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fan_flashworks2022-07-05 10:38 pm
apachefirecat) wrote in fan_flashworks2022-07-05 10:38 pm
Entry tags:
Buffy the Vampire Slayer: Fan Fic: Selfish, Selfless
Title: Selfish, Selfless
Dedicated To: <3 My beloved J <3
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Author: Apache Firecat
Characters: Spike/Buffy
Rating: PG-13/T
Summary: Spike's the only one whos' really always there for her.
Word Count: 2578
Written For: Fan FlashWorks 376: Blue, FFFC FMS 22: Idiots in Love, AllBingo Body Parts Bingo Fest; Expression, and Lands of Magic's The Creative Court: July Theme - Into the Night
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to their rightful owners, not the author, and are used without permission.
She wishes he wouldn't look at her that way. She has much on her at all times. It isn't enough being a teenager with hormones. Oh, no, she's got to be the Slayer and the whole freaking world's hero too! It's so hard just to survive a single day in her world, let alone to make sure that all those around her come through it too. She's used to fight the baddies, but a girl gets tired and, beyond that, she finds herself every day taking on more responsibilities. She's a marriage counselor for Xander and Anya, a confidante and confidence booster for Willow in all the ways her shy friend needs it, a confidence supporter too for Tara who's even shyer than Willow but still struggles with things she's loathe to tell her girlfriend, Giles' best student and most savvy business supporter, and Dawn... Well, for Dawnie, she has to be almost everything: mother, sister, maid, mentor. The list is endless!
But then there's Spike. There's Spike who comes to her sometimes and just sits beside her, not speaking a word when she knows she's too moody and anything either of them say will explode into a battle of the wits or worse. There's Spike who takes her breath away sometimes in simpler ways than Angel ever did. She was just a starry-eyed puppy of a teenager back then, but now... She's no longer a teen girl, Buffy admits. Okay, so she's still late teens, but with all things considered, she is an adult. Saving the world countless times, always sacrificing herself, and having to fill her mother's humongous shoes have made her an adult too soon, far too soon. It's all happened far too soon.
She sighs, feeling the tears in her eyes and willing them not to fall, not tonight, please not tonight... She just wants one normal, quiet night with the guy who comes closer to being a stable boyfriend than anybody else she's ever known. Pike was a quick mistake (and it doesn't help, sometimes, that Spike's name comes so close to that first guy to whom she gave her heart only to have it broken and him become somebody completely different from the man she thought he was). She seems to have a tendency to do that. Angel became Angelus, and he was the greatest love of her life... or so she's thought for the longest time though these nights, she struggles to convince herself of that belief. Riley was another horrible mistake; the commando guy definitely didn't turn out to be the man she thought he was.
And again, she sighs, there's Spike. Spike was one of the worst Vampires when she met him. It's true that he helped her save the world even way back then, but he did so out of purely selfish reasons, wanting to please his Vampire lady and keeping the walking "Happy Meal"s around. The things he's done since though... fighting for his soul and enduring endless punishment to receive it back, being kind to her mother, protecting Dawnie when she was dead, actually telling her friends they were wrong for stealing her peace from her... continuing to fight with her and be here for her night after night when she's told him endless times that she's never going to fall in love with him like he claims to love her and has even beaten him physically to prove that point... All of this and more contributes to the fact that he's fighting against his Demon nature to become a very, very different man that either of them thought he would be. It's not an act, she knows that now, but it's also a very, very dangerous thing for her to believe... to believe in anyone, for that matter, Buffy knows. It isn't just the men that tend to disappoint her after all. She's been hurt by friends too, and she's seen how very selfish her closest friends can be.
Although if he had not pulled her out of the cold, hard ground -- and out of Heaven by doing so --, she wouldn't be here now. If she wasn't here now, he couldn't be looking at her the way he is. "Stop it," she finally whispers, turning her face away from his.
