Author's Note: B:tVS isn't mine. The characters? Not mine. Actually, nothing is mine, except the writing it's self. That being said, on with the drabble:
His was a patriarchal society; men ruling, dictating, destroying. Still, there it was, in his very nature. Protect them, of course, but even more. Revere them, yes, even worship. It was in the way he looked at them, questioning. The way he turned, half way across the room, to raise an eyebrow, to beg permission.
From the smallest, the Nibblet, to the helpless, insane Drusilla. The warriors that make up the Summer household, and even the ex-demon, in all her direct practicality.
He loved them, worshiped them all. And they destroyed him.
He picked up the shot glass, swirling the amber liquid. They were always destroying him.
"Another," he said to the bartender, downing the liquid. It didn't end the pain, didn't dull the reality, but almost… if he tried hard enough. If he thought about it. It almost did it.
The bartender emptied the bottle into one last glass.
"We're out," he said.
"Might as well bugger off, then," he said, sliding off of his stool. If he was unsteady, it wasn't the alcohol, couldn't be the alcohol. He took a breath. Maybe he'd forgotten to stop breathing. Something about breathing, the steady rhythm, was centering, safe. Familiar.
He headed out onto the streets, wishing for another bottle.
Instead, he found her. She was angry, he could see, in the way she stood. Maybe a long day, too much fight; or a bad day, not enough fight.
"Evening, luv," he said, sliding up to her. Her fist flew towards him, a blind swing. There it was, in the violence. In the way she hit, so forceful. The anger, the hatred, and a spark. Something.
"Not," she said. "Not a good evening."
Her fist crunched into his nose, and there was a familiar blood flow.
"I'm sure it's getting better now," he said, wiping the blood on his sleeve.
She dropped her hands and he looked at her, quiet, no accusations. Maybe he looked a little lost, or for a moment with some wonder. She sighs, and starts to talk about her day, and she doesn't even notice. There it is, the look. Worship. Adoration.
He nods his head, listening to her concerns, embracing his destruction.
