Title: Real Life 1/?
Author: Cindy
Rating: PG13
Category: Drama Pairing: S/B
Spoilers: through season 6
Summary: AU, post-Grave fic. After surviving the trials, Spike gets everything he ever wanted. Or does he?
Feedback: always appreciated
Notes: The idea for this was actually stolen...er, inspired by an episode of the TV series, The Dead Zone, though they hardly originated the concept, as you shall see. Hopefully you will enjoy this Spikey spin on it.
Special Thanks: To Kelly for the beta
"You have endured the required trials," intones the otherworldly voice.
"Bloody right I have," I answer. I drag myself up off the ground. I can barely stand, yet I feel exalted. "So, give me what I want. Make me what I was... so Buffy can get what she deserves. "
"Very well."
The thing's hand reaches out to touch my chest and the agony is nearly unbearable. I can hear someone screaming, and realize that it's me.
I wake with a start, sitting bolt upright in bed. The sound I hear is not my own screaming, but something just as horrible:
"Near, far, wherever you are, I believe that the heart does go on...."
Who chose this poncy station, I wonder, because for certain it wasn't me. I reach over, hit the snooze button and flop back on the bed.
Wait a minute.
Snooze button?
I open my eyes and slowly look around. Not my crypt, but it looks vaguely familiar. I notice a stuffed pig staring at me from the dresser across the room. Bloody hell, I'm in Buffy's house. But this is Joyce's old room. Where are the wiccas? What, did I get so stinking drunk after...well, after what I almost did, that I somehow ended up here? And why am I not yet dust? Before I can suss any of it out, I am interrupted by the slayer's sweet voice wafting up from the floor below.
"Hey, William, get your ass down here! You're going to be late!"
Right, then. I swing my legs out of bed and onto the floor and promptly realize that I'm naked. Interesting, that. While looking around for my jeans and t shirt, I notice a photograph on the nightstand. It's Buffy and some bloke, and I am hit with a wave of jealousy that feels like one of the slayer's punches to my gut. I pick up the photo, and stare at him. My God. It's me. It's us. Me and Buffy. We appear to be, on a boat? There is water in the background. The wind is blowing our hair back, and mine is sandy brown. I am standing behind her, my arms clasped in front of her. She has her hands over mine, and is leaning back into me. And she's laughing. We both look so...happy.
"William!"
"Coming, love! Keep your knickers on!"
"Since when do you want my knickers on?" she calls back cheerily.
Bloody buggerin' hell, what is goin' on here? Unable to find my usual attire, I put on the - oh God - khaki pants and button down shirt that are folded neatly over the back of the chair. There's a pair of socks and lace up shoes there, too, and in my size. Since my boots are nowhere in sight, I put them on.
I pad down the stairs and into the kitchen, peering around the doorway cautiously lest a stake be waiting for me. Not that I don't deserve it, but now I'm curious and want to see what the hell's goin' on.
Buffy sits perched on a kitchen chair, attempting to shove some sort of gruel into the mouth of a chubby infant, perhaps six or seven months old, I'd wager, who is sitting in a high chair. What, is she babysitting for extra money now? Beats slinging burgers, I guess. When the kid sees me, she starts banging on the tray and knocks the spoon from Buffy's hand. It goes clattering across the floor, and Buffy looks back at me, exasperated and more than a little amused.
"Finally! Here," she says, grabbing another baby spoon from a kitchen drawer. "You finish feeding her, and I'll make you some breakfast before you have to leave. Eggs o.k.?"
I stand speechless in the doorway. I do believe my mouth is hanging open.
"Will? You feeling o.k. honey?" And I am immobile as well. The love of my life has just called me honey, not to mention she keeps using my given name, and I am completely paralyzed with... joy? Confusion? Fear? Concern clouds her face and she crosses the room. The back of her hand rests against my forehead. "You don't have a fever," she says, with the knowing voice of one who has seen at least a few fevers in recent months. I look over at the baby, and notice the little bump on her nose. Just like Buffy's.
