herself_nyc (herself_nyc) wrote in herself_nyc_fic, @ 2008-05-01 09:17:00 |
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All previous parts of WAITING AROUND are here (locked) or here (open to all).
A shadow fell across her table that at first she took for the waiters'; she didn't glance up from the bright little screen of her phone, just gestured at her empty glass, murmuring "Same again."
But the glass didn't move, nor the shadow either.
When she did look up, he showed her his sneer.
"How did you find me?" This cocktail lounge wasn't in the Dorchester.
"You know that kind of thing's a doddle for the likes of me. Nothin' to pout at me about. Only came to say goodbye."
"Where are you going?"
"You're goin' back to New York. Figured you'd be flyin' out in the morning. No?"
It was late in the evening of the day she'd last awakened in his bed. Orit was the next day, really, coming on for one a.m. She'd been meaning to go up to her hotel room for the last hour, but she liked the spacy music and the presence of other people around her whom she didn't have to talk to. And she'd long had a sort of rule with herself that pulling bottles out of the mini-bar constituted drinking alone way more than ordering refills from a bartender, even if she wasn't talking to anyone in either place.
"Yes, I'm going."
"So, just wanted to say goodbye. You seemed a bit irritated with me earlier but I recall that's your way." He smiled, half needling, half sincere.
"I'm sorry," she said, meaning it. She was surprised, really, that he'd shown up here.
"So. Yeah. Right." He slid into the banquette opposite her, and gestured towards the bar.
The waiter approached. When he was gone, they sat silently, not quite looking at each other. Buffy still had one eye on her little screen, where something was always demanding her attention.
The waiter returned with beer, and another cocktail for her. She sipped at it, the liquor brassy through the fruit juice.
Spike said, "Got it, you hate my flat. But what's the rush to go runnin' off? Meant to spend some time together, I thought."
"I have a couple of new grand-kids. It would be nice to go see them, y'know?" She hadn't been considering this at all, until the words popped out of her mouth.
Spike fingered his glass. "Oh. Well. Good for you. Congratulations."
"Joey's wife just had twins. Multiples really seem to run in the O'Connor line."
"Just what the world bloody needs, more of Angel."
Buffy laughed. "Joey looks so much like Angel that every time I see him ... it's like I have to blink. It's uncanny." With a flick of the finger, she called up a photo in her phone of Patrick's youngest, a man in his prime who, except that his hair had a reddish cast, was the very image of the shanshu-ed Angel she'd married, and slid it across the table for Spike to see. He barely glanced at it.
"There was a time when Xander was wild to get someone knocked up. He wanted to have some kid of his in the world, even if he didn't get to have anything to do with it. This wasn't that long ago, he was a geezer already, but it was before he got sick."
The change of subject startled her. "Did he do it?" Buffy asked.
Spike nodded. "Crazy thing was, while all that was goin' on, I was choked up with envy. After a bit, couldn't bear to be around when he was makin' his plans an' arrangements, didn't want to hear about it."
"Envy." She thought of what he'd said when he met her in Iceland. I'll marry you if you want to go on with it. She opened her mouth to ask a question, but Spike was talking again.
"Supposed to hook up with a new slayer next week. But I don't know if I can be a watcher anymore."
"I thought it was so important to you."
Spike shook his head. Not exactly a denial. He hid his down-tilted mouth in his beer.
Buffy leaned in over the table. "Hey. What's your favorite place?"
"Eh?"
"Your favorite place. Where you enjoy to be."
He put down the beer, shook his head. Smiled a little. "Ah ... San Francisco, 'bout forty years ago, was sweet. Before that, Santa Monica round 2015 was damn good. Saint Petersburg in 1915. Paris in 1885."
His chuckle made her throat knot.
She put a hand out, curled it around his. "Let's go to Paris together. What do you say? We just saved the world again, we should have a treat."
"When was the last time you had a watcher?" Spike said.
"Oh! You know ... not since Giles died."
"These girls ... they're all good girls. Strong. But fragile, too. Or maybe it's me who's gone all fragile-like." He made shapes with his hands for a few seconds, then deflated. "I used to tell Harris I'd lie out on his grave 'til sun-up. God, we talked such lorry-loads of lovey-dovey wank."
Only now did Buffy realize that he'd been drinking before he even got here, that he was more than half-way sloshed.
"Spike"
"Dunno what the feckin' hell I'm waiting for, really." He cocked a frown at her. "What about you? What're you waitin' around for either, at this point? First great-great-grandkid? An' then what?"
"Don't talk like this. You were the one who was all 'call me before you do anything rash'."
"S'true, innit?" He smiled, sudden and dazzling. "The last few weeks were somethin', weren't they, Slayer? God, that final fight--you were magnificent. Thought we'd both go under 'til the last second, it was glorious." He beamed at her. "Nothin' can touch you, what you do, how you do it. You shine."
Her face flushed warm, and she averted her eyes. Flattered. A little sorry for him, the old soldier pining for battles that were finished. Except she was an old soldier too, and there was always another battle, so why did he seem so pathetic? Why was she so eager to break away now the latest struggle was over?
Spike was shaking his head now. "New girl. New girl. Too many of 'em." He lurched to his feet, and moved off, astonishly lumbrous and clumsy. She watched him cross the lounge and disappear through the door towards the toilets.
When he emerged, she rose, to keep him sitting down there again, starting back on the beer. "Let's go to my room. C'mon."
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