'Breathing at Your Side' by Quinara (PG; 700 words; AtS S5)
Am I the only one who thinks that fics about Buffy and Spike secretly communicating in A5 never get old? Hopefully not! This is a 700-word piece of mildly angsty sop for 'exile', tame as tame apart from the language, no AO3 warnings apply. Set a little after Damage. (The title, by the way, is a lyric from Bad Religion's In the City, which is a good song of theirs.)
Breathing at Your Side.
by Quinara
Half a city away from Wolfram and Hart, Spike stood in front of a payphone, trying to dial with as little muscle movement as possible. He held a pen between loose fingers and slowly jabbed the number into the keypad, waiting for it connect - slowly. Of course, when he’d got through whatever passed for an exchange these days, it only took three rings for the call to be picked up.
“Where the hell have you been?”
Ah, Spike thought: his light, his love, haranguing him across the ocean. These were the moments he cherished… “That what you call concern? Bloody charming.”
“And why exactly should I be concerned?” That was a warning, a very definite one. “There'd better not be cause for concern.”
Spike cringed, wishing it weren’t quite so preferable to keep the phone tucked between his chin and his shoulder. “Andrew didn’t tell you, then?” he asked, actually quite surprised. (Although, if he hadn’t, maybe it was best not to mention the hands.)
“The little runt’s getting sneakier.” She sounded grudging, but thankfully distracted. “He didn’t even tell me you were alive... Why am I not allowed to know that, again?”
“Because we don’t know why I’m back?” Spike wasn’t sure himself, to be honest, but he remembered that being the reason at one point. “Not to mention Angel’s still sucking off the Big Evil for five bob and a power trip…”
“Nice.” 'Eww' was the fairly emphatic subtext on that one. He could just imagine the cute little face she pulled when she was disgusted; it was worth it every time. “That wasn’t an image I needed, Spike.”
“Sorry.” He wasn’t.
She seemed to notice, though, which was gratifying. “What’s with you, anyway?” Changing the subject, was she? Fair enough; Andrew was about as interesting as Angel's wardrobe. “Recently you’ve been… I don’t know, you don’t seem very - chill?”
Caught off-guard then, Spike’s throat closed. He found himself staring at the graffiti that covered the phone’s shelter, the swirls of black and red and orange, wondering what to say. For a few seconds he entertained the idea of telling her the truth, that he was horny as fuck and sick of not getting anything done, that having his hands out of commission wasn’t helping with either - but he was pretty certain even Buffy didn’t value honesty that highly. “Miss you, don’t I?” he offered instead, because that was also true.
There was silence after that, which made Spike remember the other invisible line he wasn’t meant to cross. These were business calls after all, at least first and foremost; no time for the more gooey side of things. And didn’t that suit everyone just perfectly, with him banished thousands of miles away. “Spike…” She was almost certainly setting up for reprimand.
“Forget it,” he interrupted, not wanting to hear it and starting to feel the pain in his unrested wrists.
“I will not.” Now that rejoinder made him do a double-take. Of course, she was stubborn cow, wasn’t she? Had he really forgotten that? “I miss you too; look -” Her words were rushing, almost falling over themselves. “- how about I call you back, OK? Your number’s showing on our shiny spy-phone, I -” For some reason she sounded flustered, as if she thought he was about to hang up and wanted to keep him on the line. Who knew why; he couldn’t move for the death of him. “We could catch up or something, maybe? If you’re free to talk, I mean, or, uh…”
Regaining enough sense, he tried to reassure her, feeling awkward nonetheless, “Yeah - yeah, that sounds good.” What was the point of being a vampire, really, if you couldn’t stand in the same place for a while and not worry about your legs going any more dead? “I…” Then he looked up, at the sky bright black with the new night, slightly worried. “What time is it where you are, love? Must be late - don’t want to keep you up or anything.” It wouldn’t be right to let her know how long he’d be happy to stand there.