"Stop what?" Spike asks softly, looking down at their joined hands. She'd been so despondent when he'd arrived here tonight. She actually had not yanked her hand away when he'd reached for it, and she's still letting him hold on to her. His black nails and her bright, pink ones with their silver tips are a far different, mixed match. He's glad she's actually taking the time to paint her nails again, but then it dawns on him that it probably wasn't her at all or, even if she did paint them herself, she did so as an excuse to have more time with her kid sister.
"Stop looking at me like that," she whispers.
He feels her hand tighten, but she still doesn't pull away from him. He knows she needs him tonight, even if she won't admit it. Very softly, he whispers, "Like what?"
Buffy glances back at him before she thinks about it and finds herself staring again, staring into those sweet, blue pools that make her feel like she can do anything in the world, that make her feel like she is the most cherished, most wonderful thing in the entire universe. "Stop looking at me like that," she orders again. This time, her voice is a rougher bark as she commands, but it's still bordering on tears. "I'm not that -- that -- whatever you think I am."
It does not go remiss on him that when she flutters her hand in the hot, humid air as though she's at a loss for words, she does so with her free hand. She has yet to take her hand from his. It's only a small thing to her, he's sure, but it's a huge blessing for him. It means perhaps there is a part of her, no matter how deeply buried, that recognizes their mutual need for each other that goes beyond sex and pleasure. He is her most loyal confidante, her willing slave to do with however she chooses, but she... She is his only real friend in this wretched world, and the reason he fights to do anything and everything good he does.
It isn't in his nature to sit quietly beside a girl. It certainly isn't in his nature to sit idly by the Slayer and to fight to do everything she would want him to do. But it is very much in his nature, in his previous human nature, to be a whipping boy. He's fallen for this girl harder than he'd ever thought possible, far harder than he ever fell for Cecily or even Drusilla. He loves her with an overpowering, overwhelming passion. He --
Spike stops his frame of thought, licks his lips, and listens intently. She's speaking again, saying something that he almost missed, and if he ever wants her to know how incredibly much she means to him, how much he truly does love her, he has got to pay attention, very close attention, to everything she says, everything she does, everything she wants. "You've got to stop looking at me like that, Spike," she's saying again, "with that -- that hanged puppy dog expression! You look at me like I own the world or I can do anything in the world!"
"But," he protests softly, "you can." He squeezes her hand, gently, timidly, afraid that if she remembers their hands are joined, she'll rip away from him again. "You've proven that time and again, pet. You are the strongest, the best Slayer there's ever been. There'll never be another like you -- "
"But that's not all that I am!" she exclaims sharply. This time, she does take her hand away.
Passion and defiance spark in his blue eyes, partly because she's taken her hand away when he's done nothing wrong, partly because she's angry at herself and belittling herself yet again when she is by far the most wonderful woman he's ever known, and also partly because of the wretched world around them that has given her encouragement to such thoughts by demanding so very much of her. Everybody around Buffy strains to take everything from her they can, always heedless of the toll they're taking on her. That little Scooby BratPack she calls her friends has some bollocks for all they continue to put her through on a daily and nightly basis.
"No, you're right!" he exclaims with even more heat in his voice. His beautiful face is filled with fury, and his fangs flash in the night at her. "You're absolutely right, Buffy! They have no right to demand so much of you! This world has taken your entire life from you! You're always saving everybody else's asses; you're always fighting for them! You're always doing things for your friends, for your sister, for everybody else but you! It's far past time you took a night off and -- "
His words explode into a savage roar. Vampires are coming at them right now! They can't even enjoy one quiet, peaceful night! He launches into action and has staked all three of the idiots before Buffy even her stake very much at the ready. "What was I saying?!" he demands, spitting, his chest heaving, and for the first time, she sees beauty in his turned face. Spike's human face would please any girl, but the hissing, spitting Demon before her...
Is still him, she realizes, blinking in wide-eyed astonishment. He's pissed for her! He's infuriated for her! He's hissing and spitting, his entire body convulsing with fury, in defense of her! "You were saying," she speaks in a voice so soft and timid that she sounds completely unlike herself... No, she recognizes, she does sound like herself, but not the self she is now. She sounds far more like that fourteen year-old girl all those years ago before she was called, that girl who'd had such big dreams of finding the perfect Mister Right and settling down somewhere in California with a rich career she enjoyed and at least a few children.
