I Wish Everyday Could be Like Christmas ~ S7 Spuffy ficlet
I haven't posted here for a while and now that RL is starting to settle down a bit I'm going to try to get back into the swing of things.
Anyway, here's a little S7 Spuffy ficlet that I wrote for Christmas and neglected to post here.
Title: I Wish Everyday Could be Like Christmas
Author: Always_jbj
Rating: PG
Character/s: Spike/Buffy
Summary: a post 'Showtime' Spuffy ficlet.
With a gentleness that was both unprecedented in her dealings with him and alien to her slayer-nature, she dabbed carefully at his blood-encrusted face. He murmured uncomfortably in his sleep, flinching away from even the gentlest of touches and she gave up for now, dropping the cloth back into the bowl with a sigh. Better, she decided, to let him sleep and worry about cleaning his wounds tomorrow when he was rested; sleep would help him heal.
The basement door opened abruptly and a stiffly-held silhouette stood framed within-a portrait of disapproval.
“Buffy.”
Her eyes closed wearily, before she sighed once more and quickly gathered her things together. Reaching out to run her fingers gently through the wild disarray of curls, a whispered ‘Sleep well, Spike’ hung in the air as she turned away.
“Not here,” she said firmly as the watcher opened his mouth. Shoulders set and chin held high she met his gaze unfalteringly until he nodded brusquely and turned back into the kitchen and out the back door. Buffy followed resignedly after depositing the bowl on the counter and closing the basement door quietly behind her.
“He can’t stay here,” Giles said as soon as she stepped out onto the rear steps.
“Excuse me?” Buffy asked.
“Spike,” Giles qualified. “Don’t pretend you don’t know who I mean.”
“I wasn’t. I was just wondering where you get off telling me who can and can’t stay in my home,” Buffy snapped, her eyes narrowing dangerously; the exhaustion and worry of recent events, not to mention the trauma of finding Spike in such a shocking condition, taking their toll on her already short temper.
“Buffy, you have to see that having him under the same roof as these girls is inviting trouble. The First is doing its damnedest to end the slayer line and you expect them to live in a house with a creature who is not only renowned for killing slayers, but who is, to our knowledge, still under the First’s control.”
“He won’t hurt them, or anyone else for that matter. But if you’re that worried, then take them. Take them and go. I didn’t ask to babysit a bunch of hormonal pains in my ass, so if you think I’m putting them in danger, by all means find someone else to have their house overrun by a horde of noisy, ungrateful, whiny appetites on legs. Spike stays, whether you do is up to you.” With that, the now-furious slayer spun and headed back into the house, only barely refraining from slamming the door when she remembered the sleeping vampire below.
~*~
The next morning Buffy woke early, slipping quietly down the stairs to the kitchen to heat some blood for the convalescent vampire. She paused in the doorway, surprised to find Giles already awake and pouring himself a cup of tea, despite the sun having not yet made an appearance in the sky. She nodded a brief hello and, squaring her shoulders, headed for the fridge.
“Buffy?”
Giles’ voice was quiet, asking rather than demanding her attention and she turned with a sigh; not wanting to argue with him any further but determined not to back down, no matter how much his feelings may have been hurt by their disagreement.
“Giles, I...”
“Buffy, please?” he cut her off, holding up a hand. “Let me...” He swiped a hand down his forehead, pinching and rubbing the bridge of his nose to ease away the tension. “I’m sorry,” he blurted out. “I had no right...” He met her gaze, a short derisive snort of laughter escaping him at the sheer astonishment on her face. “I’m not saying I agree with you, and I still feel that Spike is a danger, but it is your home and your decision. And despite my misgivings...” he offered a crooked self-deprecating smile, “you are the slayer, and I trust your judgement.”
Buffy stood rooted to the spot. ‘Who is this man and what has he done with my watcher?’
He looked at her hopefully. When she remained unmoving his smile faltered, uncertainty evident in his eyes as he tried to think of a way to repair his relationship with the girl who had come to mean so much to him over the years. Suddenly, his arms were filled and he was crushed in his slayer’s enthusiastic embrace.
