Drabble request for agilebrit.
Title: The Good Stuff
Character/Pairing: Spike/Wes Friendship
Timeline: AtS S5, post 'Origin',
Line to Use: referring to Illyria as 'the Ultramarine UltraWoman'
Disclaimer: Joss' toys. Just playing. Don't sue me, I have nothing you want!
Wes walks through the swinging doors of the darkened dojo. It's been hours since he'd noticed Illyria leave the training room, her trainer/tester/punching bag, Spike, nowhere on her swagger-stalking heels, and even fewer since... Angel... He squints, searching out the far corners of the space, looking for whatever remains of the hapless vamp. He panics for a moment when his eyes light onto a small, misshapen pile of… something… by the dueling staffs, then breaths a sigh of relief. It isn't dust, but Spike's leather.
He taps the scotch bottle against his thigh and keeps looking, his eyes growing accustomed to the dim light.
There he is.
By the mats, sitting wedged in the angle between the stack and the wall.
Wes watches the battered vampire swipe a bruised hand across his bleeding lip. Spike grimaces, then looks at the wet crimson smear. Looks at it a long time, before giving a disgusted grunt and wiping his skin clean on his jeans.
"You look a bit worse for it," Wes comments, sidling over and helping himself to a piece of Spike's wall. The concrete feels cool against his back, the thin cotton of his shirt giving a whispered vrush as he slides down to join Spike on the floor.
"I've had better days," Spike accedes, "but this is nowhere near the worst."
"Looks like she gave you a good… testing."
Spike laughs, but then winces, irritating the split in his lip. "Yeah, she's a thorough little chit. The Ultramarine UltraWoman definitely had her thrash on today."
"I told you earlier about the automated sparring devices… "
"You did, Perc. Might actually use those tomorrow." Spike eyes the bottle. "That a prop, or you planning on cracking that open?"
Wes smiles and breaks the seal on the neck. He takes a short swallow before handing the bottle to Spike.
"More of the good stuff, I see." He quirks a brow at the ex-Watcher. "What, no glasses? Don't I rate the fancy cut crystal?" Wes simply shakes his head and Spike indulges in a deep pull from the glass neck. He curses quietly as it burns the cut on his mouth, making it bleed a bit more.
Wes fishes a handkerchief from his pocket and hands it to Spike. "I'll remember glasses next time."
"Next time?" Spike seems surprised. "You plannin' a next time?"
Wes takes his turn from the bottleneck. "Isn't that what friends do?"
He looks at Wes. A rumpled, unshaven, still-mourning Wesley sits by his side, but there's something more. Some new layer of hurt…
"Not that I'm not grateful for the sentiment, Perc, but exactly when did you decide we were friends?"
Wesley takes another swallow. "Around the time I realized you might be the only one left I can trust."
By now, the bottle's half-empty. Not enough left, Spike knows, to delve into that revelation. For now, he's content to share the silence, share the good stuff, and, for once, just let it be.