He is angry for her. He's mad at the world for her! Slowly, Buffy sinks back down to the gravestone they'd been sitting on, the headstone of someone she'd saved long ago before natural causes had arisen to still take his life. She's still staring at him, startled breathless.
"What?" he asks and then remembers, gingerly touching his protruding forehead, that he still has his game face on.
Even as he starts to change, she calls out, "You don't have to -- " But it's too late. His mortal face has already returned. He's beautiful. She's always known his mortal face was beautiful despite the teasing she used to do to him concerning how uncannily similar to Billy Idol he makes himself look. But he's always been beautiful regardless, and maybe, just maybe, his insides are starting to be beautiful again too. The soul he fought so hard to get back is supposed to be the soul he had way before he was turned into a Demon after all, and she knows that bloke's story was sad. Realizing the term that just passed through her mind, Buffy wonders how Spike would feel if he knew she was beginning to pick up even his language. She's not about to tell him yet, though, and she wonders again if he can still be that beautiful a man, inside and out, after everything he's done. He's certainly trying so hard to do better, and he's trying all for her.
"What?"
"What?" she repeats questioningly.
"You're still staring."
"Oh." She blinks and then forces her shoulders to shrug. "I'm just... surprised, is all."
"Buffy, I know you're hurting. I just want to be able to take away some of your pain."
It sounds way too good to be true. But he's tried so hard, fought so hard, to gain a little attention from her. "Sit with me?" she asks and gestures to the spot he'd previously occupied.
He smiles, gathers himself, pats down his trench coat, and finally walks back to her. Once he's seated, she leans her head against his leather-clad shoulder. She thinks about the man he'd been before, not the man she'd been fighting against and with for years now. "Tell me one of your poems," she whispers.
He's caught by surprise. "You don't want to hear that codswallop!"
"Yes," she says softly, "I do."
He stares down at the top of her blonde head, wondering what expression is on her beautiful face. He dares not lift her head, though, because if he does, he knows the chances she'll take to rest again on his shoulder are moot to none. "Fine, but it's your funeral," he teases.
"I should be so lucky," she murmurs.
"What?" he demands, anger lacing back into his voice.
"I should be so lucky as to have you at my funeral."
"I'll always be as close as you allow me to be, luv."
She clears her throat, knowing the moment is becoming dangerous. She cannot fall for this man; she must not fall for this Vampire! she reminds herself sternly yet again. Still, she has to wonder about the man he was and the man he's fighting so hard to become, all for her! "So," she breaks the silence, clearing her throat urgently again, "about that poetry?"
"There once was a girl," he starts and keeps his voice humble and lilting underneath the light of the moon. She's sliding behind a cloud, and he finds himself hoping for rain. A good downpour might keep the other pillocks away. She might even let him take her to his crypt -- not to make love (he knows better than to try that now when she's not tearing his clothes off) but just so that he can hold her and be near her for longer tonight. He crafts a new poem that night, and though he knows it's lame, he can feel her smiling. It's a poem about love and the wonderful, heroic, strong, blonde beauty who the poet admires so. He wonders if she knows the woman in the poem is herself. She'd have to be an idiot not to recognize the similarities of how the woman gives of herself so freely, but like all of love's bitches, all the fools that run from the course of love as though they themselves can alter destiny to make it fit the way they choose, she's always belittled herself and been her own worst enemy.
When he finishes, he aches to kiss her head and whisper, "I love you," but he knows if he does, she'll run from him again. The moon's gone behind the clouds, but no rain has started. He hopes it doesn't. He hopes he can sit just like this, even in the companionable silence that now reigns between them, for the rest of the night until the morning sunlight forces him to leave her side. He'd stay even then, if it didn't mean burning to a crisp and not being able to see her the next night; the only reason he has for continuing to survive this wretched world, after all, is sitting right beside him, her beautiful head on his shoulder.
