For A Certain Value of Real (PG13)
I think this may actually count as spamming the comm by now. But I hope you enjoy!
Title For A Certain Value of Real
Author Brutti ma buoni
Words 1000
Rating PG13
Prompt Through The Looking Glass
Setting post-NFA
He sensed something was off, well before she turned so that he could see the tears.
*
This wasn't how Spike had expected reunion to be. She should have been running, flinging herself at him with a passionate kiss, or - more than likely - punching him in the face for keeping quiet for so long. Not hiding her silent sobs away.
"Buffy?"
She sniffled out a "Hi Spike," half-hearted as she hadn't been with him since after she resurrected.
His guts clenched, a proper human response he'd rarely found a use for since he died. He sat down beside her, just close enough so's she knew he was there. "What's wrong?" He wanted to touch her, brought up a hand almost to her shoulder, but flinched away from something so overt. (Briefly chased a moment of déjà-vu, but he didn't have time to pursue that now.)
Spike talked at random, reintroducing himself into her world as she sat unresponsive. Couldn't talk enough, so much to tell her, so much he'd been longing to share these past months, imagining her face as he talked about Angel's kid, Wolfram and Hart, Illyria, the Senior Partners' half-assed Apocalypse, Hell…
She didn't say a word, barely turned a hair, and he didn't understand anything. He still couldn't fathom what it was, the thing he'd sensed was wrong. Here she was, whole and healthy and-
No. That was it. She had no heartbeat.
*
For one insane second, his hand twitched towards his ever-ready stake.(Any part of the living dead was Buffy, he'd once said, he'd protect it forever. Knew better now. Any part of a vampire was still Buffy, she'd want him to end her.)
But of course it wasn't a vampire. He'd have known it from the moment he first sensed her. The reason he'd let it pass him by so far was that there was still something mimicking the heart, a pulse thrumming through her. Too regular, almost… yeah, forget almost, completely artificial and mechanical.
They'd sent him to the fucking Bot. His fucking-Bot, to boot. He hadn't even known she'd survived Sunnydale's collapse. What kind of sick mind-
He realised he hadn't been talking while his brain worked furiously. So the robot knew she'd been rumbled. She was crying again.
"Don't do that. 'Spect you'll rust or something unhelpful." Well, no call to be cruel to the machine. He knew that now, soul nudging his conscience into kindness.
"Can't help it," she sniffled. She didn't look like his perfect, unblemished robot. She looked emotional. Real. Not something he'd ever thought about the Bot before.
His guts clenched again, more intensely. Something fucking awful had happened.
"There was an accident," said the robot.
He said nothing.
"Willow saved me," said the robot.
He couldn't say a thing.
"Just my brainwaves. Just my… soul, I guess. So she put me in here."
*
Spike was a dead man. Didn't breathe, didn't eat, didn't (therefore) crap, nor reproduce in any way a natural being would recognise.
Buffy was the same now.
Spike enjoyed his unlife. More than enjoyed, he'd relished it to the rafters for over a century, and still adored his immortality more than a sane man should. Shouldn't matter if the woman he loved was in the same boat. Should delight him: play his cards right and they'd have aeons together
But. Oh, but... He loved Buffy's humanity. (Had loved.) Her warmth, her breath on his skin, her strength that was a thousand times more awesome because it came from a fragile mortal. Her taste and smell, all woman, sweat dripping after a hard fight or a good fuck. The relish with which she ate, feeding the Slayer fires, scarfing down Doublemeat as if it were actual food.
All gone.
*
But some part of this robot was Buffy. The Buffy-part that laughed and cried, strove and won was still alive. The part he'd loved and lost so many times he'd gone beyond déjà-vu on that count. So he stopped hovering in horrified half-comfort, planted an arm round her shoulders, and hugged her.
Hugged the robot.
His own words from months before were in his ears. I love what you are, what you do, how you try. The robot was Buffy, did what Buffy did, tried like Buffy tried. So it really was quite simple.
Well, almost.
"She did this to you? Red?" He had to ask. Just to check.
The robot- No, Buffy nodded. No tension in her plastic face that he could see. (Could he tell, before, when the robot was hiding something? He couldn't remember.) But, far as he could see, Buffy was tranquil, under the smudges of past tears. "Yes. I asked her to help. I was-"
Still Buffy enough not to admit she'd been scared. How different, though, from the girl who'd died for the world not so very long ago, sloughing off mortal cares with a leap into joy and peace. Now she'd been human, and selfish: too much to lose, not wanting to go.
Though she didn't spell it out, he could imagine the scene, fear and pain, gasping for help. Not surprised the witch did what she could. Anyone would have.
Whether that was a good thing, long term, he was less certain. But he was bloody glad to have had this moment, arms round her.
"Cheated death for a third time, eh, Slayer?" (That didn't come out sounding as happy as he meant.)
She didn't look exactly jubilant when he pulled back from the embrace. "For now. Nobody knows how long the robot was built to last. Plus, battery life's not so great. I've wound down a couple of times, which: embarrassing. But it's kinda working so far."
*
Spike realised that she was cheering up, now the revelation was out. Seemed like she'd pretty much made her peace. If only he could, maybe they'd be okay.
For some bizarre reason, he flashed onto the end of Some Like It Hot. Nobody's perfect.
