Title: Beloved Irritant
Author: Spike's Heart
Email: spikes_heart@yahoo.com
Pairing: Spike/Buffy
Rating: G
Setting: Pre-All Roads Lead To Rome – Post Chosen – BtVS Season 7 – 7x22
Disclaimer: If they were mine, I'd treat them nicer than Joss ever did.
Feedback: Yes, please!
Archive: Ask me, nicely.
Warning: None
A/N: It's my therapy session, my issues.
Summary: Buffy reflects on her history with Spike, after his sacrifice in Sunnydale.
Beloved Irritant
The motel in Oxnard
was nothing to write home about, not that there was a home anymore after the
town collapsed. Their wounded had been tended to, room assignments had been
issued and the intrepid band of warriors dispersed for the night. They were in
desperate need of down time before heading to Los Angels in the morning.
Buffy was too wired to sleep, had too many thoughts wrestling for notice in her
head. She needed time to think, to work out a plan for the coming days and to
remember in private the man who'd sacrificed everything for her – no, not just
her, for the world's continued existence.
She recalled the night he blew into her life like a dust storm, leaving grit
beneath her skin. She'd been dancing at the Bronze, surrounded by a mindless
throng of undulating dancers. Pounding music, sweating swaying bodies – all
thoughts of slaying blotted out by sheer sensation. She could count on one hand
the number of actual nights off she'd allowed herself from her life as the
Chosen One.
As she'd moved her body in time to the music – eyes closed, head thrown back in
pleasure, she'd felt the tingling sensation on the nape of her neck and the pit
of her stomach that alerted her to possible danger – that she was being
watched. Scanning the room, a cursory glance found nothing amiss. No more than
five seconds later, a hottie in a black leather
duster called out to the crowd for help – "Where's the phone?" he'd said. "I
need to call the police. There's some big guy out there trying to bite
somebody."
Of course she'd trotted out to the alley, like a good little Slayer and dusted
the vampire, who'd called out "Spike! Gimme a hand." before going poof. She'd looked up at the sound of
clapping, to see the hottie from the Bronze – Spike,
walking towards her. The conversation that followed would be forever imprinted
in her memory.
Spike: Nice work,
love.
Buffy: Who are you?
Spike: You'll find out on Saturday.
Buffy: What happens on Saturday?
Spike: I kill you.
Spike had once mentioned that she was like a raspberry seed
in his teeth; small, annoying and impossible to get rid of. He, of course, was
like wet sand in a bathing suit; irritating as hell, and next to impossible to
shake off.
In the years that followed their first meeting, Buffy recalled other fights,
chance meetings, reluctant truces and begrudged amnesty. They'd tried to kill
each other and ignore each other. In the end, they'd watched each other's backs
and been each other's touchstone.
Clasped hands in flames, they'd stared into each other's eyes. Words of love
had been spoken by her and gently rebuffed by him. She'd left as he requested,
joining her friends in their flight towards safety.
Now, she thought, Spike's words in back of The Bronze had been prophetic. He'd
left her the way he'd arrived, as dust she'd never be able to remove from her
skin.
She closed her eyes and thought she would die from his loss.
