Author: enigmaticblue
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters; too bad, so sad.
Pairings/Characters: Buffy/Spike
Spoilers: Through Not Fade Away (not comics-compliant)
Word Count: ~1200
Summary: It’s yet another apocalypse, and Buffy needs all the help she can get, even if that means a certain ex-boyfriend.
A/N: Written for
effulgent_girl , who asked for Spuffy, and for the
hc_bingo prompt “planet destruction” and the
trope_bingo prompt “au: apocalypse.” Frankly, this could have been an epic, and I'm not saying that I won't revisit it and greatly expand this 'verse, but I just didn't have the time right now.
“How many Slayers do we have coming in?” Buffy asks.
Willow sighs wearily. “We’ve got six confirmed, but they’re having trouble getting here. Traveling options aren’t exactly reliable.”
Buffy rubs her eyes. “Have we had any luck figuring out what blotted out the sun in the first place?”
“No,” Willow says apologetically. “I’m sorry, Buffy. I’ve put the word out, but no one seems to know what’s going on, and I still haven’t found a prophecy or anything that would explain it.”
Not for the first time, Buffy wishes that Angel were still around and running Wolfram & Hart. They might have been evil, but Angel had come through in the end, killing off the members of the Black Thorn and preventing Los Angeles from being overrun by demons.
And it’s entirely possible that this current apocalypse has something to do with Angel’s actions in Los Angeles, but Angel isn’t around to ask.
“What about Giles?” Buffy asks.
Willow grimaces. “Still no word. I’m sorry.”
“It would just figure that the apocalypse would cut off the international phone lines,” Buffy says with a grimace.
“I’m sorry,” Willow says miserably. “We’re still looking for a solution, but magic is wonky right now.”
Buffy feels a welling sense of despair. Whatever prophecy had taken place, whatever dark magic had blotted out the sun, it has completely screwed up lines of communication and their ability to use magic to combat the problem.
She’d never thought she’d be looking at the destruction of the planet, not even when Angelus was opening Acathla. And now that’s exactly what they’re facing.
“Buffy!” Vi skids into the room. “You, uh, you have a visitor.”
Buffy swears her heart skips a beat when she sees a familiar figure swagger into the basement where they’ve holed up. “I hear you could use a hand.”
She stands. “Guys, can we have the room?”
The others-Willow, Vi, and a couple of the Slayers who had been training-head up the stairs. They’d camped out in a large Victorian house in Cleveland with three stories, including a basement. Their best bet is that the most recent apocalypse has something to do with the Cleveland Hellmouth, although that’s far from certain.
It’s all a shot in the dark, no pun intended.
Spike lights up a cigarette, like it hasn’t been two years since he’d burned up in the Sunnydale Hellmouth. Like it hadn’t been two years since Buffy had told him she loved him, and Spike had thanked her and said she didn’t.
He takes a deep drag of his cigarette and fixes her with a long, level look. “H’lo, Buffy.”
Buffy takes a breath. “Spike.”
“Interesting problem we’ve got,” he says.
“Interesting is one way to put it,” Buffy replies. “What are you doing here?”
“You put out a call for Slayers, and I know I don’t exactly fit the bill, but I can at least offer my services, such as they are,” Spike says.
Buffy raises her eyebrows. “Long time, no see.”
“Didn’t think you’d want to see me,” Spike replies, flicking ash onto the concrete floor.
Buffy is suddenly tired of dancing around the issue. They’ve wasted two years because Spike hadn’t believed her, and Buffy had been hurt that he hadn’t come to her when she’d discovered he was alive-or undead. The world might end tomorrow, and the time for being coy is long past done.
“I loved you then,” Buffy says steadily. “And I’ve had two years to get over you, and I’m not sure I have. If you really want to stay and help, you’re going to have to deal with that.”
For once, she catches him completely by surprise, and his cigarette drops from nerveless fingers. “Buffy?”
“If you’ve moved on, I get it,” she says, “and it’s fine. But I need to get that out up front.”
Spike ducks his head, staring at the floor, and the silence stretches out by agonizing seconds. “So I feel like an idiot.”
Buffy’s lips twitch. “I doubt that’s new.”
Spike looks up with a rueful smile. “No, but the sense of having wasted two years is.”
She feels a burgeoning hope. “Is that right?”
“It’s the end of the world, love,” Spike says. “There’s no time to lose.”
“You really think it’s the end of the world?” Buffy asks.
Spike hitches a shoulder. “It’s not looking good. You’ve got no daylight reprieve, and the forces of darkness are coming out in force.” He pauses. “Sorry, that was a little redundant.”
“So maybe we make the most of whatever time we have,” Buffy suggests.
“Your decision,” Spike says. “You call the shots.”
Buffy can understand why he’d make that rule. Spike has every reason to hesitate. “Okay, that’s fair, just as long as you understand that a no goes for both of us. No more games, Spike, just honesty.”
“I think I can deal with that,” Spike replies, a soft smile on his lips. “So, where do you want me, Buffy?”
“Here,” she says bluntly, and stands up, approaching him slowly. “It’s been too long, Spike.”
“Nice of you to say that,” he replies and stands still, not reaching for her as he might have once.
Buffy has no problem setting the pace, and she’s grateful to see that Spike is willing to let her make the first move. She grips the lapels of his duster and gives him a little shake. “I should have known you’d show up when I needed you most. You always have.”
Spike’s expression flickers between pleasure and discomfort. “My presence hasn’t always been helpful.”
“It was for the last three out of four apocalypses,” Buffy points out, then winces. “Is that right? I feel like apocalypse should never be plural.”
“It’s a crazy world we live in,” Spike agrees.
Buffy wraps a hand around the back of his neck, feeling the gelled curls, although most of the hair product has apparently worn off. “Hey.”
“Hi,” Spike replies with a goofy smile on his face.
Buffy had always known Spike was a fool for love, and this just proves it. She can’t say she has a problem with it, though. She pulls his head down, her lips finding his easily. The familiarity works for them, because Buffy goes from happy to see him to “jump him now” in about thirty seconds. If that.
Spike is actually the one to pull back, resting his forehead against hers. “That was-”
“That was something I want to follow up on behind a locked door as soon as possible,” Buffy admits. “But we’re a little exposed here.”
Spike pulls her in close for a comforting hug, holding her tightly, resting his head against hers. “However you want to play this.”
“I say we check in with everybody, figure out what we need to do right away, and then we steal an hour or two to get reacquainted as soon as possible,” Buffy replies.
“I’m on board with that plan,” Spike replies. He gently tugs her ponytail. “It’s good to see you, Summers.”
And Buffy feels his quiet concern and steadfast loyalty right down to her toes. If she’s honest with herself, she’s missed it, just as much as she’s missed him. “Same here,” she replies, and pulls him in for another kiss, stealing a few more moments.
Maybe this is the end of the world, maybe they don’t make it through, but Buffy has to admit that she feels better facing the possibility with Spike by her side.
For the first time in days, she feels a spark of hope.