The End
Dedicated To: <3 My beloved J <3
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Author: Apache Firecat
Characters: Spike/Buffy
Rating: PG-13/T
Summary: Spike's the only one whos' really always there for her.
Word Count: 2578
Written For: Fan FlashWorks 376: Blue, FFFC FMS 22: Idiots in Love, AllBingo Body Parts Bingo Fest; Expression, and Lands of Magic's The Creative Court: July Theme - Into the Night
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to their rightful owners, not the author, and are used without permission.
She wishes he wouldn't look at her that way. She has much on her at all times. It isn't enough being a teenager with hormones. Oh, no, she's got to be the Slayer and the whole freaking world's hero too! It's so hard just to survive a single day in her world, let alone to make sure that all those around her come through it too. She's used to fight the baddies, but a girl gets tired and, beyond that, she finds herself every day taking on more responsibilities. She's a marriage counselor for Xander and Anya, a confidante and confidence booster for Willow in all the ways her shy friend needs it, a confidence supporter too for Tara who's even shyer than Willow but still struggles with things she's loathe to tell her girlfriend, Giles' best student and most savvy business supporter, and Dawn... Well, for Dawnie, she has to be almost everything: mother, sister, maid, mentor. The list is endless!
But then there's Spike. There's Spike who comes to her sometimes and just sits beside her, not speaking a word when she knows she's too moody and anything either of them say will explode into a battle of the wits or worse. There's Spike who takes her breath away sometimes in simpler ways than Angel ever did. She was just a starry-eyed puppy of a teenager back then, but now... She's no longer a teen girl, Buffy admits. Okay, so she's still late teens, but with all things considered, she is an adult. Saving the world countless times, always sacrificing herself, and having to fill her mother's humongous shoes have made her an adult too soon, far too soon. It's all happened far too soon.
She sighs, feeling the tears in her eyes and willing them not to fall, not tonight, please not tonight... She just wants one normal, quiet night with the guy who comes closer to being a stable boyfriend than anybody else she's ever known. Pike was a quick mistake (and it doesn't help, sometimes, that Spike's name comes so close to that first guy to whom she gave her heart only to have it broken and him become somebody completely different from the man she thought he was). She seems to have a tendency to do that. Angel became Angelus, and he was the greatest love of her life... or so she's thought for the longest time though these nights, she struggles to convince herself of that belief. Riley was another horrible mistake; the commando guy definitely didn't turn out to be the man she thought he was.
And again, she sighs, there's Spike. Spike was one of the worst Vampires when she met him. It's true that he helped her save the world even way back then, but he did so out of purely selfish reasons, wanting to please his Vampire lady and keeping the walking "Happy Meal"s around. The things he's done since though... fighting for his soul and enduring endless punishment to receive it back, being kind to her mother, protecting Dawnie when she was dead, actually telling her friends they were wrong for stealing her peace from her... continuing to fight with her and be here for her night after night when she's told him endless times that she's never going to fall in love with him like he claims to love her and has even beaten him physically to prove that point... All of this and more contributes to the fact that he's fighting against his Demon nature to become a very, very different man that either of them thought he would be. It's not an act, she knows that now, but it's also a very, very dangerous thing for her to believe... to believe in anyone, for that matter, Buffy knows. It isn't just the men that tend to disappoint her after all. She's been hurt by friends too, and she's seen how very selfish her closest friends can be.
Although if he had not pulled her out of the cold, hard ground -- and out of Heaven by doing so --, she wouldn't be here now. If she wasn't here now, he couldn't be looking at her the way he is. "Stop it," she finally whispers, turning her face away from his.
"Stop what?" Spike asks softly, looking down at their joined hands. She'd been so despondent when he'd arrived here tonight. She actually had not yanked her hand away when he'd reached for it, and she's still letting him hold on to her. His black nails and her bright, pink ones with their silver tips are a far different, mixed match. He's glad she's actually taking the time to paint her nails again, but then it dawns on him that it probably wasn't her at all or, even if she did paint them herself, she did so as an excuse to have more time with her kid sister.
