Super Bowl ficlet
I wrote this ficlet for something - I can’t remember what - but it is too long to use as a drabble. Thought it relevant though, seeing as what is on TV at the moment here in England - and no, I don’t understand the rules. Why do they keep stopping every two minutes?
Title: Don’t Even Speak
Author: lilachigh
Rating: PG
Characters: Spike, Xander
DON’T EVEN SPEAK
“Listen, Bleach Boy, don’t speak to me. I don’t want to hear your stupid voice, or see you if I can avoid it.”
Spike’s lip curled. “Bit difficult to avoid seeing me as the sodding Slayer wants me living with you.”
“You’re not living with me, Spike! You are inhabiting three square feet of closet until we decide what to do with you. I’ve written up a whole page of rules for you to learn while I’m out.”
Spike snarled at the paper Xander thrust into his hand. “Going away somewhere far away, I hope.”
Xander shrugged on his jacket. “None of your business, Vampire. Just learn the rules or else I’ll stake you, whatever Buffy and Giles say. And pay attention to Rule Eleven. Don’t ever touch the TV.”
“But I want to watch - ”
“Never, Spike. N e v e r. If you understand English.” He thundered his way up the stairs out of the basement.
Spike stared after him, the fury inside him forcing him into game face. God, how he’d like to bite the Whelp, bite and bite, but not to feed, no, just to kill. But he couldn’t. The bloody chip in his head was stopping him living a normal life, preventing him from being evil. He felt the swell of despair. He was tempted to end it all now, rather than wait for a stake in the chest one night when Xander had enough balls to do it.
He tore up the rules without reading them, and sat moodily watching the TV but there was nothing on but some stupid American football match. He couldn’t see the attraction; all that shouting and yelling about men dressed up in protective padding playing a sort of rugby. Nothing like proper football.
It was late when he wandered out into Sunnydale. Revello Drive seemed to be on the route he was walking and the damp ground under the open living-room window was just a useful place to rest.
“Xander was furious at having to miss it,” Buffy was saying.
“I know. Big fury. But he had to take his Mom to see her sister. He’s going to watch the highlights later. And he’s driving all that way without the radio on, so he won’t know the score before he sees the game.”
“Geez, Will, that’s impossible. Someone’s bound to tell him.”
“He reckons if he stays in his van and then goes straight inside without anyone seeing him, he’ll manage it OK. He’s desperate not to know the score.”
A little smile crossed Spike’s face. Like a cat he stood up, stretched and vanished into the night.
Xander was sitting in front of the TV when he got back: beer in one hand, pizza in the other. Pretzels and doughnuts were on the table. He was ready. This was going to be great! “What the hell are you doing lurking around?” he snapped as Spike came down the stairs. “Get in your room and stay there.”
“OK,” Spike said docilely and wandered away. He turned in the doorway and all the hatred he felt for this boy welled up. “St Louis 23, Tennessee 16,” he said sweetly.
The end.
With grateful thanks to the marvellous episode of The Likely Lads TV show that gave me the idea.
Title: Don’t Even Speak
Author: lilachigh
Rating: PG
Characters: Spike, Xander
DON’T EVEN SPEAK
“Listen, Bleach Boy, don’t speak to me. I don’t want to hear your stupid voice, or see you if I can avoid it.”
Spike’s lip curled. “Bit difficult to avoid seeing me as the sodding Slayer wants me living with you.”
“You’re not living with me, Spike! You are inhabiting three square feet of closet until we decide what to do with you. I’ve written up a whole page of rules for you to learn while I’m out.”
Spike snarled at the paper Xander thrust into his hand. “Going away somewhere far away, I hope.”
Xander shrugged on his jacket. “None of your business, Vampire. Just learn the rules or else I’ll stake you, whatever Buffy and Giles say. And pay attention to Rule Eleven. Don’t ever touch the TV.”
“But I want to watch - ”
“Never, Spike. N e v e r. If you understand English.” He thundered his way up the stairs out of the basement.
Spike stared after him, the fury inside him forcing him into game face. God, how he’d like to bite the Whelp, bite and bite, but not to feed, no, just to kill. But he couldn’t. The bloody chip in his head was stopping him living a normal life, preventing him from being evil. He felt the swell of despair. He was tempted to end it all now, rather than wait for a stake in the chest one night when Xander had enough balls to do it.
He tore up the rules without reading them, and sat moodily watching the TV but there was nothing on but some stupid American football match. He couldn’t see the attraction; all that shouting and yelling about men dressed up in protective padding playing a sort of rugby. Nothing like proper football.
It was late when he wandered out into Sunnydale. Revello Drive seemed to be on the route he was walking and the damp ground under the open living-room window was just a useful place to rest.
“Xander was furious at having to miss it,” Buffy was saying.
“I know. Big fury. But he had to take his Mom to see her sister. He’s going to watch the highlights later. And he’s driving all that way without the radio on, so he won’t know the score before he sees the game.”
“Geez, Will, that’s impossible. Someone’s bound to tell him.”
“He reckons if he stays in his van and then goes straight inside without anyone seeing him, he’ll manage it OK. He’s desperate not to know the score.”
A little smile crossed Spike’s face. Like a cat he stood up, stretched and vanished into the night.
Xander was sitting in front of the TV when he got back: beer in one hand, pizza in the other. Pretzels and doughnuts were on the table. He was ready. This was going to be great! “What the hell are you doing lurking around?” he snapped as Spike came down the stairs. “Get in your room and stay there.”
“OK,” Spike said docilely and wandered away. He turned in the doorway and all the hatred he felt for this boy welled up. “St Louis 23, Tennessee 16,” he said sweetly.
The end.
With grateful thanks to the marvellous episode of The Likely Lads TV show that gave me the idea.