“Thank you, Giles,” she mumbled against the fine woollen jumper. Drawing back and dashing away the tears that clung to her lashes, she added, “You’ll see; he’s a good man. He’s changed.” Her lips twisted in a sad smile. “He’s been changing for a long time; we just didn’t want to see it.”
~*~
“How are you feeling?” Buffy asked as she descended the stairs under his watchful gaze.
He shrugged. “Been better,” he admitted. “Been a lot worse, too.”
He took the mug the slayer offered as she drew level with where he was sitting on the narrow cot, his legs dangling over the side as he leaned back against the rough wall. She ran a critical eye over him, her eyes narrowing as she scrutinized the now-healing wounds.
“Thanks, love,” he said quietly, before taking a long swig from the mug.
“There’s plenty more,” she told him. “You’ll need it.”
“I meant for coming an’ gettin’ me,” the vampire clarified. “But thanks for the blood, too,” he added.
“I should have come sooner. I tried...”
“You came, ‘s all that matters,” he assured her. “If you coulda come sooner, I know you would have.” He cocked his head to one side, watching her intently as she continued to look unconvinced, a worried frown wrinkling her brow as she fixed her gaze on the worst of his wounds. “I’ll live,” he reassured. Smiling gently at the slayer who was gnawing worriedly on her lip, he added with a laugh, “So to speak.”
Tipping his head back, Spike drained the last of the blood then stared mournfully at the now-empty cup. “Think I might take you up on the offer of more, if that’s alright? An’ maybe a shower and some clean clothes?” he added hopefully.
“I know we can manage two of those,” Buffy responded, quickly removing the empty mug from his hand and slipping her arm around his back to help him as he struggled to his feet. “But you’ll have to make do with some of my sweats until I can get Xander to bring your clothes over.” She grimaced apologetically. “I think these are beyond saving,” she added, crinkling her nose in disgust at the filthy, tattered jeans.
~*~
Buffy hovered nervously at the top of the basement stairs, holding the small black box and toying with the ribbons while she talked herself in and out of descending. Spike had been asleep more than not the last few days, waking for short periods to drink mugfuls of blood and then drifting quickly back into the deep healing sleep that his body required. Now he was back to normal, or as normal as he had been since returning to Sunnydale with his soul restored.
It wasn’t that she didn’t like souled-Spike, or that she wasn’t awed by his actions, but a small part of her mourned the snarky, impertinent vampire who taunted her with innuendo and set her pulse to racing and her blood to boiling.
He’d just been so different since his return-quiet, subdued even. There was very little left of the cocksure master vampire he’d been, and she didn’t want to hurt him or make him uncomfortable. And if she was brutally honest, she didn’t know if she could handle the rejection if he no longer felt the same way.
“You gonna stand up there all bloody day?” Spike’s voice emerged from the darkness below.
Buffy smiled to herself. ‘So much for subdued and quiet, huh?’
“How are you feeling today?” she asked, coming to a halt next to his bed.
“Fighting fit.” He paused for a moment. “And bored out of my bloody mind,” he added with a pout.
Buffy smiled, cocking her head to indicate the cot he was sitting on and then settling nervously next to him when he nodded in response to her unspoken question.
“What’s this then?” he asked, indicating the parcel she was fiddling with.
“A present, for you.” Buffy thrust the brightly decorated box at the vampire.
Spike frowned in confusion, carefully taking the proffered package from her hand.
“You missed Christmas,” the slayer offered by way of explanation.
“I did?” The corner of his mouth twitched as he raised an eyebrow sceptically. “You do remember I’m a vampire, don’t you, pet?”
“You want me to take it back?” she huffed, reaching out to do just that.
He quickly snatched it away, shaking his head. “No. No, you don’t have to do that,” he assured her, his eyes sparkling with laughter. “Was just makin’ sure you hadn’t taken one too many knocks to that pretty little head,” he teased, the earlier awkwardness dispelled by the familiarity of their bantering.
He pulled the ribbons and opened the box, frowning at the contents for a few moments before his eyes widened in disbelief.
“Only if you want... I mean, if you’re still... I’d understand if you didn’t, after... everything...” Buffy stammered to a halt, dropping her gaze self-consciously to her lap.
