Drabble: Sometimes We Are Saved (Willow/Spike) FRT-13/PG-13
I actually wrote this last night, before I wrote It Will Always Be Raining, but I waited to post it until today because today is shannon730's birthday and it seemed fitting to post on the day. I realize that it, too, is set post-NFA, but I hope there are enough differences to make it worthwhile. Shannon wanted Spillow and angst and she got both...except, it's sort of not quite Spillow, except that it is...you'll see what I mean when you read it.
I hope you like your prezzie, Shannon. You are all kinds of splendid and deserve the happiest possible birthday! I hope you know what an amazing, generous, fabulous, special lady you are!
Title: Sometimes We Are Saved
Author: Gabrielle
Pairing: Willow/Spike
Rating: FRT-13/PG-13
Word Count: 259
Summary: She's all he has left.
Feedback: Please.
Distribution: My LJ, my IJ, and my site only.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. It all belongs to Joss and a bunch of other people who are not now and have never been me.
Author's Notes: This was written to celebrate the birthday of the unbelievably swell shannon730
Sometimes We Are Saved
She smells of soap and sunshine and some nights of magic, not of blood and earth and musk, but he relishes her scent all the same. He closes his eyes and feels...feels the traces of Angel’s soul that were left when it passed through her on its way home.
Home.
Willow is all the home he has left. With her he is safe as houses, at least as safe as he can be from the ever-present whisper urging him to reach out for daylight. He never asks what she gets from being his saviour. Probably nothing, not that he’s willing to give any more than he already does, precious little that it is, and worth less. She’s on her own, because he’s a demon and demons are in it for themselves.
Even Angel. His Angel, his Angelus, who turned to dust saving the world, slaying the dragon, never caring that it meant leaving William all alone; just playing hero, all for himself, for his precious redemption, ignoring the presence of a powerful witch who could have done the job herself. No, it was all about Angel. Which was fitting somehow, since for Spike, it’s the same, still the same.
He idly strokes her hair, spent and sated in body, aching and angry and lonely inside, and he wonders if the familiarity he shares with her will ever become something more. But he never wonders when she’ll leave. He never wonders that at all. Tomorrow, again and forever and always, he will fuck the girl and dream of Angel.