A Little More Complete
Title: A Little More Complete
Author: Kat Lee
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Character/Pairing: Spike/Buffy
Rating: PG/K+
Challenge/Prompt: SB-Fag-Ends: You're the only one who understands me.; Nekid-Spike: Explosion; and 1-Million-Words: Blow Me Away!: Walking After Midnight
Warning(s): None
Word Count: 1,885
Date Written: 28 November, 2015
Summary:
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy, not the author, and are used without permission.
She likes to take a walk in these rare, quiet moments granted to her during the few hours she has left before dawn. Sometimes, she's lucky and gets to go walking in the midnight hour, but often, she's still fighting during that time. Sometimes, she fights all night long, but these are some of the few moments that seem to make everything worthwhile.
She can feel the strength of the magic in the air, especially during midnight. She's always been able to feel that tingle, but she wasn't sure what it was exactly until Willow got all Witchy and explained to her about the Midnight Hour. There is magic in that hour, Buffy knows for sure, and there are definitely too many Demons, Witches, and other baddies who like to cast their big whammies during that time. But there's still magic here after midnight.
There's always magic in this town -- it's a Hellmouth, after all --, and there's always magic in her. She used to hate that. She used to hate being the Slayer, and some nights, some days too, she still does. But if she's honest with herself, she likes the magic. She likes the strength. She likes knowing she can kick the ass of just about anything that might try to attack her or her friends or her family or even just that chick out too late boozing and partying.
She likes to know she's saved the world and can probably do it again when she's called upon once more, and she will be called. She's always called, called back even from beyond the grave. It took her so long to make her peace with that, and sometimes, she still misses the peace and love she had. But there is love in this world, too. Her friends love her, although they might not always show it, and then there's Dawnie, a more real sister her mother couldn't have birthed.
Then there's Spike. She sighs and shifts her mind pointedly away from that gray area. She doesn't want to think about him right now. The bloke's good for sex and backup, but little beyond that. Hell, she realizes with a wince, she's even starting to pick up some of his language. That's totally not good.
He's in her way too deep. She needs to cut him loose, but yet every time she gets near him, she can't think. All she can do is feel, and while at first, it was great to feel again after being dead, she's feeling way more than she wants to for him. She needs to cut him loose, to cut 'em both loose, and fast. But she just can't seem to find it in her to do so. It isn't about breaking his heart, she finally admits in this quiet time she has to herself. It's about breaking hers.
A scream splits the stillness she's been enjoying for way too short a time. Buffy rolls her eyes. This is the Hellmouth, but she still gets damned tired of always having her time interrupted. Then she sprints and leaps into action, finding a few Vamps taking another couple of girls who are out too late -- way too late from the looks of them (they can't be much older than Dawn) for their midnight snack.
"It's too late for midnight snackage," she quips, diving a stake into the back of the first one just before he can sink his fangs into the screaming blonde. She spins, kicking the other three back. Their hisses make her grin. "Hasn't anybody told you this town doesn't have an all night drive thru?"
She could stake them all in seconds, but she's suddenly burning for some good action. She's never once admitted it to Faith, but yeah, fighting does feel good sometimes. The pumping adrenaline always works great to get rid of any pesky thoughts that she might otherwise be entertaining, like forcing herself to do the right thing for them both and dump Spike flat on his Vampire ass.
The teenagers have split and run, but the Vampires are still looking at her in a mixture of anger and disbelief. She knows she doesn't look like much of a fighter, but surely they've heard the tales of her kicking ass. Oh, well. They'll have their own tales to tell soon enough. "Well, boys, we gonna do this or are you just gonna stand there like you're trying to work up the courage to ask me out?"
That pisses them off. They charge her at once, but Buffy's ready for them, backing up as they start to advance and then somersaulting onto her palms. Her booted feet fly through the crisp, late night air, kicking each one of them back and down. She hits the last one so hard he flies backwards into the wall. The back of his skull thunks loudly, and he slumps to the pavement, out for a few minutes.
Buffy's grin grows. "So I'm down to Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum. Which one of you boys are dumber?"
She hears a sound behind her and to her right and steals a quick glance over her shoulder. She almost rolls her green eyes again when she sees Spike lighting up. He grins up at her, and she snaps back around just in time to catch a fist in her hand. She crunches the bones in that pale hand, then throws the brunette Vampire into his buddy who looks like the human whose form he now wears must've worked out pretty regularly.