"I'm...I'm fine." I take the spoon from her hand and go to the table. I am either dreaming, under a spell, or in some alternate universe, but in any case I rather fancy it, so I'm going to play along. The chair is sitting in direct sunlight, so I attempt to move it without getting burnt to a crisp. I grab a towel off the table and wrap it around my hand.
"Now what are you doing?"
"The chair's in the sun, pet."
"Yeah, this *is* Southern California, not London, remember? I know you're down with the rain and the gloom and all, but don't you think this is a little extreme?" She grabs the towel away and snaps it playfully at me, then shoves me down in the chair. So, this is how she means to kill me. But to my astonishment, I am not incinerated. Accept by the considerable heat that is generated by the slayer's body which is suddenly in my lap.
"Really, William," she says softly. We are nose to nose. "Are you sure you're not sick? You're acting a little on the bizzarro side." She wraps her arms around my neck and buries her face in my neck. "I'm worried about you, baby."
Oh, God, I think I'm going to cry now, and I don't much care. What a tosser I am. I hold her so tightly that I'm afraid I'll hurt her. But she's the slayer, and I am apparently now a mere mortal, so of course, I don't. "I've never been better, actually," I answer truthfully.
She pulls back to kiss me softly and runs one hand through my hair. Her eyes are bright, and I know she can feel me through the thin cotton pants that she wears. "I love the bed hair, but did you forget to look in the mirror? Perhaps you better actually comb it before you leave," she smirks at me.
Mirror?
"Your students might think we've been naughty before breakfast."
Students?
She nibbles on my ear then, and I forget about the students. "In fact, I think I'll have *you* for breakfast," she whispers.
"Buffy..." I moan. The baby begins to chortle gleefully and bang on the tray again.
"Uh, oh. We keep forgetting we need to keep things G rated around Megan." Buffy hops off my lap. "Don't worry," she says, seeing my look of disappointment, "she's sleeping well, lately. We'll go all NC17, later, post slayage, 'kay?" Oh. My. God. She winks at me. "Now, sweet William, it's time for you to feed your daughter."
Author: Cindy
Rating: PG13
Category: Drama Pairing: S/B
Spoilers: through season 6
Summary: AU, post-Grave fic. After surviving the trials, Spike gets everything he ever wanted. Or does he?
Feedback: always appreciated
Notes: The idea for this was actually stolen...er, inspired by an episode of the TV series, The Dead Zone, though they hardly originated the concept, as you shall see. Hopefully you will enjoy this Spikey spin on it.
Special Thanks: To Kelly for the beta
"You have endured the required trials," intones the otherworldly voice.
"Bloody right I have," I answer. I drag myself up off the ground. I can barely stand, yet I feel exalted. "So, give me what I want. Make me what I was... so Buffy can get what she deserves. "
"Very well."
The thing's hand reaches out to touch my chest and the agony is nearly unbearable. I can hear someone screaming, and realize that it's me.
I wake with a start, sitting bolt upright in bed. The sound I hear is not my own screaming, but something just as horrible:
"Near, far, wherever you are, I believe that the heart does go on...."
Who chose this poncy station, I wonder, because for certain it wasn't me. I reach over, hit the snooze button and flop back on the bed.
Wait a minute.
Snooze button?
I open my eyes and slowly look around. Not my crypt, but it looks vaguely familiar. I notice a stuffed pig staring at me from the dresser across the room. Bloody hell, I'm in Buffy's house. But this is Joyce's old room. Where are the wiccas? What, did I get so stinking drunk after...well, after what I almost did, that I somehow ended up here? And why am I not yet dust? Before I can suss any of it out, I am interrupted by the slayer's sweet voice wafting up from the floor below.
"Hey, William, get your ass down here! You're going to be late!"
Right, then. I swing my legs out of bed and onto the floor and promptly realize that I'm naked. Interesting, that. While looking around for my jeans and t shirt, I notice a photograph on the nightstand. It's Buffy and some bloke, and I am hit with a wave of jealousy that feels like one of the slayer's punches to my gut. I pick up the photo, and stare at him. My God. It's me. It's us. Me and Buffy. We appear to be, on a boat? There is water in the background. The wind is blowing our hair back, and mine is sandy brown. I am standing behind her, my arms clasped in front of her. She has her hands over mine, and is leaning back into me. And she's laughing. We both look so...happy.
