The Artifact: Chapter Thirteen
This chapter is for all those Spike/Angel/Buffy triangle shippers. You know who you are.
Also a gentle reminder that, like, the season 5 plot is continuing.
Chapter One Here
<-- previous chapter
Chapter Thirteen: An Unexpected Tangle
Angel scrambled to his feet. Spike looked killing-angry, fists clenched, breathing heavy. Angel felt whiplash, and not from his head hitting the concrete. He didn’t get it, not one bit, but he knew when to give up and save figuring out for later. He didn’t even bother going for the door, but broke out a window and hit the cemetery dirt running.
He stopped once he was clear of the crypt to dust the dirt off his slacks. That was when he saw Buffy, standing there, watching him. “Uh… I thought you went home,” he said.
“Ditto,” Buffy said.
“There was... um… a vampire?” Angel mimed staking.
“In Spike’s crypt?”
Angel coughed, tucked his hands in his pockets, and said, “Behind it. He, uh, I think Spike might have stalkers.”
Buffy folded her arms. “Uh-huh.”
“Yeah. Uh.” The silence lengthened. This was so awkward. Their visit should have ended with the quiet companionship they’d shared just a short time ago. WHY had he had to go after Spike? “So, um…” Angel waved and ran for it.
He was in his car before he thought to ask what Buffy had been doing near Spike’s crypt. That was weird too, wasn’t it? Almost, no, JUST AS weird.
He almost turned around just to say that. Almost.
***
Spike was shaking, and angry at himself for shaking. Still, it had been a close call. He didn’t know how much longer it would take even someone as thick as Angel to figure out what was going on. And soul or no, he suspected Angel would take full advantage once he knew he had an advantage to take.
Fists into concrete, pressing hard. He calmed himself. So what? He was still himself. He could take it and dish it back out.
He almost believed himself.
Spike cleared out all the trash from under his chair and television and the little stand next to the fridge, that was designed to hold a large floral arrangement but he’d nicked it to serve as a mini pantry. There were no traces of un-consumed alcohol in the entire crypt. He kicked some dried leaves and looked up to see Buffy standing in the doorway. “Oh for fuck’s sake, what is this? Viewing hours?”
Buffy’s eyes welled up, her chin jutted out, and she turned back to the door. Spike hissed and hurried to catch up to her. “Forget I said that. I’m a bad, rude man.” He was half afraid she’d hit him as he touched her arm. He was half afraid she wouldn’t. He couldn’t cope with sad Buffy. “Just Angel getting under my skin. You know how we are: like oil and holy water.”
Buffy wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “It wasn’t... I’m… forget it. I’m crying all the time now for any reason.”
“It’s expected,” Spike said. “S’allright.” He put his arm around her and, to his mixed joy and fear, she leaned against him. She gave one more soft sniffle, and relaxed more. Spike thought his chest would burst. “There. All right,” he said, patting her back and petting her hair.
After a very, very long time, he dared kiss her forehead gently. He waited for the retaliation, but it didn’t come. That’s when he realized that of the two of them, he was the one not relaxing.
***
Behind an oak tree near an obelisk, Glory’s minion took in the tableaux as Buffy and Spike held each other, gently swaying in the moonlight.
Continued -->
Also a gentle reminder that, like, the season 5 plot is continuing.
Chapter One Here
<-- previous chapter
Chapter Thirteen: An Unexpected Tangle
Angel scrambled to his feet. Spike looked killing-angry, fists clenched, breathing heavy. Angel felt whiplash, and not from his head hitting the concrete. He didn’t get it, not one bit, but he knew when to give up and save figuring out for later. He didn’t even bother going for the door, but broke out a window and hit the cemetery dirt running.
He stopped once he was clear of the crypt to dust the dirt off his slacks. That was when he saw Buffy, standing there, watching him. “Uh… I thought you went home,” he said.
“Ditto,” Buffy said.
“There was... um… a vampire?” Angel mimed staking.
“In Spike’s crypt?”
Angel coughed, tucked his hands in his pockets, and said, “Behind it. He, uh, I think Spike might have stalkers.”
Buffy folded her arms. “Uh-huh.”
“Yeah. Uh.” The silence lengthened. This was so awkward. Their visit should have ended with the quiet companionship they’d shared just a short time ago. WHY had he had to go after Spike? “So, um…” Angel waved and ran for it.
He was in his car before he thought to ask what Buffy had been doing near Spike’s crypt. That was weird too, wasn’t it? Almost, no, JUST AS weird.
He almost turned around just to say that. Almost.
***
Spike was shaking, and angry at himself for shaking. Still, it had been a close call. He didn’t know how much longer it would take even someone as thick as Angel to figure out what was going on. And soul or no, he suspected Angel would take full advantage once he knew he had an advantage to take.
Fists into concrete, pressing hard. He calmed himself. So what? He was still himself. He could take it and dish it back out.
He almost believed himself.
Spike cleared out all the trash from under his chair and television and the little stand next to the fridge, that was designed to hold a large floral arrangement but he’d nicked it to serve as a mini pantry. There were no traces of un-consumed alcohol in the entire crypt. He kicked some dried leaves and looked up to see Buffy standing in the doorway. “Oh for fuck’s sake, what is this? Viewing hours?”
Buffy’s eyes welled up, her chin jutted out, and she turned back to the door. Spike hissed and hurried to catch up to her. “Forget I said that. I’m a bad, rude man.” He was half afraid she’d hit him as he touched her arm. He was half afraid she wouldn’t. He couldn’t cope with sad Buffy. “Just Angel getting under my skin. You know how we are: like oil and holy water.”
Buffy wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “It wasn’t... I’m… forget it. I’m crying all the time now for any reason.”
“It’s expected,” Spike said. “S’allright.” He put his arm around her and, to his mixed joy and fear, she leaned against him. She gave one more soft sniffle, and relaxed more. Spike thought his chest would burst. “There. All right,” he said, patting her back and petting her hair.
After a very, very long time, he dared kiss her forehead gently. He waited for the retaliation, but it didn’t come. That’s when he realized that of the two of them, he was the one not relaxing.
***
Behind an oak tree near an obelisk, Glory’s minion took in the tableaux as Buffy and Spike held each other, gently swaying in the moonlight.
Continued -->