Yeah. Spike knew that better than most.
*
Title For A Certain Value of Real
Author Brutti ma buoni
Words 1000
Rating PG13
Prompt Through The Looking Glass
Setting post-NFA
He sensed something was off, well before she turned so that he could see the tears.
*
This wasn't how Spike had expected reunion to be. She should have been running, flinging herself at him with a passionate kiss, or - more than likely - punching him in the face for keeping quiet for so long. Not hiding her silent sobs away.
"Buffy?"
She sniffled out a "Hi Spike," half-hearted as she hadn't been with him since after she resurrected.
His guts clenched, a proper human response he'd rarely found a use for since he died. He sat down beside her, just close enough so's she knew he was there. "What's wrong?" He wanted to touch her, brought up a hand almost to her shoulder, but flinched away from something so overt. (Briefly chased a moment of déjà-vu, but he didn't have time to pursue that now.)
Spike talked at random, reintroducing himself into her world as she sat unresponsive. Couldn't talk enough, so much to tell her, so much he'd been longing to share these past months, imagining her face as he talked about Angel's kid, Wolfram and Hart, Illyria, the Senior Partners' half-assed Apocalypse, Hell…
She didn't say a word, barely turned a hair, and he didn't understand anything. He still couldn't fathom what it was, the thing he'd sensed was wrong. Here she was, whole and healthy and-
No. That was it. She had no heartbeat.
*
For one insane second, his hand twitched towards his ever-ready stake.(Any part of the living dead was Buffy, he'd once said, he'd protect it forever. Knew better now. Any part of a vampire was still Buffy, she'd want him to end her.)
But of course it wasn't a vampire. He'd have known it from the moment he first sensed her. The reason he'd let it pass him by so far was that there was still something mimicking the heart, a pulse thrumming through her. Too regular, almost… yeah, forget almost, completely artificial and mechanical.
They'd sent him to the fucking Bot. His fucking-Bot, to boot. He hadn't even known she'd survived Sunnydale's collapse. What kind of sick mind-
He realised he hadn't been talking while his brain worked furiously. So the robot knew she'd been rumbled. She was crying again.
"Don't do that. 'Spect you'll rust or something unhelpful." Well, no call to be cruel to the machine. He knew that now, soul nudging his conscience into kindness.
"Can't help it," she sniffled. She didn't look like his perfect, unblemished robot. She looked emotional. Real. Not something he'd ever thought about the Bot before.
His guts clenched again, more intensely. Something fucking awful had happened.
"There was an accident," said the robot.
He said nothing.
"Willow saved me," said the robot.
He couldn't say a thing.
"Just my brainwaves. Just my… soul, I guess. So she put me in here."
*
Spike was a dead man. Didn't breathe, didn't eat, didn't (therefore) crap, nor reproduce in any way a natural being would recognise.
Buffy was the same now.
Spike enjoyed his unlife. More than enjoyed, he'd relished it to the rafters for over a century, and still adored his immortality more than a sane man should. Shouldn't matter if the woman he loved was in the same boat. Should delight him: play his cards right and they'd have aeons together
But. Oh, but... He loved Buffy's humanity. (Had loved.) Her warmth, her breath on his skin, her strength that was a thousand times more awesome because it came from a fragile mortal. Her taste and smell, all woman, sweat dripping after a hard fight or a good fuck. The relish with which she ate, feeding the Slayer fires, scarfing down Doublemeat as if it were actual food.
All gone.
*
But some part of this robot was Buffy. The Buffy-part that laughed and cried, strove and won was still alive. The part he'd loved and lost so many times he'd gone beyond déjà-vu on that count. So he stopped hovering in horrified half-comfort, planted an arm round her shoulders, and hugged her.
Hugged the robot.
His own words from months before were in his ears. I love what you are, what you do, how you try. The robot was Buffy, did what Buffy did, tried like Buffy tried. So it really was quite simple.
Well, almost.
"She did this to you? Red?" He had to ask. Just to check.
The robot- No, Buffy nodded. No tension in her plastic face that he could see. (Could he tell, before, when the robot was hiding something? He couldn't remember.) But, far as he could see, Buffy was tranquil, under the smudges of past tears. "Yes. I asked her to help. I was-"
Still Buffy enough not to admit she'd been scared. How different, though, from the girl who'd died for the world not so very long ago, sloughing off mortal cares with a leap into joy and peace. Now she'd been human, and selfish: too much to lose, not wanting to go.
Though she didn't spell it out, he could imagine the scene, fear and pain, gasping for help. Not surprised the witch did what she could. Anyone would have.
Whether that was a good thing, long term, he was less certain. But he was bloody glad to have had this moment, arms round her.
"Cheated death for a third time, eh, Slayer?" (That didn't come out sounding as happy as he meant.)
She didn't look exactly jubilant when he pulled back from the embrace. "For now. Nobody knows how long the robot was built to last. Plus, battery life's not so great. I've wound down a couple of times, which: embarrassing. But it's kinda working so far."
*
Spike realised that she was cheering up, now the revelation was out. Seemed like she'd pretty much made her peace. If only he could, maybe they'd be okay.
For some bizarre reason, he flashed onto the end of Some Like It Hot. Nobody's perfect.
Yeah. Spike knew that better than most.
*