Quick fic
February is Love Month at still_grrr and this week's prompt is any het pairing. I didn't have a lot of time to plan because I was working on my lengthy account of last weekend, but I was determined not to miss a week now I've finally managed to start writing again. This is sentimental tosh, post-NFA. Spuffy - what else?
Title: Things Can Have Meaning
Author: gillo
Rating: G
Word Count: 858
Characters/Pairing (if any) Spike/Buffy, Dawn
A/N: Valentines are for happy endings. Post NFA schmoop.
Things Can Have Meaning
It took Buffy months to get round to sorting through her bag. To start with, she hadn’t realised that Dawn had packed them; small backpacks for each of them, left on the school bus when they went inside, full of personal treasures. No toothpaste or tampons; nothing practical at all. Just memories.
The first day she looked inside she saw Mr Gordo and dashed away the speck of dust that was making her eye water, then remembered urgent organising that had to be done.
The second time she opened the pack she was in Europe and the picture of her Mom brought a hard lump to her throat. She put it carefully to one side as she recalled the need to discuss suitable schools for Dawn with Giles.
The third time she noticed the pack it was resting challengingly on her bed, where it had not been before she went to the bathroom. She hefted it in one hand and gently replaced it in her closet.
Finally, in May, in Rome, in her own room, alone, when the apartment was quiet and everyone else probably asleep, she lifted it to her bed, took a deep breath and started a methodical unpacking action. One stuffed pig. Check. One photograph, in frame. Check.
One highly-polished stake with an unusual twist to it. Check.
One High School Yearbook, without any photograph of herself in it, but plenty of folks now dead. Check.
She swallowed. Not much left now. She moved a white sweater out of the way and pushed an exploring hand down to the bottom of the bag. Something cold, hard, almost square met her fingertips.
Buffy looked up, eyes undeniably swimming now. She shook the tears away angrily and forced herself to gaze down at the old Zippo lighter, mostly smooth but with the scratches you’d expect from hard use by an unrepentant smoker. Something of his.
It took her two more weeks to ask Dawn why she’d put his lighter in her bag, and even then she struggled to find the right moment. It was late one Sunday evening, both of them in pyjamas, before she could bring herself to mention it. Her sister smiled ruefully.
“Those last few days. There was never time to talk. You were too busy trying to get rid of me.”
“Dawn, I…”
“No need to say anything. We settled that.” They had. With a sharp kick to the shin. “But I could see there was something there again. Between you two, I mean. And things had changed, after you returned to the house with him. So when he went running out to the bus under his blanket and I saw what he’d left behind, I thought…”
“You thought I would want it instead? Dawn, I thought you’d given up taking other people’s things?”
“That was not it! Not at all! I thought. Well, you’re not exactly Miss Communication Expert, are you? Except when making speeches that is. And with the both of you being so good with the mixed messages, I just felt you might want an excuse. Something you’d have to talk to him about. You see I really didn’t expect…” her voice trailed away and she gave an extremely inelegant sniff.
“Oh Dawnie, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. You miss him too?”
“Too? When have you ever told me you missed him? Or mentioned his name, even? Not since you told us what happened in the Hellmouth have you so much as once named him to me!” The girl’s face was red and her eyes narrowed. “I thought you’d got over him. I was going to ask if I could have… “
Buffy clutched the lighter. No way was anybody else touching this. Not now. Never. He glared at Dawn who retreated without another word.
Left alone, Buffy sank to the floor, stroking the metal, rubbing it against her cheek, till it became as warm as her own skin. She heard nothing, saw nothing, her entire being focussed on the single object which was all that remained of her vampire.
She sat there for an hour or more, deaf to the noises of the street outside, the slamming door of a car, the raised voices, the sudden hush. Nothing drew her attention to the window, the door or anything else outside the room. Her sole focus was in her hand.
And then, beyond all hope, beyond her dreams, beyond her imagination, her own door opened and she heard a smooth, mellifluous voice, one she’d never thought to hear again.
“That my lighter you’ve got there, pet? Right fond of it, I was.”
Time stilled. Her breath seemed incapable of forcing its way out. Or in. Her mouth dried and her throat contracted.
Infinitely slowly, she turned. She pulled back her fist, ready to fight.
“Not the nose! Never the nose!”
