herself_nyc (herself_nyc) wrote in herself_nyc_fic, @ 2008-04-30 18:03:00 |
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A trickle of brown stained the porcelain, from the tap to the drain. When Buffy turned it, the water came out brown at first too, and tepid. Leaning on the edge of the tub, she waited to see if it would get hot. The water heater mounted on the wall must've been well over a century oldshe'd seen some primitive plumbing in her travels, but this was pretty serious. It cranked and gurgled but didn't seem to do much. How did Spike put up with this awful flat? Why? The homes he'd shared with Xander had always been comfortable and well-appointed.
Shivering, she turned on the sink tap, to brush her teeth. In the mirror she saw herself, still looking tired despite the fitful sleep she'd had in Spike's narrow saggy bed. Tired was what she got instead of old. Every apocalypse averted seemed to leave her more wrung out than the one before.
A century of this. If anyone had told her at the outset, she really would've run away and not come back.
Footsteps behind her, and Spike appeared in the doorway, nude and yawning, his hair standing on end. "Can I share the bath?"
"If the water ever runs hot."
He laid a dubious hand on the heater box.
"Why do you put up with this? You have money."
"Like I said ..." He shrugged. "Look, we can take a suite at the Dorchester right now if you prefer it, Slayer. Don't expect you to rough it more'n you like."
She dabbled a finger under the tap again. Still just tepid. "I don't understand why you gave up the house."
"Xander died. Felt homeless anyhow, didn't need that property hangin' round my neck to remind me."
"Homeless." Her brush was in her bag in the other room; she ran her fingers through her hair. "Oh Spike."
He pouted. "I work all the time anyway."
"All the time?" She glanced around at him. "Did you ... did you have any other friends, or ... Xander was sick for a long time."
"He urged me to."
"So"
Spike jerked his head, a gesture of disgust. "What did he take me for? Got a bit of self-control after all this time, don't I? Knew he didn't really want me to. Even old an' sick, Xander always saw himself as my sweet piece of ass. My darlin' boy." He lifted an eyebrow at her. "What about you? You don't live in your voice-mail box. Where's your home these days?"
She had a room in her daughter's house in L.A. She had some of her things in a storage facility there too. She hadn't visited either in a long time, except for when they were burying Patrick. And then she'd been as hinky amongst the artifacts of family and past as a splashed cat. She kept a studio apartment in Manhattan, but she thought of it more as a place to do laundry than as a home.
A suite at the Dorchester, right. Or I could say, Thanks for the Apocalypse, and the sweet fucks, and see you next year. Was this crazy, actually coming back to London with Spike? Just because he said 'better club in with me now'? (Really, how romantic!) She'd never envisioned them getting together. What they'd had was so long ago. And it hadn't been anything to begin with. He'd chased her for a while. And by the time she'd gotten around to thinking maybe she might like to give him a try, he'd made it clear that ship had sailed.
He was with Xander. Xander's whole life.
They'd been allies, when the mission brought them together. Friends, in as much as she was close to Xander and so was Spike. There had been times over the decades whent years went by between face-to-face meetings.
They fought together really well.
He was great in bed.
But she wasn't sure, furtively looking at him now in the sulky fluorescent light of the tiny chilly bathroom, if she wanted to stick around with him.
He wasn't in love with her, that was pretty clear, despite what he'd said, about it being their time. Maybe he remembered when he was, but that was alland how vivid could those memories even be, with a life-span of Xander in between?
She wasn't in love with him, that was damn sure. She probably wasn't capable of that kind of thing any more. She'd hoped to find someone else in the years after Angel's death, but as the years elapsed she'd begun to feel distanced from everyone else, because her life wasn't like theirs. Her life wasn't quite human.
Impatiently, she reached around him and turned up the tap. "I live in New York. Look, I don't think this is going to get any hotter."
"Leave you to it, then."
When she'd washed and came back out into the bedroom, he wasn't there. In the kitchen she realized he'd left the flat altogether. For a moment she was irritated, but on the whole, relieved.
There was something about waking up here with Spike that was just embarrassing.
Neither of them had thought this out.
It really wasn't a good idea.
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