"William!"
"Coming, love! Keep your knickers on!"
"Since when do you want my knickers on?" she calls back cheerily.
Bloody buggerin' hell, what is goin' on here? Unable to find my usual attire, I put on the - oh God - khaki pants and button down shirt that are folded neatly over the back of the chair. There's a pair of socks and lace up shoes there, too, and in my size. Since my boots are nowhere in sight, I put them on.
I pad down the stairs and into the kitchen, peering around the doorway cautiously lest a stake be waiting for me. Not that I don't deserve it, but now I'm curious and want to see what the hell's goin' on.
Buffy sits perched on a kitchen chair, attempting to shove some sort of gruel into the mouth of a chubby infant, perhaps six or seven months old, I'd wager, who is sitting in a high chair. What, is she babysitting for extra money now? Beats slinging burgers, I guess. When the kid sees me, she starts banging on the tray and knocks the spoon from Buffy's hand. It goes clattering across the floor, and Buffy looks back at me, exasperated and more than a little amused.
"Finally! Here," she says, grabbing another baby spoon from a kitchen drawer. "You finish feeding her, and I'll make you some breakfast before you have to leave. Eggs o.k.?"
I stand speechless in the doorway. I do believe my mouth is hanging open.
"Will? You feeling o.k. honey?" And I am immobile as well. The love of my life has just called me honey, not to mention she keeps using my given name, and I am completely paralyzed with... joy? Confusion? Fear? Concern clouds her face and she crosses the room. The back of her hand rests against my forehead. "You don't have a fever," she says, with the knowing voice of one who has seen at least a few fevers in recent months. I look over at the baby, and notice the little bump on her nose. Just like Buffy's.
"I'm...I'm fine." I take the spoon from her hand and go to the table. I am either dreaming, under a spell, or in some alternate universe, but in any case I rather fancy it, so I'm going to play along. The chair is sitting in direct sunlight, so I attempt to move it without getting burnt to a crisp. I grab a towel off the table and wrap it around my hand.
"Now what are you doing?"
"The chair's in the sun, pet."
"Yeah, this *is* Southern California, not London, remember? I know you're down with the rain and the gloom and all, but don't you think this is a little extreme?" She grabs the towel away and snaps it playfully at me, then shoves me down in the chair. So, this is how she means to kill me. But to my astonishment, I am not incinerated. Accept by the considerable heat that is generated by the slayer's body which is suddenly in my lap.
"Really, William," she says softly. We are nose to nose. "Are you sure you're not sick? You're acting a little on the bizzarro side." She wraps her arms around my neck and buries her face in my neck. "I'm worried about you, baby."
Oh, God, I think I'm going to cry now, and I don't much care. What a tosser I am. I hold her so tightly that I'm afraid I'll hurt her. But she's the slayer, and I am apparently now a mere mortal, so of course, I don't. "I've never been better, actually," I answer truthfully.
She pulls back to kiss me softly and runs one hand through my hair. Her eyes are bright, and I know she can feel me through the thin cotton pants that she wears. "I love the bed hair, but did you forget to look in the mirror? Perhaps you better actually comb it before you leave," she smirks at me.
Mirror?
"Your students might think we've been naughty before breakfast."
Students?
She nibbles on my ear then, and I forget about the students. "In fact, I think I'll have *you* for breakfast," she whispers.
"Buffy..." I moan. The baby begins to chortle gleefully and bang on the tray again.
"Uh, oh. We keep forgetting we need to keep things G rated around Megan." Buffy hops off my lap. "Don't worry," she says, seeing my look of disappointment, "she's sleeping well, lately. We'll go all NC17, later, post slayage, 'kay?" Oh. My. God. She winks at me. "Now, sweet William, it's time for you to feed your daughter."