Spike carefully placed the box on the mattress, and reached out, gently cupping her cheek, and silently willing her to look at him. She finally did; her eyes meeting his uncertainly and his breath caught at the unexpected emotion whirling in their depths. “Buffy? Love,” he breathed. “Are you sure? They won’t like...”
She shook her head vigorously, interrupting the vampire. “I don’t care what they like. It isn’t about them. It’s taken me a long time to realise that-too long.” She smiled sadly, thinking about what could have been if only she’d been a little braver. Forcibly shaking off thoughts of the yesterdays she couldn’t change, she raised her head, this time meeting and holding Spike’s questioning gaze. “I’ve let what other people think matter for too long. So, in answer to your question,” she leant forward, claiming his lips in a soft, whisper of a kiss before continuing, “yeah, I’m sure.”
Snaking his fingers through the soft, golden locks that he adored, he gathered her closer, pulling her into his lap as the kiss deepened.
“God, Buffy. Missed this. Missed you,” he murmured against her lips as he settled back on the narrow cot, drawing her with him.
“Mmm hmm,” Buffy agreed, squirming against him to get comfortable and smiling when her movements elicited a strangled moan from her vampire-mattress.
~*~
Buffy lay on her side, propped on one elbow, her fingers running idly through soft white curls as she watched him sleep. He looked so different when he slept-younger, almost boyish. Long dark lashes caressed the pale skin of his cheek, fluttering slightly as his eyes raced beneath his lids. With an incomprehensible mumble he leant into her caress, a tiny smile curving the corners of his oh-so-kissable lips before they parted slightly and a gentle puff of air escaped in a soft, contented sigh.
Leaning down, Buffy pressed a kiss against his forehead before snuggling closer, her body moulding to his and her head coming to rest against his shoulder. She smiled sleepily as his arm automatically banded around her, pulling her tighter against his side. Her last thought as she drifted off was of beautiful, love-filled blue eyes.
The little black box with its bright scarlet ribbons lay forgotten where it had fallen on the concrete floor, its contents-a miniature loaf of bread-having tumbled out to roll beneath the cot.
the end
Anyway, here's a little S7 Spuffy ficlet that I wrote for Christmas and neglected to post here.
Title: I Wish Everyday Could be Like Christmas
Author: Always_jbj
Rating: PG
Character/s: Spike/Buffy
Summary: a post 'Showtime' Spuffy ficlet.
With a gentleness that was both unprecedented in her dealings with him and alien to her slayer-nature, she dabbed carefully at his blood-encrusted face. He murmured uncomfortably in his sleep, flinching away from even the gentlest of touches and she gave up for now, dropping the cloth back into the bowl with a sigh. Better, she decided, to let him sleep and worry about cleaning his wounds tomorrow when he was rested; sleep would help him heal.
The basement door opened abruptly and a stiffly-held silhouette stood framed within-a portrait of disapproval.
“Buffy.”
Her eyes closed wearily, before she sighed once more and quickly gathered her things together. Reaching out to run her fingers gently through the wild disarray of curls, a whispered ‘Sleep well, Spike’ hung in the air as she turned away.
“Not here,” she said firmly as the watcher opened his mouth. Shoulders set and chin held high she met his gaze unfalteringly until he nodded brusquely and turned back into the kitchen and out the back door. Buffy followed resignedly after depositing the bowl on the counter and closing the basement door quietly behind her.
“He can’t stay here,” Giles said as soon as she stepped out onto the rear steps.
“Excuse me?” Buffy asked.
“Spike,” Giles qualified. “Don’t pretend you don’t know who I mean.”
“I wasn’t. I was just wondering where you get off telling me who can and can’t stay in my home,” Buffy snapped, her eyes narrowing dangerously; the exhaustion and worry of recent events, not to mention the trauma of finding Spike in such a shocking condition, taking their toll on her already short temper.
“Buffy, you have to see that having him under the same roof as these girls is inviting trouble. The First is doing its damnedest to end the slayer line and you expect them to live in a house with a creature who is not only renowned for killing slayers, but who is, to our knowledge, still under the First’s control.”
