|herself_nyc (herself_nyc) wrote in herself_nyc_fic,|
@ 2008-05-15 10:38:00
|Entry tags:||s/b fic, waiting around|
When he parked, in an empty lot on a cliff overlooking the ocean, the quiet seemed to crowd around them when the purr of the engine was cut. Far below, the sea roared.
"Have a swim?" Spike said.
"Are you all right?"
"I'm all right. Have a swim?"
"Okay. Only ... I want you to know. You're making my heart heavy. You started out trying to take care of me, and--"
"If I'm bringin' you down, Slayer, can go your own way."
"You're willfully misunderstanding me!"
Spike sighed. "Yeah, I am."
A sense of relief blew through her, but it was immediately dogged by a pang of misgiving. What did Spike really want? What was he pining for? It seemed to change every little while, but none of it seemed in her power or willingness to provide--his death. A child of his own flesh and blood. Or maybe just some kind of oblivion short of dust, but past the ability of liquor and sex and travel to provide.
"The ocean will be freezing."
"Needn't go in if you don't care to."
"I just don't want you to be cold."
She could tell that he heard the echo of what she'd said to him that first morning in his London flat, when she'd fretted over his loneliness and discomfort. He smiled. "It makes no difference."
"It should make a difference." An urge took her, to make him offers, promises--all the things he'd suggested to her in Iceland, that she'd turned aside with an offish laugh. Not realizing then that he was hinting at his own wishes--or at least, the things he'd have wished for if he thought there was any chance for them. He'd suggested a time out, a couple of decades to pretend to be regular people.
Maybe it wasn't such a crazy idea after all. Measuring life, for a change, in coffee spoons. It could be fine, couldn't it, if you knew how to make really good coffee? If you were drinking it with someone you really liked?
She wondered if this was the first time in his undead existence that he'd really wanted to be human again. It seemed so out of character for him. He'd always relished his strengths and appetites. Even after their Sunnydale debacle, even after he got his soul. She'd never have remotely believed that he wanted to go back to being just a man.
"Spike." She reached for him. He looked at her, not moving for a moment, then slid to meet her, letting her take him in her arms. She pressed a kiss to his brow. "You know it isn't always going to be like this. You've had bad times before."
He grunted a little, whether in protest at her characterization, or agreement, she wasn't sure.
She added, "I'm glad we're together."
He pulled back a little then, regarding her with some suspicion.
"I'm not coddling you," she said, smiling.
"Not much." He grumbled, but then he smiled too. Put the car in the gear, drove them back towards the hotel.
"After Xander died, when you sold up ... did you get rid of everything?"
"Kept some bits an' bobs, in storage. But nothin' big."
"I don't understand why you rushed to break up your home."
"Vampires don't amass real estate. What was I gonna do, squattin' on that house, when he was all gone?"
"Well, you could've mourned there. I think you forgot about that."
"I didn't forget, Slayer."
In bed, she wrapped herself around him. She sensed that Spike didn't want to fuck, and was proud of herself for realizing it. He snuggled back into her warmth, and she felt him fall asleep, his body going still and cool. She lay awake for a long time, thinking.