Reflections of the Mind
"So, I was thinking..."
Spike ran a finger down her arm, too happy that she was hanging around for awhile to pay much attention to her words.
"Ummm hmmmm?" he sighed, following his finger with his lips.
"Are you listening to me?" She squirmed as his lips drifted over the sensitive inside of her elbow. "I'm having thoughts here – important thoughts!"
"All your thoughts are important, love. Every... last ... one... of... them..." He finished murmuring his response with his mouth on hers. There were no sounds but sighs and appreciative moans for some time...
"There was something I wanted to talk about..." Buffy tried to sound annoyed, but it came out more of a satisfied exhalation.
"I remember. You were having... thoughts... Important thoughts, if I remember correctly."
"I was. I am. I just can't remember what they are right now."
"I'll take that as a compliment," he said, trying to hide his smile – and failing completely.
"You are so full of yourself." When he went to speak, she put a hand over his mouth. "And don't even think about making some piggy remark out of that!"
"Oh, c'mon, love. You can't give me an opening like that and expect me to—"
"You'll be sorry if you do." He cocked an inquisitive eyebrow, but remained silent. "'Cause I've remembered what I was thinking..." She snuggled down against him, ignoring his small start of surprise.
After a quiet minute or two, he couldn't help himself. "Which was...?"
Without looking up, she said, "I was thinking that you should come with me tonight – to the Bronze."
He went very still. "With you, or just show up and push my way into the happy little group?"
"No. I mean, with me. Like we came together, sort of like a... coming together thing."
"Like a date."
"Kinda, sorta, I guess that's what I'm saying. I'm not talking about making any big announcement... just... testing the waters. To see if anybody—"
"If anybody gets their knickers in such a twist you have to pretend you hate me just to save the day?"
She was silent for so long he thought she'd gone to sleep. When she sat up, still without speaking, he sighed and knew he'd blown it again. Buffy turned to face him, meeting his resigned gaze with her own glare.
"If you don't want to do it, just say so. I thought..." Her glare wavered. "I thought it would make you... hap—I thought you'd like it. Guess I was wrong." She stood up and began to dress, refusing to look at him again. She was on her way up the ladder when he spoke.
"What time should I pick you up?"
She hesitated. Without turning around, she said, "Make it about seven. We'll hit a couple of cemeteries first – just in case."
"Seven it is. See you later, Buffy."
She nodded silently and continued up the ladder and out of his crypt.
the end
Lemon Tropics
You've Got Thirty Seconds
It was the scent of lemon that did it. He'd been fine. No Buffy missing. Not here. No sir. Spike is his own man again. No more Love's Bitch. Ready to cut a swath through the ladies... Just biding his time... waiting for the perfect one to come along...
And then he opened the door of his apartment and smelled fruit. He didn't eat fruit. Didn't put fruity little candles or potpourri around. His apartment smelled of manly things... like beer, and whiskey and cigarettes and... where the hell did the fruit come from? Smelled a bit like the citrus stuff Buffy used to but on her hair. But that was ridiculous.
Not Buffy. Never Buffy. Maybe some other, possibly evil, bint had broken into his apartment and she just happened to wear things that smelled like citrus fruit – lemon specifically. And maybe she smelled a little tiny bit like the Slayer – but that was impossible. Buffy was in Europe, living it up with the bloody Immortal...
He spotted the big cardboard cup at the same time that he picked up the yellow sweater (also smelling of lemons and Buffy, he noted). "Tropical Smoothies" it said on the side of it. Between the sweater in his hands, and the drink on his kitchen counter, he couldn't stop the sense memories. He dropped onto his couch, holding the sweater to his face and inhaled deeply.
Biggest wanker in the world. Yeah, he was over her. Gonna take up sunbathing and become a vegetarian too. If anything, the scent was getting stronger. He shifted his grip on the sweater, burying his nose in it and breathing deeply. The lemon scent was fading and it was smelling more and more like Buffy. Had to be something evil – breaking into his apartment and trying to weaken him by leaving things around that smelled like—
"Are you going to keep inhaling that sweater, or would you like a chance to explain to me why I had to find out from Andrew that you aren't ashes at the bottom of a hole – before I beat you to a bloody pulp for it?"
the end
Be Careful What You Wish For
"Spike, no. Please..." Buffy's voice was weak, her life obviously fading. The vampire frowned, glancing at his arm where he'd used his teeth to open it for her.
"Don't you want to live? Trying to do you a favor here, you stupid bint."
"Do you hate me that much?"
Even with his vampire hearing, he barely caught her words. He growled in frustration. If pressed to explain what he was doing, he couldn't have said for sure. When he'd found the Slayer bleeding out and near death, he hadn't stopped to question his motives. As soon as he'd heard her heart slowing down, he'd ripped into his wrist and held it out to her. Now she'd made him think.
Did he hate her? Of course he did. Bane of his existence, she was. So why was he trying to save her? Was she right? Was he trying to turn her into one of the very creatures she gave her life fighting because he hated her and thought it would be the ultimate triumph?
Or, perhaps more disturbing, was it because a world without Buffy Summers in it wasn't worth contemplating? Even a Buffy Summers sharing her undead body with a demon?
Memories of a night spent with a warm, loving Buffy on his lap filled his head. Loud, smacking kisses while everyone was watching; softer, deeper kisses and stolen caresses when their attention was elsewhere. A fight almost to the death in bright sunlight – a fight he was winning until his own inability to curb his mouth gave a beaten slayer the anger she needed to rip the ring off his finger and send him scuttling out of the sunlight. Visions flew through his brain – "No, Spike, it's going to hurt a lot." "Hello, Cutie." "I'm all you've got." "I'd rather be fighting you." "Mutual."
Swearing in several languages, and heedless of the blood dripping from his wrist, he kicked the body of the demon Buffy had died fighting until it was only a pulpy mass covered in vamp dust. He dropped to his knees beside her, lowering his face to her bloody neck and licking the blood still oozing slowly. Her heart was barely beating, only the soft whoosh every now and then indicated it hadn't quite stopped yet. He shivered at the taste of her blood, something he'd smelled before, but never been able to sample.
He raised his face, his lips only inches from hers. Her eyes were open, but he couldn't tell if she could still see him or not. He brushed his bloody lips across hers, then slowly brought his wrist to her mouth.
"Your decision, Slayer. I won't force you... but if decide not to join me, I'm going to miss the bloody hell out of you."
He was sure he imagined the faint twitch of a smile as he waited, bleeding wrist just touching her still-warm lips, for her to make his decision for him.
the end?
