Oldies but goldies-5
My beloved Spike.
Spike stood staring with incredulous joy at his clenched fist, which twinged just the slightest bit across the knuckles (already healing) and which was the only thing about him that did. He threw back his head and roared for sheer bloody-minded joy, whirling on his next victim, who came staggering into him reeling from Buffy’s blow. Spike grabbed Blue Cap by the shirtfront and hoisted him into the air, shaking him as a terrier would a rat. He rammed his nose into the man’s fear-convulsed face and bared his fangs, and the bastard all but pissed himself then and there. “Yeah! That's right! Quiver in your bleeding boots, chum, ‘cause Spike’s back and he’s a bloody--!”
The boast died in his throat as fingers gripped his arm, digging into his biceps hard enough to hurt. He looked down. Eyes confronted him, boring into his own--those gorgeous Sarah Crewe eyes, grey-green, flecked with golden brown, rimmed with impossibly thick dark lashes. Enormous. Horrified. Buffy stood beside him on the pavement, her lower lip just this side of trembling, her hand on his arm rock-steady, pulling Blue Cap back to earth. Her other hand hovered an inch away from her purse, where among other useful items, she always carried, as Spike knew very well, the well-worn length of oak which had served two Slayers in its time--just the thing for a vampire who'd killed two.
The look of betrayal in her eyes was worse than any stake.
He lost his hold on game face without even realizing it, tossed Blue Cap after Tanner, and dropped to his knees before her for the second time that night.
“Oh, Christ, Buffy--my heart, my love, I tried to tell you, I really did!” His voice had gone husky and pleading. If she believed nothing else of him ever again, she had to believe this. “I know--I know I’m a monster. But I’ll do my damnedest to be a good monster--for you, love.” He spread his arms wide, baring his chest to that length of sharpened oak which had been polished on the bones of a thousand of his kind before him.
He closed his eyes--because it was traditional. And he waited.
Spike stood staring with incredulous joy at his clenched fist, which twinged just the slightest bit across the knuckles (already healing) and which was the only thing about him that did. He threw back his head and roared for sheer bloody-minded joy, whirling on his next victim, who came staggering into him reeling from Buffy’s blow. Spike grabbed Blue Cap by the shirtfront and hoisted him into the air, shaking him as a terrier would a rat. He rammed his nose into the man’s fear-convulsed face and bared his fangs, and the bastard all but pissed himself then and there. “Yeah! That's right! Quiver in your bleeding boots, chum, ‘cause Spike’s back and he’s a bloody--!”
The boast died in his throat as fingers gripped his arm, digging into his biceps hard enough to hurt. He looked down. Eyes confronted him, boring into his own--those gorgeous Sarah Crewe eyes, grey-green, flecked with golden brown, rimmed with impossibly thick dark lashes. Enormous. Horrified. Buffy stood beside him on the pavement, her lower lip just this side of trembling, her hand on his arm rock-steady, pulling Blue Cap back to earth. Her other hand hovered an inch away from her purse, where among other useful items, she always carried, as Spike knew very well, the well-worn length of oak which had served two Slayers in its time--just the thing for a vampire who'd killed two.
The look of betrayal in her eyes was worse than any stake.
He lost his hold on game face without even realizing it, tossed Blue Cap after Tanner, and dropped to his knees before her for the second time that night.
“Oh, Christ, Buffy--my heart, my love, I tried to tell you, I really did!” His voice had gone husky and pleading. If she believed nothing else of him ever again, she had to believe this. “I know--I know I’m a monster. But I’ll do my damnedest to be a good monster--for you, love.” He spread his arms wide, baring his chest to that length of sharpened oak which had been polished on the bones of a thousand of his kind before him.
He closed his eyes--because it was traditional. And he waited.