Sitting Out
One: Sun
"So, I've been meaning to ask you," she noted, not even bothering to turn around and face him, "Do you really know Wes from before?"
Spike smiled to himself for a second, but made sure to let it pass. "Well... I could say no, but that would take all the fun out of it, wouldn't it?"
Winifred turned around as she rolled her eyes. Of course, by the way she was smiling he could see he had her. "If only I could beleive that no of yours. The only way I'll ever get a straight answer is out of Wesley."
"Hey," Spike smirked as he pseudo-sat on her desk, clutching his arms around himself out of habit, "You should know I'm as straight as the next..."
She gave him a look as she set down whatever it was she was tinkering with.
"As long as the next isn't Lorne..." he amended, and then with a naughty grin, "or Angel."
Fred eyed him seriously for a moment and then sat down next to him, a question brimming at her lips. "What is it with you two, anyway? I mean, I guess I should do my homework, but I'd rather build something that could help humanity than read up on you guys' groty family tree."
"With you so far," he drawled, "Dont much care for the past, lately."
She cocked an eyebrow.
"The past is where the bad memories stay," he explained simply.
The eyebrow was still loaded.
"Fine," he sighed, "I guess cryptic, tortured guy is already covered around these parts. I'll just take my drama-queen tiara and head off, then."
As he started to turn to leave, she headed him off with one word.
"Why?"
"Well, don't wanna be in your hair..."
"No," she reiterated, and he almost turned to look at her, but he knew that was what she wanted, "I mean, why do you do this? Hide behind the bad boy."
"Alright, fine," he sighed, sitting back down, "I give. I'll tell you about me and Peaches. But that's all you get."
She sat back a bit, and it was clear she accepted that. "Wait, Peaches?"
Spike smiled, a genuine one this time. "Yeah, it's my personal pet name for that mountain of glare that cuts your checks. He really hates it."
Fred sort of giggled. It remin-
He squinted his eyes almost imperceptably and she took that as a cue to speak. "Well, I'll just have to store that under useless but funny."
"It's not useless if you wanna shake the blighter up.." Spike almost smiled, "Anyway, we used to... run together, but I'm sure you know that much."
"Yeah, I heard about your family tree," she answered, "Master makes Darla, Darla makes Angel, Angel makes Drucilla, Drucilla makes you, Drucilla makes Darla again..."
Spike's brows furrowed a bit at that, but she was too busy recanting knowledge to pay him much mind.
"And then..." she slowed down, confused, "I thought there was something else... I guess not. Huh."
"What about Dru and Darla?" he asked a little too loudly, "Again?"
Fred sort of shrugged sheepishly. "It was before I... got here. Wolfram and Hart, not us, the evil version, brought her back from hell to torment Angel."
"From what I remember of those two," Spike stated, "That's not much of a torture. What, she'd sex him till he breaks?"
This time she actually did shrug. "Anyway, she was human, but then they brought Drusilla in and re-vamped her."
"Sweet mother of hell!" Spike exclaimed before he knew what he was doing, "God, I should have staked the bitch when I had the chance..."
"Darla?" Fred confirmed.
"Dru," Spike replied.
After a moment, he began again. "So, what happened to Darla? She still out there somewhere?"
"No, she got staked... by someone."
It was a complicated thing, that news. Much moreso than the first time he had recieved it five years ago. "Well, things were a lot simpler in the old days."
She looked at him expectantly.
"It was just kill this, drink her, torture that. A nice little family, I guess. But even back then, we had our differences. Sort of an alpha male thing," he paused, then finished, "Don't think you'd really understand. Plus, he's Irish."
"Angel's Irish?" Fred grinned, then shook her head and stated, "You said 'back then.'"
"So?"
"So?" she spoke slowly, "That sounds like there's a 'later on' in there."
Spike sighed. "Look. Just... leave it."
Fred's face froze. Spike froze, too. He wasn't entirely sure what was going on, but he damn well didn't like it.