"Stop looking at me like that," she whispers.
He feels her hand tighten, but she still doesn't pull away from him. He knows she needs him tonight, even if she won't admit it. Very softly, he whispers, "Like what?"
Buffy glances back at him before she thinks about it and finds herself staring again, staring into those sweet, blue pools that make her feel like she can do anything in the world, that make her feel like she is the most cherished, most wonderful thing in the entire universe. "Stop looking at me like that," she orders again. This time, her voice is a rougher bark as she commands, but it's still bordering on tears. "I'm not that -- that -- whatever you think I am."
It does not go remiss on him that when she flutters her hand in the hot, humid air as though she's at a loss for words, she does so with her free hand. She has yet to take her hand from his. It's only a small thing to her, he's sure, but it's a huge blessing for him. It means perhaps there is a part of her, no matter how deeply buried, that recognizes their mutual need for each other that goes beyond sex and pleasure. He is her most loyal confidante, her willing slave to do with however she chooses, but she... She is his only real friend in this wretched world, and the reason he fights to do anything and everything good he does.
It isn't in his nature to sit quietly beside a girl. It certainly isn't in his nature to sit idly by the Slayer and to fight to do everything she would want him to do. But it is very much in his nature, in his previous human nature, to be a whipping boy. He's fallen for this girl harder than he'd ever thought possible, far harder than he ever fell for Cecily or even Drusilla. He loves her with an overpowering, overwhelming passion. He --
Spike stops his frame of thought, licks his lips, and listens intently. She's speaking again, saying something that he almost missed, and if he ever wants her to know how incredibly much she means to him, how much he truly does love her, he has got to pay attention, very close attention, to everything she says, everything she does, everything she wants. "You've got to stop looking at me like that, Spike," she's saying again, "with that -- that hanged puppy dog expression! You look at me like I own the world or I can do anything in the world!"
"But," he protests softly, "you can." He squeezes her hand, gently, timidly, afraid that if she remembers their hands are joined, she'll rip away from him again. "You've proven that time and again, pet. You are the strongest, the best Slayer there's ever been. There'll never be another like you -- "
"But that's not all that I am!" she exclaims sharply. This time, she does take her hand away.
Passion and defiance spark in his blue eyes, partly because she's taken her hand away when he's done nothing wrong, partly because she's angry at herself and belittling herself yet again when she is by far the most wonderful woman he's ever known, and also partly because of the wretched world around them that has given her encouragement to such thoughts by demanding so very much of her. Everybody around Buffy strains to take everything from her they can, always heedless of the toll they're taking on her. That little Scooby BratPack she calls her friends has some bollocks for all they continue to put her through on a daily and nightly basis.
"No, you're right!" he exclaims with even more heat in his voice. His beautiful face is filled with fury, and his fangs flash in the night at her. "You're absolutely right, Buffy! They have no right to demand so much of you! This world has taken your entire life from you! You're always saving everybody else's asses; you're always fighting for them! You're always doing things for your friends, for your sister, for everybody else but you! It's far past time you took a night off and -- "
His words explode into a savage roar. Vampires are coming at them right now! They can't even enjoy one quiet, peaceful night! He launches into action and has staked all three of the idiots before Buffy even her stake very much at the ready. "What was I saying?!" he demands, spitting, his chest heaving, and for the first time, she sees beauty in his turned face. Spike's human face would please any girl, but the hissing, spitting Demon before her...
Is still him, she realizes, blinking in wide-eyed astonishment. He's pissed for her! He's infuriated for her! He's hissing and spitting, his entire body convulsing with fury, in defense of her! "You were saying," she speaks in a voice so soft and timid that she sounds completely unlike herself... No, she recognizes, she does sound like herself, but not the self she is now. She sounds far more like that fourteen year-old girl all those years ago before she was called, that girl who'd had such big dreams of finding the perfect Mister Right and settling down somewhere in California with a rich career she enjoyed and at least a few children.