They hiss again. She smirks. "Doesn't anybody talk these days?" She hears a soft chuckle behind her but doesn't stop to think about it, or about the Vamp owning that soft, deep voice which even now stirs something deep within her. She's in her element, and she enjoys every kick as she drives the Vampires back.
It feels good to kick them, feels good to wield her power against something no ordinary girl could possibly fight, but it feels even better to land her fists on them. She's got them both on the pavement, ready to beg for mercy, when she finally takes pity on them and stakes their asses. The one she threw into the wall comes back around just in time to see his buddies get turned into dust by Mister Pointy. He starts to run, but she's not in the mood to let him go.
She chases after him, and although he's got super speed, he's still new, and she's still the Slayer. She springs into the air and flips over his head, letting her hands touch his shoulders for balance and teasing as she passes over him. Landing right before him, she spins again before he can change direction and kicks his feet out from under him. Finally, she drives her stake home again for the fourth time in less than five minutes.
She smirks up at Spike as the dust of his kindred rains down between them. He's smirking, his eyes dancing, but he doesn't say anything. His lips are still pursed around his cigarette as he approaches her. She could tell him again how disgusting smoking is, but truth is that somehow, on him, it looks good. Everything somehow manages to look good on Spike.
She blinks and resists the urge to shake her head or roll her eyes. Thoughts like these are exactly why she has such trouble turning him away, even though she knows she should. And yet at the same time, she's reminded that that Vampire she dusted wasn't really his kindred. Yeah, they're both Vamps, but other than that, they're really not much more alike than she is to any human who's murdered another. Spike is better than that Vamp ever would have been. He's got his soul now, after all, and besides, he didn't need his soul to help her save the world way back when she was still pining for Angel and he was with Dru. He's better than that, better than them all, except for, maybe, Angel.
But Angel is the past. She no longer regrets that they can not be together. Her dreams are no longer filled with him. They're filled with a different kind of passion for a different kind of Vampire with a soul. They're filled, she admits in these wee, quiet moments, with Spike.
"Slayer," Spike acknowledges, finally removing his cigarette and releasing the smoke. She tries not to watch it leave his lips, or to think about all the wonderful, hot things that those lips make her feel. She swears it's like an explosion every time they touch. "Out for a walk?"
She nods and turns from him, moving with a swift grace that, if she had still been watching his dark eyes, she'd see he appreciates. He doesn't ask her if she can join him. He doesn't care if she'd rather be alone, but she also doesn't tell him to leave her as he strides beside her, keeping an easy, perfect pace with her mortal legs.
They pass through the silent night together, and she can feel the power again radiating all around them, in them, and between them. She can feel him as close as if he was touching her, and her body burns. Her soul burns quietly, and she can't help but to smile, remembering all they've shared and all they still have to share. Spike's a part of her, and she likes it, even if she doesn't want to admit it.
She might not need him. He might be better off without her. She certainly would be without him. But she wants him. She wants this, this silent bond they share. She told him once that he's the only one who understands her. She was wrong, but he does understand her best of all. He proves that to her time and again, and sometimes, as Giles used to tell her when she was younger and didn't understand yet, silence does speak louder than words.
Sometimes, words aren't needed. Sometimes, passion isn't needed, and sometimes, two bodies don't have to touch to feel the passion radiating between them. Sometimes, you don't have to touch at all. But that doesn't mean you don't want to.
She looks away from what's ahead and from the man by her side. She looks off into the distance, not looking at anything in particular, not even noticing where they're walking, but while she's looking away, she slips a little closer and a little closer still until her hand bumps the back of his. Unlike Buffy, Spike doesn't hesitate. Still without speaking a word, he takes her hand in his and twines his fingers through hers. Somehow, he doesn't feel cold tonight. He feels warm, to her at least.
She steals a sideways glance at him, and his eyes catch hers. She smiles. He smiles back. Her grin widens, and she leans a little closer, tightens her grip on his hand just a little, lets her cheek brush the black leather of his jacket beneath which his shoulder is yearning for her touch. She leans a little closer. She understands a little more. And in this quiet time between Slayer and Vampire, between man and woman, she feels complete at least for a little while.
