911
by Annie
Disclaimer: Not owned by, or profitable to, myself.
Rated: PG: bad memories
Feedback: crehnert@ptd.net
Spike should have been laughing. The old, pre-chip, pre-Buffy Spike would have been.
Would have been overcome with amusement at the sights.
He wasn't usually up watching TV at this time of day. He normally tried to crawl off his stone slab just in time for Passions. But he wasn't sleeping well just lately. Imagine that.
Besides, he had a feeling Passions wouldn't be on for quite a few days.
With his mind so full of Buffy's disheartening refusal to allow a relationship between them. Spike just tossed and turned all day anyway.
So, here he was, wide awake at 9 am, and watching in abject horror as mass murder was depicted on the screen before him in all-too-real reality television.
Stolen jets like poison-tipped high-tech arrows, aimed right at the physical and intangible heart of America. Flame, smoke, ashes and dust all over the city. And the dead. He knew they would be there, be there in the thousands. Vampires always drew to natural or man-made disasters like moths to the proverbial flame. Wars, famine, earthquakes, any place where the frail, injured humans would be easy prey.
The old Spike would have high-tailed it to New York City even faster than the Slayer had, but not for the same humanitarian reasons. Not to keep the vamps at bay.
He knew Buffy had gone in anticipation of a vampire convention. Spike felt relief, seeing the crowds of people working at the recovery scene day and night. The vamps would have a hard time finding victims, with everyone, and the Slayer, there. Not that any of the unfortunates had been recovered yet.
He had actually stolen a flag from a porch on the other side of town that was decked out in them like a battleship going to war. He stared at it now, leaning in the corner, any excuse to tear his eyes away from the senseless carnage.
He should have been laughing.
The old Spike would have been hysterical. Any respectable vampire would.
Spike sighed, finally getting out of his comfortable armchair, and carefully avoided the direct sunlight as he hung the flag outside his crypt.
by Annie
Disclaimer: Not owned by, or profitable to, myself.
Rated: PG: bad memories
Feedback: crehnert@ptd.net
Spike should have been laughing. The old, pre-chip, pre-Buffy Spike would have been.
Would have been overcome with amusement at the sights.
He wasn't usually up watching TV at this time of day. He normally tried to crawl off his stone slab just in time for Passions. But he wasn't sleeping well just lately. Imagine that.
Besides, he had a feeling Passions wouldn't be on for quite a few days.
With his mind so full of Buffy's disheartening refusal to allow a relationship between them. Spike just tossed and turned all day anyway.
So, here he was, wide awake at 9 am, and watching in abject horror as mass murder was depicted on the screen before him in all-too-real reality television.
Stolen jets like poison-tipped high-tech arrows, aimed right at the physical and intangible heart of America. Flame, smoke, ashes and dust all over the city. And the dead. He knew they would be there, be there in the thousands. Vampires always drew to natural or man-made disasters like moths to the proverbial flame. Wars, famine, earthquakes, any place where the frail, injured humans would be easy prey.
The old Spike would have high-tailed it to New York City even faster than the Slayer had, but not for the same humanitarian reasons. Not to keep the vamps at bay.
He knew Buffy had gone in anticipation of a vampire convention. Spike felt relief, seeing the crowds of people working at the recovery scene day and night. The vamps would have a hard time finding victims, with everyone, and the Slayer, there. Not that any of the unfortunates had been recovered yet.
He had actually stolen a flag from a porch on the other side of town that was decked out in them like a battleship going to war. He stared at it now, leaning in the corner, any excuse to tear his eyes away from the senseless carnage.
He should have been laughing.
The old Spike would have been hysterical. Any respectable vampire would.
Spike sighed, finally getting out of his comfortable armchair, and carefully avoided the direct sunlight as he hung the flag outside his crypt.