But then: “No, no!” She was reassuring him. “I wasn’t, um, I wasn’t asleep.”
“Oh, right.”
“I guess… There may have been some - concern.”
And just like that he felt slightly less cut off from it all.
.
Breathing at Your Side.
by Quinara
Half a city away from Wolfram and Hart, Spike stood in front of a payphone, trying to dial with as little muscle movement as possible. He held a pen between loose fingers and slowly jabbed the number into the keypad, waiting for it connect - slowly. Of course, when he’d got through whatever passed for an exchange these days, it only took three rings for the call to be picked up.
“Where the hell have you been?”
Ah, Spike thought: his light, his love, haranguing him across the ocean. These were the moments he cherished… “That what you call concern? Bloody charming.”
“And why exactly should I be concerned?” That was a warning, a very definite one. “There'd better not be cause for concern.”
Spike cringed, wishing it weren’t quite so preferable to keep the phone tucked between his chin and his shoulder. “Andrew didn’t tell you, then?” he asked, actually quite surprised. (Although, if he hadn’t, maybe it was best not to mention the hands.)
“The little runt’s getting sneakier.” She sounded grudging, but thankfully distracted. “He didn’t even tell me you were alive... Why am I not allowed to know that, again?”
“Because we don’t know why I’m back?” Spike wasn’t sure himself, to be honest, but he remembered that being the reason at one point. “Not to mention Angel’s still sucking off the Big Evil for five bob and a power trip…”
“Nice.” 'Eww' was the fairly emphatic subtext on that one. He could just imagine the cute little face she pulled when she was disgusted; it was worth it every time. “That wasn’t an image I needed, Spike.”
“Sorry.” He wasn’t.
She seemed to notice, though, which was gratifying. “What’s with you, anyway?” Changing the subject, was she? Fair enough; Andrew was about as interesting as Angel's wardrobe. “Recently you’ve been… I don’t know, you don’t seem very - chill?”
Caught off-guard then, Spike’s throat closed. He found himself staring at the graffiti that covered the phone’s shelter, the swirls of black and red and orange, wondering what to say. For a few seconds he entertained the idea of telling her the truth, that he was horny as fuck and sick of not getting anything done, that having his hands out of commission wasn’t helping with either - but he was pretty certain even Buffy didn’t value honesty that highly. “Miss you, don’t I?” he offered instead, because that was also true.
There was silence after that, which made Spike remember the other invisible line he wasn’t meant to cross. These were business calls after all, at least first and foremost; no time for the more gooey side of things. And didn’t that suit everyone just perfectly, with him banished thousands of miles away. “Spike…” She was almost certainly setting up for reprimand.
“Forget it,” he interrupted, not wanting to hear it and starting to feel the pain in his unrested wrists.
“I will not.” Now that rejoinder made him do a double-take. Of course, she was stubborn cow, wasn’t she? Had he really forgotten that? “I miss you too; look -” Her words were rushing, almost falling over themselves. “- how about I call you back, OK? Your number’s showing on our shiny spy-phone, I -” For some reason she sounded flustered, as if she thought he was about to hang up and wanted to keep him on the line. Who knew why; he couldn’t move for the death of him. “We could catch up or something, maybe? If you’re free to talk, I mean, or, uh…”
Regaining enough sense, he tried to reassure her, feeling awkward nonetheless, “Yeah - yeah, that sounds good.” What was the point of being a vampire, really, if you couldn’t stand in the same place for a while and not worry about your legs going any more dead? “I…” Then he looked up, at the sky bright black with the new night, slightly worried. “What time is it where you are, love? Must be late - don’t want to keep you up or anything.” It wouldn’t be right to let her know how long he’d be happy to stand there.
But then: “No, no!” She was reassuring him. “I wasn’t, um, I wasn’t asleep.”
“Oh, right.”
“I guess… There may have been some - concern.”
And just like that he felt slightly less cut off from it all.
.