V. Buffy
Buffy had nothing that she could feed to a vampire. She pulled the sash on her black kimono tighter and yanked open the refrigerator for the third time. Nothing that would be in here anyway, nothing in the way of food. Here was a carton of meat product Dawn had picked up when Buffy gave her some euros for the café. She poked a finger into the bottom of the container and reddish juice pooled around it. Maybe there was blood in that? He would eat anything of course. For the texture, he said. But he didn't really taste food, and it wouldn't fill him up. She couldn't go to a butcher for hours yet, and right now, she knew, he would be exhausted and ravenous, but far from ready to call it a night.
*Maybe, pet. Or maybe that's just you.* Oh, this was too much. Spike's not dead, she thought. At least not anymore. I don't need to have imaginary conversations with him. If I want to have a conversation with Spike, I can walk back into that room, where he's lying in my bed where he just -- She lost the words for a moment, her body happy and frightened and shivering at the memory of it. *And maybe you aren't ready to go back in there, because the voice in your head is easier to handle. Maybe you don't have to worry about whether it's saying anything you don't like.* Well, duh. Wasn't that what talking to yourself was for?
Buffy knew one thing that she wanted. That was a start, so she heaped a bowl full of strawberry gelati, stopping only a second to pinch the flesh of her thigh. Too much pasta, too much sweet stuff, but this wasn't the night to worry about it. And the man -- or whatever the hell he was -- in her bed had not exactly complained. Had he even managed to see her, or feel her, in the business of touching and tasting her? She let the tremor run through her body and allowed herself to smile. They had gone so easily to a place that seemed familiar, and she had to force herself to remember that it was not a place they had been before. In the past, he had spoken her name gently, and he had grabbed and gnawed and handled her wildly, but never all at once. It felt so easy, tonight, and she didn't hate him. She didn't know if this was love, either, but it was something new, something she had never felt.
She picked up the bowls. Two things easier to understand than the human or inhuman heart. Blood and ice cream. They would do until morning.
Buffy had nothing that she could feed to a vampire. She pulled the sash on her black kimono tighter and yanked open the refrigerator for the third time. Nothing that would be in here anyway, nothing in the way of food. Here was a carton of meat product Dawn had picked up when Buffy gave her some euros for the café. She poked a finger into the bottom of the container and reddish juice pooled around it. Maybe there was blood in that? He would eat anything of course. For the texture, he said. But he didn't really taste food, and it wouldn't fill him up. She couldn't go to a butcher for hours yet, and right now, she knew, he would be exhausted and ravenous, but far from ready to call it a night.
*Maybe, pet. Or maybe that's just you.* Oh, this was too much. Spike's not dead, she thought. At least not anymore. I don't need to have imaginary conversations with him. If I want to have a conversation with Spike, I can walk back into that room, where he's lying in my bed where he just -- She lost the words for a moment, her body happy and frightened and shivering at the memory of it. *And maybe you aren't ready to go back in there, because the voice in your head is easier to handle. Maybe you don't have to worry about whether it's saying anything you don't like.* Well, duh. Wasn't that what talking to yourself was for?
Buffy knew one thing that she wanted. That was a start, so she heaped a bowl full of strawberry gelati, stopping only a second to pinch the flesh of her thigh. Too much pasta, too much sweet stuff, but this wasn't the night to worry about it. And the man -- or whatever the hell he was -- in her bed had not exactly complained. Had he even managed to see her, or feel her, in the business of touching and tasting her? She let the tremor run through her body and allowed herself to smile. They had gone so easily to a place that seemed familiar, and she had to force herself to remember that it was not a place they had been before. In the past, he had spoken her name gently, and he had grabbed and gnawed and handled her wildly, but never all at once. It felt so easy, tonight, and she didn't hate him. She didn't know if this was love, either, but it was something new, something she had never felt.
She picked up the bowls. Two things easier to understand than the human or inhuman heart. Blood and ice cream. They would do until morning.