“He won’t hurt them, or anyone else for that matter. But if you’re that worried, then take them. Take them and go. I didn’t ask to babysit a bunch of hormonal pains in my ass, so if you think I’m putting them in danger, by all means find someone else to have their house overrun by a horde of noisy, ungrateful, whiny appetites on legs. Spike stays, whether you do is up to you.” With that, the now-furious slayer spun and headed back into the house, only barely refraining from slamming the door when she remembered the sleeping vampire below.
~*~
The next morning Buffy woke early, slipping quietly down the stairs to the kitchen to heat some blood for the convalescent vampire. She paused in the doorway, surprised to find Giles already awake and pouring himself a cup of tea, despite the sun having not yet made an appearance in the sky. She nodded a brief hello and, squaring her shoulders, headed for the fridge.
“Buffy?”
Giles’ voice was quiet, asking rather than demanding her attention and she turned with a sigh; not wanting to argue with him any further but determined not to back down, no matter how much his feelings may have been hurt by their disagreement.
“Giles, I...”
“Buffy, please?” he cut her off, holding up a hand. “Let me...” He swiped a hand down his forehead, pinching and rubbing the bridge of his nose to ease away the tension. “I’m sorry,” he blurted out. “I had no right...” He met her gaze, a short derisive snort of laughter escaping him at the sheer astonishment on her face. “I’m not saying I agree with you, and I still feel that Spike is a danger, but it is your home and your decision. And despite my misgivings...” he offered a crooked self-deprecating smile, “you are the slayer, and I trust your judgement.”
Buffy stood rooted to the spot. ‘Who is this man and what has he done with my watcher?’
He looked at her hopefully. When she remained unmoving his smile faltered, uncertainty evident in his eyes as he tried to think of a way to repair his relationship with the girl who had come to mean so much to him over the years. Suddenly, his arms were filled and he was crushed in his slayer’s enthusiastic embrace.
“Thank you, Giles,” she mumbled against the fine woollen jumper. Drawing back and dashing away the tears that clung to her lashes, she added, “You’ll see; he’s a good man. He’s changed.” Her lips twisted in a sad smile. “He’s been changing for a long time; we just didn’t want to see it.”
~*~
“How are you feeling?” Buffy asked as she descended the stairs under his watchful gaze.
He shrugged. “Been better,” he admitted. “Been a lot worse, too.”
He took the mug the slayer offered as she drew level with where he was sitting on the narrow cot, his legs dangling over the side as he leaned back against the rough wall. She ran a critical eye over him, her eyes narrowing as she scrutinized the now-healing wounds.
“Thanks, love,” he said quietly, before taking a long swig from the mug.
“There’s plenty more,” she told him. “You’ll need it.”
“I meant for coming an’ gettin’ me,” the vampire clarified. “But thanks for the blood, too,” he added.
“I should have come sooner. I tried...”
“You came, ‘s all that matters,” he assured her. “If you coulda come sooner, I know you would have.” He cocked his head to one side, watching her intently as she continued to look unconvinced, a worried frown wrinkling her brow as she fixed her gaze on the worst of his wounds. “I’ll live,” he reassured. Smiling gently at the slayer who was gnawing worriedly on her lip, he added with a laugh, “So to speak.”
Tipping his head back, Spike drained the last of the blood then stared mournfully at the now-empty cup. “Think I might take you up on the offer of more, if that’s alright? An’ maybe a shower and some clean clothes?” he added hopefully.
“I know we can manage two of those,” Buffy responded, quickly removing the empty mug from his hand and slipping her arm around his back to help him as he struggled to his feet. “But you’ll have to make do with some of my sweats until I can get Xander to bring your clothes over.” She grimaced apologetically. “I think these are beyond saving,” she added, crinkling her nose in disgust at the filthy, tattered jeans.
~*~
Buffy hovered nervously at the top of the basement stairs, holding the small black box and toying with the ribbons while she talked herself in and out of descending. Spike had been asleep more than not the last few days, waking for short periods to drink mugfuls of blood and then drifting quickly back into the deep healing sleep that his body required. Now he was back to normal, or as normal as he had been since returning to Sunnydale with his soul restored.