Gradually, she sounded out the word, "Sunnydale."
"What?"
As if in awe, she looked at him and spoke. "You don't want to talk about Sunnydale, do you? That's why y-"
"Just shut up!" he shouted as he shoved himself off the desk so hard it actually slid backwards. He quickly furled his coat around himself as she scrambled off the awkward seat. "I'm not your friend, alright, 'pardner?' That guy Knox you always make googly eyes at? He's your friend. Stiff upper lip Wesley? He's your friend. I, on the other hand, am not."
She looked shocked and a little angry. Good.
"In fact," he continued, actually getting in her face, "the more important thing to remember, mousey, is that you are not my friend. And if I have my druthers, you never will be."
The words felt like blood in his mouth, and a part of him made immaterial beyond itself stirred at it. He wanted to find more things to throw at her, to pick up the whole desk and smash the window to pieces, to get a stake and...
He turned and walked away, making sure he left through a wall. She looked like she was going to say something, but it was too late.
---
Spike sat at a table and felt bad.
It was only after a waitress said something to him that he realized what he was doing. His arms crossed, his eyes downcast, his brow furrowed... It was his worst fear come to pass.
"I'm becoming him..." he muttered.
"Excuse me?" the waitress asked, obviously confused.
"Oh," he tried to smile, "Sorry. I got... just water."
She nodded quickly and left. Even if he was confined to Los Angeles, at least he could move about in the daylight. It had been over a hundred years since he had seen the sun, and it was about the only perk his new condition lent him. He had taken to sitting in outdoor cafes and leaving glasses of untouched water in his wake. Oddly, the best place to be alone in L.A. was in public.
"Two breakfast burritos, please," a tremolous voice came from behind him, "And a cup of coffee."
Oh god. He cringed, but made himself turn his head anyway. He hoped against it, but he knew his luck. Gradually, his head made the necessary rotation for him to just barely look past the bridge of his nose at...
Oh, God. He knew she would see him, and that would be it. She'd... He had hoped she would avoid speaking to him, too, after what happened, but he knew that was too much to ask. If he knew her at all, which he unfortunately did, she was hiding a lot of pluck and an annoying amount of meddling under those spectacles.
He knew full goddamn well that if she saw him, she would talk to him, out of malice if nothing else.
For several minutes he sat, trying to remain casual as best as possible, but failing miserably. For all his cool-guy affectation, he never was good at nervous. Silently he prayed to whatever would listen for her to have to go to the restroom, so he could dash away unseen.
And then it happened. She got up and headed off into the indoors of the cafe. He rapidly stood and walked quite brusquely through the waitress who was approaching his table. Just when he strode through the low fence dividing the patio from the great outdoors, he froze.
"Spike," she said from right behind him.
"Yes?" he asked slowly, not daring to turn around.
"That poor girl just passed out."
That got him turning. He looked pver and saw it was true. The blanched waitress had been so surprised at her near-ghost experience that she had just keeled right over. Whoops.
"Sorry," he replied, not looking at the conscious woman, and then suddenly shouted, "Hey! You tricked me!"
Without thinking he had looked at her in his accusation, and he could see that smug little imp grin on Fred's face. He wished he were solid so he would have to hold back from hitting something.
"I'm not that nice, lately," she explained, "I wonder why."
He quickly deflated and looked back at the ground. "Whatever. I have to go."
"Where?" she exclaimed, grabbing his arm as he turned away, "Where can you possibly have to go?"
"Away!" he shouted, tugging at his arm to free it, "Let go of me!"
After a moment, they both looked at his arm and stopped moving. Her hand was still around it, barring him from leaving.
"I think I know something about your condition, Spike," she said softly, "And the only way I could grab you is if you wa-"
"Maybe," he interrupted, finally freeing his arm, "Maybe I do. But you people shouldn't have to... Look, we're in public. Everyone's staring. I have to go. We have to go."
"Go where?" she asked again, this time unable to touch him.
