If Evil Will Look The Other Way
Title: If Evil Will Look The Other Way
Author: Kat Lee
Characters/Pairing: Spike/Buffy
Rating: G/K
Challenge/Prompt: SB-Fag-Ends: Messing Up the Lace Doilies (and stuff)
Word Count: 1,042
Warnings: Mild Angst
Summary:
Disclaimer: All characters belong to their rightful owners, not the author.
She stands and surveys the mess, one hand on her hip and the other still clutching her stake hard. Dust is all over her torn dress. Her makeup's marred, and one Vampire even got lucky and snatched out a strand of her hair. She's fuming, but they're all gone now. The last one is dust, and she's left alone in the mess.
She surveys the wreckage before her, tears slowly welling up into her green eyes. The tables are overturned, a few chairs ripped completely apart, and the cake splattered in the floor. The little figures that set so proudly and elegantly on top of it before are now smashed into the floor; the groom's even been beheaded.
"I shouldn't have come," she whispers, kicking herself for ever letting Dawn and Willow talk her into this. If she hadn't been here, they wouldn't have come. If she hadn't been here, her friends would have had the wedding they deserved.
She doesn't stop to think that the Vampires were looking for an easy meal and might well have come otherwise. She doesn't consider that the newlyweds might both be dead or at least one a widow, or widower, already. She doesn't even think about what might have happened if Dawn had come alone to the wedding and the Vampires had attacked.
All she can think, instead, is that they always follow her. Evil comes nipping at her heels, no matter how well dressed they are, and destroys everything in its pathway to reach her. She reaches down and lifts a lace doily. She remembers seeing them laying in such a beautiful pattern earlier. The whole place had been beautiful, but it hadn't lasted, all because of her.
The doily isn't just ripped; actual blood mars its once pure whiteness. She releases it to drift back to the floor and sighs. Her life is like this place: constantly cluttered and destroyed by evil. She can't get a moment to herself. She can't go out a single night that she doesn't have to stake some Vamp.
She's the Slayer, the Chosen One, the only one of her generation that can stop all the Hell this world and the one below has to toss at her. She knows the tune. She's used to it, but she still wishes she could live a normal life. Even just a few minutes of normalcy would be so nice, but it's never to be hers. Her head lowers. Frustrated, she stomps the doily, but it's done no harm. No one did here but the Vampires and herself for coming in the first place and leading them to this place where a joyous union was supposed to happen.
"Buffy."
She blinks at the sound of his voice but doesn't look up. She doesn't want him to see the tears in her eyes or to know how sad and frustrated she is. Still, he's startled her. She's supposed to always know where his kind is, but she'd thought herself alone in this place where now his voice echoes.
"Buffy. We got 'em all, pet. They're dust." He looks at her back, sees the rips in her lovely gown and the bruises beginning to form on her body, and wishes he had gotten here sooner. Part of him is still bothered that she didn't invite him, but a wedding's no place for the likes of him.
"Buffy . . . " She jumps when he touches her arm; he recoils, not wanting to hurt or scare her.
She looks up at last, sees the unspoken hurt shining in his dark eyes, and offers meekly, "I thought I was alone." She had, but she'd heard him. She shouldn't be jumping from him now, not after all he's done for her, not after the many, many times he's proven himself and his love to her.
"Do ya want to be?" he asks softly.
She shakes her head, her blonde hair tumbling down her slender shoulders. He sees the hole one of the Vampires left in her 'do and burns to resurrect the bloody bastard just so he can kill him again for daring to touch her. But she's the Slayer, and he knows -- they both do -- that things like this will always happen to her.
Her bottom lip trembles. Bravely, he touches her again, laying his hand gently on her shoulder. He feels her body quivering with the emotions she's barely keeping at bay. "Buffy, pet . . . " he whispers, and then she's falling into his arms. He catches her and holds her as she cries, but as she weeps for things she can never have, he looks around them again and thinks much the same.
She is the Slayer, he a minion of the dead. There's a ring burning a hole in the pocket of his leather duster, and yet, he doesn't dare bring it out. Things like this will always happen to them. This is the real reason why they can have nothing nice. This is why Xander is always fixing her house, and he's constantly having to fight other minions of Hell to keep his little hole in the graveyard that he calls his lair.
This is why they can't marry, why she's not ready to marry any one, not just him. Even if she trusted him with all her heart, even if she truly loved him as much as he does her, if he pops the question, he knows she'll be running, and holding her alone in the aftermath of their latest battle, he finally understands. It's not that she's cookie dough. It's not that she's not done baking. It's that the world won't let her finish baking. The world won't let her be what she wants to be for evil haunts her every step and destroys, or does its best to kill, everything she loves.
He places a gentle kiss on her trembling forehead and continues to hold her while she cries, realizing now that he won't ask her tonight. He won't even ask her this year, but if ever the world's evils do turn away, if ever she is free to truly love him, then he'll ask her, and maybe, just maybe, she'll say yes.
