Title: Aftermath
Characters: Spike and Illyria
Rating: K
Word Count: ~550
Author's Note: I found another one! This one was written for erinya over on LJ back in May 2006. Her request was for: "...aftermath of Not Fade Away, Illyria and Spike in a bar, drinking and considering what they have lost and won." This has been slightly overhauled for reposting today.
Aftermath
The battle in the alley had waged on into morning, Spike only surviving the oncoming sun tanks to Illyria dragging him into a nearby building, and unceremoniously dropping him onto something jagged and uncomfortable. Where he remained - a mostly unconscious sack - until nightfall.
When he'd awoke, it hadn't been hard to tell that the only surviving members of their little do-gooder brigade were him and the bluebird.
He'd found Illyria on the northern side of the warehouse, staring through a window into the alley. Her reflection distorted, twisted up, by the broken piece of glass, but otherwise seeming none-the-worse for wear. Her silence when he'd asked about the others had been the only sign that the prior night's events had taken their toll on her as well.
By some mutual, non-verbal agreement, the two had decided it was best to lay low. No need to twig the powers that be onto their presence just yet, not while they were still recovering. A fantastic plan that they'd managed to immediately blow upon Spike dazedly wandering into a local convenience store, hoping for some smokes.
He blamed the lack of fore-thought on being bloody exhausted.
Illyria's not-so-human appearance, combined with the caked-on gore covering their clothes, hadn't endeared them to the cashiers. Though it did earn them some damn impressive screams.
~~~\/~~~
Three hours, two unconscious store-clerks, one blood-bank withdrawal, an order of buffalo wings, and more than a few beers later, things were looking a little less bleak. Of course, this required them both steadfastly refusing to acknowledge what had just taken place, or more importantly, what was going to happen tomorrow. Something, as it turned out, they were both fairly good at ignoring.
"This body appears to be warming as a result of this fermented liquid. It is not an entirely unpleasant sensation." Illyria titled her head as she gazed contemplatively into the now empty bottle of stout. "You shall procure me more of this...beer."
Spike gestured for the bartender to bring two more, before downing what was left of his own. "It's piss, but it gets the job done." His gaze shifted to the two dozen empty bottles littering the table between him and his companion. "Eventually. Hey mate! Add a bottle of tequila onto that last order." His eyes shifted to meet Illyria's questioning frown. "I think a situation like ours might require a bit more kick."
"These legs are fatigued. This body is not use to the stress of true battle. I have no interest in violence at this time."
"Couldn't have put it better myself, Blue." He glanced towards the back of the bar, just past the row of pool tables. "Although, I could go for a little more action, and a little less sittin'. You ever played darts?"
"Is that anything like Crash Bandicoot?"
A small smile tugged at Spike's lips. "Similar, only with small, pointy objects and the opportunity to swindle humans outta their cash." Illyria's mouth jerked as she mirrored Spike's smile.
~~~\/~~~
Three hours, five hundred dollars richer, two bar-brawls, and one out-ran police cruiser found the two unconscious in an abandoned hotel, with no way of telling how bleak tomorrow would be.
~End