"Home."
One: Sun
"So, I've been meaning to ask you," she noted, not even bothering to turn around and face him, "Do you really know Wes from before?"
Spike smiled to himself for a second, but made sure to let it pass. "Well... I could say no, but that would take all the fun out of it, wouldn't it?"
Winifred turned around as she rolled her eyes. Of course, by the way she was smiling he could see he had her. "If only I could beleive that no of yours. The only way I'll ever get a straight answer is out of Wesley."
"Hey," Spike smirked as he pseudo-sat on her desk, clutching his arms around himself out of habit, "You should know I'm as straight as the next..."
She gave him a look as she set down whatever it was she was tinkering with.
"As long as the next isn't Lorne..." he amended, and then with a naughty grin, "or Angel."
Fred eyed him seriously for a moment and then sat down next to him, a question brimming at her lips. "What is it with you two, anyway? I mean, I guess I should do my homework, but I'd rather build something that could help humanity than read up on you guys' groty family tree."
"With you so far," he drawled, "Dont much care for the past, lately."
She cocked an eyebrow.
"The past is where the bad memories stay," he explained simply.
The eyebrow was still loaded.
"Fine," he sighed, "I guess cryptic, tortured guy is already covered around these parts. I'll just take my drama-queen tiara and head off, then."
As he started to turn to leave, she headed him off with one word.
"Why?"
"Well, don't wanna be in your hair..."
"No," she reiterated, and he almost turned to look at her, but he knew that was what she wanted, "I mean, why do you do this? Hide behind the bad boy."
"Alright, fine," he sighed, sitting back down, "I give. I'll tell you about me and Peaches. But that's all you get."
She sat back a bit, and it was clear she accepted that. "Wait, Peaches?"
Spike smiled, a genuine one this time. "Yeah, it's my personal pet name for that mountain of glare that cuts your checks. He really hates it."
Fred sort of giggled. It remin-
He squinted his eyes almost imperceptably and she took that as a cue to speak. "Well, I'll just have to store that under useless but funny."
"It's not useless if you wanna shake the blighter up.." Spike almost smiled, "Anyway, we used to... run together, but I'm sure you know that much."
"Yeah, I heard about your family tree," she answered, "Master makes Darla, Darla makes Angel, Angel makes Drucilla, Drucilla makes you, Drucilla makes Darla again..."
Spike's brows furrowed a bit at that, but she was too busy recanting knowledge to pay him much mind.
"And then..." she slowed down, confused, "I thought there was something else... I guess not. Huh."
"What about Dru and Darla?" he asked a little too loudly, "Again?"
Fred sort of shrugged sheepishly. "It was before I... got here. Wolfram and Hart, not us, the evil version, brought her back from hell to torment Angel."
"From what I remember of those two," Spike stated, "That's not much of a torture. What, she'd sex him till he breaks?"
This time she actually did shrug. "Anyway, she was human, but then they brought Drusilla in and re-vamped her."
"Sweet mother of hell!" Spike exclaimed before he knew what he was doing, "God, I should have staked the bitch when I had the chance..."
"Darla?" Fred confirmed.
"Dru," Spike replied.
After a moment, he began again. "So, what happened to Darla? She still out there somewhere?"
"No, she got staked... by someone."
It was a complicated thing, that news. Much moreso than the first time he had recieved it five years ago. "Well, things were a lot simpler in the old days."
She looked at him expectantly.
"It was just kill this, drink her, torture that. A nice little family, I guess. But even back then, we had our differences. Sort of an alpha male thing," he paused, then finished, "Don't think you'd really understand. Plus, he's Irish."
"Angel's Irish?" Fred grinned, then shook her head and stated, "You said 'back then.'"
"So?"
"So?" she spoke slowly, "That sounds like there's a 'later on' in there."
Spike sighed. "Look. Just... leave it."
Fred's face froze. Spike froze, too. He wasn't entirely sure what was going on, but he damn well didn't like it.