He is angry for her. He's mad at the world for her! Slowly, Buffy sinks back down to the gravestone they'd been sitting on, the headstone of someone she'd saved long ago before natural causes had arisen to still take his life. She's still staring at him, startled breathless.
"What?" he asks and then remembers, gingerly touching his protruding forehead, that he still has his game face on.
Even as he starts to change, she calls out, "You don't have to -- " But it's too late. His mortal face has already returned. He's beautiful. She's always known his mortal face was beautiful despite the teasing she used to do to him concerning how uncannily similar to Billy Idol he makes himself look. But he's always been beautiful regardless, and maybe, just maybe, his insides are starting to be beautiful again too. The soul he fought so hard to get back is supposed to be the soul he had way before he was turned into a Demon after all, and she knows that bloke's story was sad. Realizing the term that just passed through her mind, Buffy wonders how Spike would feel if he knew she was beginning to pick up even his language. She's not about to tell him yet, though, and she wonders again if he can still be that beautiful a man, inside and out, after everything he's done. He's certainly trying so hard to do better, and he's trying all for her.
"What?"
"What?" she repeats questioningly.
"You're still staring."
"Oh." She blinks and then forces her shoulders to shrug. "I'm just... surprised, is all."
"Buffy, I know you're hurting. I just want to be able to take away some of your pain."
It sounds way too good to be true. But he's tried so hard, fought so hard, to gain a little attention from her. "Sit with me?" she asks and gestures to the spot he'd previously occupied.
He smiles, gathers himself, pats down his trench coat, and finally walks back to her. Once he's seated, she leans her head against his leather-clad shoulder. She thinks about the man he'd been before, not the man she'd been fighting against and with for years now. "Tell me one of your poems," she whispers.
He's caught by surprise. "You don't want to hear that codswallop!"
"Yes," she says softly, "I do."
He stares down at the top of her blonde head, wondering what expression is on her beautiful face. He dares not lift her head, though, because if he does, he knows the chances she'll take to rest again on his shoulder are moot to none. "Fine, but it's your funeral," he teases.
"I should be so lucky," she murmurs.
"What?" he demands, anger lacing back into his voice.
"I should be so lucky as to have you at my funeral."
"I'll always be as close as you allow me to be, luv."
She clears her throat, knowing the moment is becoming dangerous. She cannot fall for this man; she must not fall for this Vampire! she reminds herself sternly yet again. Still, she has to wonder about the man he was and the man he's fighting so hard to become, all for her! "So," she breaks the silence, clearing her throat urgently again, "about that poetry?"
"There once was a girl," he starts and keeps his voice humble and lilting underneath the light of the moon. She's sliding behind a cloud, and he finds himself hoping for rain. A good downpour might keep the other pillocks away. She might even let him take her to his crypt -- not to make love (he knows better than to try that now when she's not tearing his clothes off) but just so that he can hold her and be near her for longer tonight. He crafts a new poem that night, and though he knows it's lame, he can feel her smiling. It's a poem about love and the wonderful, heroic, strong, blonde beauty who the poet admires so. He wonders if she knows the woman in the poem is herself. She'd have to be an idiot not to recognize the similarities of how the woman gives of herself so freely, but like all of love's bitches, all the fools that run from the course of love as though they themselves can alter destiny to make it fit the way they choose, she's always belittled herself and been her own worst enemy.
When he finishes, he aches to kiss her head and whisper, "I love you," but he knows if he does, she'll run from him again. The moon's gone behind the clouds, but no rain has started. He hopes it doesn't. He hopes he can sit just like this, even in the companionable silence that now reigns between them, for the rest of the night until the morning sunlight forces him to leave her side. He'd stay even then, if it didn't mean burning to a crisp and not being able to see her the next night; the only reason he has for continuing to survive this wretched world, after all, is sitting right beside him, her beautiful head on his shoulder.
The End