The End
Author: Kat Lee
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Character/Pairing: Spike/Buffy
Rating: PG/K+
Challenge/Prompt: SB-Fag-Ends: You're the only one who understands me.; Nekid-Spike: Explosion; and 1-Million-Words: Blow Me Away!: Walking After Midnight
Warning(s): None
Word Count: 1,885
Date Written: 28 November, 2015
Summary:
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy, not the author, and are used without permission.
She likes to take a walk in these rare, quiet moments granted to her during the few hours she has left before dawn. Sometimes, she's lucky and gets to go walking in the midnight hour, but often, she's still fighting during that time. Sometimes, she fights all night long, but these are some of the few moments that seem to make everything worthwhile.
She can feel the strength of the magic in the air, especially during midnight. She's always been able to feel that tingle, but she wasn't sure what it was exactly until Willow got all Witchy and explained to her about the Midnight Hour. There is magic in that hour, Buffy knows for sure, and there are definitely too many Demons, Witches, and other baddies who like to cast their big whammies during that time. But there's still magic here after midnight.
There's always magic in this town -- it's a Hellmouth, after all --, and there's always magic in her. She used to hate that. She used to hate being the Slayer, and some nights, some days too, she still does. But if she's honest with herself, she likes the magic. She likes the strength. She likes knowing she can kick the ass of just about anything that might try to attack her or her friends or her family or even just that chick out too late boozing and partying.
She likes to know she's saved the world and can probably do it again when she's called upon once more, and she will be called. She's always called, called back even from beyond the grave. It took her so long to make her peace with that, and sometimes, she still misses the peace and love she had. But there is love in this world, too. Her friends love her, although they might not always show it, and then there's Dawnie, a more real sister her mother couldn't have birthed.
Then there's Spike. She sighs and shifts her mind pointedly away from that gray area. She doesn't want to think about him right now. The bloke's good for sex and backup, but little beyond that. Hell, she realizes with a wince, she's even starting to pick up some of his language. That's totally not good.
He's in her way too deep. She needs to cut him loose, but yet every time she gets near him, she can't think. All she can do is feel, and while at first, it was great to feel again after being dead, she's feeling way more than she wants to for him. She needs to cut him loose, to cut 'em both loose, and fast. But she just can't seem to find it in her to do so. It isn't about breaking his heart, she finally admits in this quiet time she has to herself. It's about breaking hers.
A scream splits the stillness she's been enjoying for way too short a time. Buffy rolls her eyes. This is the Hellmouth, but she still gets damned tired of always having her time interrupted. Then she sprints and leaps into action, finding a few Vamps taking another couple of girls who are out too late -- way too late from the looks of them (they can't be much older than Dawn) for their midnight snack.
"It's too late for midnight snackage," she quips, diving a stake into the back of the first one just before he can sink his fangs into the screaming blonde. She spins, kicking the other three back. Their hisses make her grin. "Hasn't anybody told you this town doesn't have an all night drive thru?"
She could stake them all in seconds, but she's suddenly burning for some good action. She's never once admitted it to Faith, but yeah, fighting does feel good sometimes. The pumping adrenaline always works great to get rid of any pesky thoughts that she might otherwise be entertaining, like forcing herself to do the right thing for them both and dump Spike flat on his Vampire ass.
The teenagers have split and run, but the Vampires are still looking at her in a mixture of anger and disbelief. She knows she doesn't look like much of a fighter, but surely they've heard the tales of her kicking ass. Oh, well. They'll have their own tales to tell soon enough. "Well, boys, we gonna do this or are you just gonna stand there like you're trying to work up the courage to ask me out?"
That pisses them off. They charge her at once, but Buffy's ready for them, backing up as they start to advance and then somersaulting onto her palms. Her booted feet fly through the crisp, late night air, kicking each one of them back and down. She hits the last one so hard he flies backwards into the wall. The back of his skull thunks loudly, and he slumps to the pavement, out for a few minutes.
Buffy's grin grows. "So I'm down to Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum. Which one of you boys are dumber?"
She hears a sound behind her and to her right and steals a quick glance over her shoulder. She almost rolls her green eyes again when she sees Spike lighting up. He grins up at her, and she snaps back around just in time to catch a fist in her hand. She crunches the bones in that pale hand, then throws the brunette Vampire into his buddy who looks like the human whose form he now wears must've worked out pretty regularly.