The End
Author: Kat Lee
Characters/Pairing: Spike/Buffy
Rating: G/K
Challenge/Prompt: SB-Fag-Ends: Messing Up the Lace Doilies (and stuff)
Word Count: 1,042
Warnings: Mild Angst
Summary:
Disclaimer: All characters belong to their rightful owners, not the author.
She stands and surveys the mess, one hand on her hip and the other still clutching her stake hard. Dust is all over her torn dress. Her makeup's marred, and one Vampire even got lucky and snatched out a strand of her hair. She's fuming, but they're all gone now. The last one is dust, and she's left alone in the mess.
She surveys the wreckage before her, tears slowly welling up into her green eyes. The tables are overturned, a few chairs ripped completely apart, and the cake splattered in the floor. The little figures that set so proudly and elegantly on top of it before are now smashed into the floor; the groom's even been beheaded.
"I shouldn't have come," she whispers, kicking herself for ever letting Dawn and Willow talk her into this. If she hadn't been here, they wouldn't have come. If she hadn't been here, her friends would have had the wedding they deserved.
She doesn't stop to think that the Vampires were looking for an easy meal and might well have come otherwise. She doesn't consider that the newlyweds might both be dead or at least one a widow, or widower, already. She doesn't even think about what might have happened if Dawn had come alone to the wedding and the Vampires had attacked.
All she can think, instead, is that they always follow her. Evil comes nipping at her heels, no matter how well dressed they are, and destroys everything in its pathway to reach her. She reaches down and lifts a lace doily. She remembers seeing them laying in such a beautiful pattern earlier. The whole place had been beautiful, but it hadn't lasted, all because of her.
The doily isn't just ripped; actual blood mars its once pure whiteness. She releases it to drift back to the floor and sighs. Her life is like this place: constantly cluttered and destroyed by evil. She can't get a moment to herself. She can't go out a single night that she doesn't have to stake some Vamp.
She's the Slayer, the Chosen One, the only one of her generation that can stop all the Hell this world and the one below has to toss at her. She knows the tune. She's used to it, but she still wishes she could live a normal life. Even just a few minutes of normalcy would be so nice, but it's never to be hers. Her head lowers. Frustrated, she stomps the doily, but it's done no harm. No one did here but the Vampires and herself for coming in the first place and leading them to this place where a joyous union was supposed to happen.
"Buffy."
She blinks at the sound of his voice but doesn't look up. She doesn't want him to see the tears in her eyes or to know how sad and frustrated she is. Still, he's startled her. She's supposed to always know where his kind is, but she'd thought herself alone in this place where now his voice echoes.
"Buffy. We got 'em all, pet. They're dust." He looks at her back, sees the rips in her lovely gown and the bruises beginning to form on her body, and wishes he had gotten here sooner. Part of him is still bothered that she didn't invite him, but a wedding's no place for the likes of him.
"Buffy . . . " She jumps when he touches her arm; he recoils, not wanting to hurt or scare her.
She looks up at last, sees the unspoken hurt shining in his dark eyes, and offers meekly, "I thought I was alone." She had, but she'd heard him. She shouldn't be jumping from him now, not after all he's done for her, not after the many, many times he's proven himself and his love to her.
"Do ya want to be?" he asks softly.
She shakes her head, her blonde hair tumbling down her slender shoulders. He sees the hole one of the Vampires left in her 'do and burns to resurrect the bloody bastard just so he can kill him again for daring to touch her. But she's the Slayer, and he knows -- they both do -- that things like this will always happen to her.
Her bottom lip trembles. Bravely, he touches her again, laying his hand gently on her shoulder. He feels her body quivering with the emotions she's barely keeping at bay. "Buffy, pet . . . " he whispers, and then she's falling into his arms. He catches her and holds her as she cries, but as she weeps for things she can never have, he looks around them again and thinks much the same.
She is the Slayer, he a minion of the dead. There's a ring burning a hole in the pocket of his leather duster, and yet, he doesn't dare bring it out. Things like this will always happen to them. This is the real reason why they can have nothing nice. This is why Xander is always fixing her house, and he's constantly having to fight other minions of Hell to keep his little hole in the graveyard that he calls his lair.
This is why they can't marry, why she's not ready to marry any one, not just him. Even if she trusted him with all her heart, even if she truly loved him as much as he does her, if he pops the question, he knows she'll be running, and holding her alone in the aftermath of their latest battle, he finally understands. It's not that she's cookie dough. It's not that she's not done baking. It's that the world won't let her finish baking. The world won't let her be what she wants to be for evil haunts her every step and destroys, or does its best to kill, everything she loves.
He places a gentle kiss on her trembling forehead and continues to hold her while she cries, realizing now that he won't ask her tonight. He won't even ask her this year, but if ever the world's evils do turn away, if ever she is free to truly love him, then he'll ask her, and maybe, just maybe, she'll say yes.
The End