Gradually, she sounded out the word, "Sunnydale."
"What?"
As if in awe, she looked at him and spoke. "You don't want to talk about Sunnydale, do you? That's why y-"
"Just shut up!" he shouted as he shoved himself off the desk so hard it actually slid backwards. He quickly furled his coat around himself as she scrambled off the awkward seat. "I'm not your friend, alright, 'pardner?' That guy Knox you always make googly eyes at? He's your friend. Stiff upper lip Wesley? He's your friend. I, on the other hand, am not."
She looked shocked and a little angry. Good.
"In fact," he continued, actually getting in her face, "the more important thing to remember, mousey, is that you are not my friend. And if I have my druthers, you never will be."
The words felt like blood in his mouth, and a part of him made immaterial beyond itself stirred at it. He wanted to find more things to throw at her, to pick up the whole desk and smash the window to pieces, to get a stake and...
He turned and walked away, making sure he left through a wall. She looked like she was going to say something, but it was too late.
---
Spike sat at a table and felt bad.
It was only after a waitress said something to him that he realized what he was doing. His arms crossed, his eyes downcast, his brow furrowed... It was his worst fear come to pass.
"I'm becoming him..." he muttered.
"Excuse me?" the waitress asked, obviously confused.
"Oh," he tried to smile, "Sorry. I got... just water."
She nodded quickly and left. Even if he was confined to Los Angeles, at least he could move about in the daylight. It had been over a hundred years since he had seen the sun, and it was about the only perk his new condition lent him. He had taken to sitting in outdoor cafes and leaving glasses of untouched water in his wake. Oddly, the best place to be alone in L.A. was in public.
"Two breakfast burritos, please," a tremolous voice came from behind him, "And a cup of coffee."
Oh god. He cringed, but made himself turn his head anyway. He hoped against it, but he knew his luck. Gradually, his head made the necessary rotation for him to just barely look past the bridge of his nose at...
Oh, God. He knew she would see him, and that would be it. She'd... He had hoped she would avoid speaking to him, too, after what happened, but he knew that was too much to ask. If he knew her at all, which he unfortunately did, she was hiding a lot of pluck and an annoying amount of meddling under those spectacles.
He knew full goddamn well that if she saw him, she would talk to him, out of malice if nothing else.
For several minutes he sat, trying to remain casual as best as possible, but failing miserably. For all his cool-guy affectation, he never was good at nervous. Silently he prayed to whatever would listen for her to have to go to the restroom, so he could dash away unseen.
And then it happened. She got up and headed off into the indoors of the cafe. He rapidly stood and walked quite brusquely through the waitress who was approaching his table. Just when he strode through the low fence dividing the patio from the great outdoors, he froze.
"Spike," she said from right behind him.
"Yes?" he asked slowly, not daring to turn around.
"That poor girl just passed out."
That got him turning. He looked pver and saw it was true. The blanched waitress had been so surprised at her near-ghost experience that she had just keeled right over. Whoops.
"Sorry," he replied, not looking at the conscious woman, and then suddenly shouted, "Hey! You tricked me!"
Without thinking he had looked at her in his accusation, and he could see that smug little imp grin on Fred's face. He wished he were solid so he would have to hold back from hitting something.
"I'm not that nice, lately," she explained, "I wonder why."
He quickly deflated and looked back at the ground. "Whatever. I have to go."
"Where?" she exclaimed, grabbing his arm as he turned away, "Where can you possibly have to go?"
"Away!" he shouted, tugging at his arm to free it, "Let go of me!"
After a moment, they both looked at his arm and stopped moving. Her hand was still around it, barring him from leaving.
"I think I know something about your condition, Spike," she said softly, "And the only way I could grab you is if you wa-"
"Maybe," he interrupted, finally freeing his arm, "Maybe I do. But you people shouldn't have to... Look, we're in public. Everyone's staring. I have to go. We have to go."
"Go where?" she asked again, this time unable to touch him.
"Home."