They hiss again. She smirks. "Doesn't anybody talk these days?" She hears a soft chuckle behind her but doesn't stop to think about it, or about the Vamp owning that soft, deep voice which even now stirs something deep within her. She's in her element, and she enjoys every kick as she drives the Vampires back.
It feels good to kick them, feels good to wield her power against something no ordinary girl could possibly fight, but it feels even better to land her fists on them. She's got them both on the pavement, ready to beg for mercy, when she finally takes pity on them and stakes their asses. The one she threw into the wall comes back around just in time to see his buddies get turned into dust by Mister Pointy. He starts to run, but she's not in the mood to let him go.
She chases after him, and although he's got super speed, he's still new, and she's still the Slayer. She springs into the air and flips over his head, letting her hands touch his shoulders for balance and teasing as she passes over him. Landing right before him, she spins again before he can change direction and kicks his feet out from under him. Finally, she drives her stake home again for the fourth time in less than five minutes.
She smirks up at Spike as the dust of his kindred rains down between them. He's smirking, his eyes dancing, but he doesn't say anything. His lips are still pursed around his cigarette as he approaches her. She could tell him again how disgusting smoking is, but truth is that somehow, on him, it looks good. Everything somehow manages to look good on Spike.
She blinks and resists the urge to shake her head or roll her eyes. Thoughts like these are exactly why she has such trouble turning him away, even though she knows she should. And yet at the same time, she's reminded that that Vampire she dusted wasn't really his kindred. Yeah, they're both Vamps, but other than that, they're really not much more alike than she is to any human who's murdered another. Spike is better than that Vamp ever would have been. He's got his soul now, after all, and besides, he didn't need his soul to help her save the world way back when she was still pining for Angel and he was with Dru. He's better than that, better than them all, except for, maybe, Angel.
But Angel is the past. She no longer regrets that they can not be together. Her dreams are no longer filled with him. They're filled with a different kind of passion for a different kind of Vampire with a soul. They're filled, she admits in these wee, quiet moments, with Spike.
"Slayer," Spike acknowledges, finally removing his cigarette and releasing the smoke. She tries not to watch it leave his lips, or to think about all the wonderful, hot things that those lips make her feel. She swears it's like an explosion every time they touch. "Out for a walk?"
She nods and turns from him, moving with a swift grace that, if she had still been watching his dark eyes, she'd see he appreciates. He doesn't ask her if she can join him. He doesn't care if she'd rather be alone, but she also doesn't tell him to leave her as he strides beside her, keeping an easy, perfect pace with her mortal legs.
They pass through the silent night together, and she can feel the power again radiating all around them, in them, and between them. She can feel him as close as if he was touching her, and her body burns. Her soul burns quietly, and she can't help but to smile, remembering all they've shared and all they still have to share. Spike's a part of her, and she likes it, even if she doesn't want to admit it.
She might not need him. He might be better off without her. She certainly would be without him. But she wants him. She wants this, this silent bond they share. She told him once that he's the only one who understands her. She was wrong, but he does understand her best of all. He proves that to her time and again, and sometimes, as Giles used to tell her when she was younger and didn't understand yet, silence does speak louder than words.
Sometimes, words aren't needed. Sometimes, passion isn't needed, and sometimes, two bodies don't have to touch to feel the passion radiating between them. Sometimes, you don't have to touch at all. But that doesn't mean you don't want to.
She looks away from what's ahead and from the man by her side. She looks off into the distance, not looking at anything in particular, not even noticing where they're walking, but while she's looking away, she slips a little closer and a little closer still until her hand bumps the back of his. Unlike Buffy, Spike doesn't hesitate. Still without speaking a word, he takes her hand in his and twines his fingers through hers. Somehow, he doesn't feel cold tonight. He feels warm, to her at least.
She steals a sideways glance at him, and his eyes catch hers. She smiles. He smiles back. Her grin widens, and she leans a little closer, tightens her grip on his hand just a little, lets her cheek brush the black leather of his jacket beneath which his shoulder is yearning for her touch. She leans a little closer. She understands a little more. And in this quiet time between Slayer and Vampire, between man and woman, she feels complete at least for a little while.
The End