His hand, cool and firm, enveloped hers. All the emotion in his face was in his eyes, deep pools she could drown in. In a strange apartment, in a strange city where they spoke a strange language, she suddenly knew. Despite everything, she was home at last.
Title: Things Can Have Meaning
Author: gillo
Rating: G
Word Count: 858
Characters/Pairing (if any) Spike/Buffy, Dawn
A/N: Valentines are for happy endings. Post NFA schmoop.
Things Can Have Meaning
It took Buffy months to get round to sorting through her bag. To start with, she hadn’t realised that Dawn had packed them; small backpacks for each of them, left on the school bus when they went inside, full of personal treasures. No toothpaste or tampons; nothing practical at all. Just memories.
The first day she looked inside she saw Mr Gordo and dashed away the speck of dust that was making her eye water, then remembered urgent organising that had to be done.
The second time she opened the pack she was in Europe and the picture of her Mom brought a hard lump to her throat. She put it carefully to one side as she recalled the need to discuss suitable schools for Dawn with Giles.
The third time she noticed the pack it was resting challengingly on her bed, where it had not been before she went to the bathroom. She hefted it in one hand and gently replaced it in her closet.
Finally, in May, in Rome, in her own room, alone, when the apartment was quiet and everyone else probably asleep, she lifted it to her bed, took a deep breath and started a methodical unpacking action. One stuffed pig. Check. One photograph, in frame. Check.
One highly-polished stake with an unusual twist to it. Check.
One High School Yearbook, without any photograph of herself in it, but plenty of folks now dead. Check.
She swallowed. Not much left now. She moved a white sweater out of the way and pushed an exploring hand down to the bottom of the bag. Something cold, hard, almost square met her fingertips.
Buffy looked up, eyes undeniably swimming now. She shook the tears away angrily and forced herself to gaze down at the old Zippo lighter, mostly smooth but with the scratches you’d expect from hard use by an unrepentant smoker. Something of his.
It took her two more weeks to ask Dawn why she’d put his lighter in her bag, and even then she struggled to find the right moment. It was late one Sunday evening, both of them in pyjamas, before she could bring herself to mention it. Her sister smiled ruefully.
“Those last few days. There was never time to talk. You were too busy trying to get rid of me.”
“Dawn, I…”
“No need to say anything. We settled that.” They had. With a sharp kick to the shin. “But I could see there was something there again. Between you two, I mean. And things had changed, after you returned to the house with him. So when he went running out to the bus under his blanket and I saw what he’d left behind, I thought…”
“You thought I would want it instead? Dawn, I thought you’d given up taking other people’s things?”
“That was not it! Not at all! I thought. Well, you’re not exactly Miss Communication Expert, are you? Except when making speeches that is. And with the both of you being so good with the mixed messages, I just felt you might want an excuse. Something you’d have to talk to him about. You see I really didn’t expect…” her voice trailed away and she gave an extremely inelegant sniff.
“Oh Dawnie, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. You miss him too?”
“Too? When have you ever told me you missed him? Or mentioned his name, even? Not since you told us what happened in the Hellmouth have you so much as once named him to me!” The girl’s face was red and her eyes narrowed. “I thought you’d got over him. I was going to ask if I could have… “
Buffy clutched the lighter. No way was anybody else touching this. Not now. Never. He glared at Dawn who retreated without another word.
Left alone, Buffy sank to the floor, stroking the metal, rubbing it against her cheek, till it became as warm as her own skin. She heard nothing, saw nothing, her entire being focussed on the single object which was all that remained of her vampire.
She sat there for an hour or more, deaf to the noises of the street outside, the slamming door of a car, the raised voices, the sudden hush. Nothing drew her attention to the window, the door or anything else outside the room. Her sole focus was in her hand.
And then, beyond all hope, beyond her dreams, beyond her imagination, her own door opened and she heard a smooth, mellifluous voice, one she’d never thought to hear again.
“That my lighter you’ve got there, pet? Right fond of it, I was.”
Time stilled. Her breath seemed incapable of forcing its way out. Or in. Her mouth dried and her throat contracted.
Infinitely slowly, she turned. She pulled back her fist, ready to fight.
“Not the nose! Never the nose!”
His hand, cool and firm, enveloped hers. All the emotion in his face was in his eyes, deep pools she could drown in. In a strange apartment, in a strange city where they spoke a strange language, she suddenly knew. Despite everything, she was home at last.