It wasn’t that she didn’t like souled-Spike, or that she wasn’t awed by his actions, but a small part of her mourned the snarky, impertinent vampire who taunted her with innuendo and set her pulse to racing and her blood to boiling.
He’d just been so different since his return-quiet, subdued even. There was very little left of the cocksure master vampire he’d been, and she didn’t want to hurt him or make him uncomfortable. And if she was brutally honest, she didn’t know if she could handle the rejection if he no longer felt the same way.
“You gonna stand up there all bloody day?” Spike’s voice emerged from the darkness below.
Buffy smiled to herself. ‘So much for subdued and quiet, huh?’
“How are you feeling today?” she asked, coming to a halt next to his bed.
“Fighting fit.” He paused for a moment. “And bored out of my bloody mind,” he added with a pout.
Buffy smiled, cocking her head to indicate the cot he was sitting on and then settling nervously next to him when he nodded in response to her unspoken question.
“What’s this then?” he asked, indicating the parcel she was fiddling with.
“A present, for you.” Buffy thrust the brightly decorated box at the vampire.
Spike frowned in confusion, carefully taking the proffered package from her hand.
“You missed Christmas,” the slayer offered by way of explanation.
“I did?” The corner of his mouth twitched as he raised an eyebrow sceptically. “You do remember I’m a vampire, don’t you, pet?”
“You want me to take it back?” she huffed, reaching out to do just that.
He quickly snatched it away, shaking his head. “No. No, you don’t have to do that,” he assured her, his eyes sparkling with laughter. “Was just makin’ sure you hadn’t taken one too many knocks to that pretty little head,” he teased, the earlier awkwardness dispelled by the familiarity of their bantering.
He pulled the ribbons and opened the box, frowning at the contents for a few moments before his eyes widened in disbelief.
“Only if you want... I mean, if you’re still... I’d understand if you didn’t, after... everything...” Buffy stammered to a halt, dropping her gaze self-consciously to her lap.
Spike carefully placed the box on the mattress, and reached out, gently cupping her cheek, and silently willing her to look at him. She finally did; her eyes meeting his uncertainly and his breath caught at the unexpected emotion whirling in their depths. “Buffy? Love,” he breathed. “Are you sure? They won’t like...”
She shook her head vigorously, interrupting the vampire. “I don’t care what they like. It isn’t about them. It’s taken me a long time to realise that-too long.” She smiled sadly, thinking about what could have been if only she’d been a little braver. Forcibly shaking off thoughts of the yesterdays she couldn’t change, she raised her head, this time meeting and holding Spike’s questioning gaze. “I’ve let what other people think matter for too long. So, in answer to your question,” she leant forward, claiming his lips in a soft, whisper of a kiss before continuing, “yeah, I’m sure.”
Snaking his fingers through the soft, golden locks that he adored, he gathered her closer, pulling her into his lap as the kiss deepened.
“God, Buffy. Missed this. Missed you,” he murmured against her lips as he settled back on the narrow cot, drawing her with him.
“Mmm hmm,” Buffy agreed, squirming against him to get comfortable and smiling when her movements elicited a strangled moan from her vampire-mattress.
~*~
Buffy lay on her side, propped on one elbow, her fingers running idly through soft white curls as she watched him sleep. He looked so different when he slept-younger, almost boyish. Long dark lashes caressed the pale skin of his cheek, fluttering slightly as his eyes raced beneath his lids. With an incomprehensible mumble he leant into her caress, a tiny smile curving the corners of his oh-so-kissable lips before they parted slightly and a gentle puff of air escaped in a soft, contented sigh.
Leaning down, Buffy pressed a kiss against his forehead before snuggling closer, her body moulding to his and her head coming to rest against his shoulder. She smiled sleepily as his arm automatically banded around her, pulling her tighter against his side. Her last thought as she drifted off was of beautiful, love-filled blue eyes.
The little black box with its bright scarlet ribbons lay forgotten where it had fallen on the concrete floor, its contents-a miniature loaf of bread-having tumbled out to roll beneath the cot.
the end