Distro: Mystifying Dreams, WWOMB, WLS, RedsSoulmates and others
Spoilers: season 5
Pairing: Spike/Willow
Rating: PG
Summary: Spike is nostalgic
A/N: Thanks to Jennillu and Kat for the beta.
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The night is clear, but cool so we stop at the Espresso Pump at his insistence. He can be like a mother hen about me eating properly and dressing warmly. It's odd because I never realized that he noticed that much about me at all. Spike is full of surprises.
I get a cappuccino and he orders hot chocolate with marshmallows. The waiter smiles at him indulgently, but doesn't say anything condescending for which I am grateful. Only a small section is open for seating this late so we are stuck by the window. He grins, enthusiastic, when the drinks arrive.
After a few sips he turns thoughtful.
"She made this for me," he says quietly, and I know who 'she' is without asking. "As soon as I'd come through the door, she'd put a fire on and pull out the ingredients, talking about her day as she went. And never that soddin' instant crap. Always milk and real chocolate.and tiny marshmallows that she kept in a high cabinet hidden from the Niblet."
I let him go on about her, amazed by the affection I see in his eyes. He says something and makes us both laugh, because if he doesn't we are going to cry, people around or not, and we get up to leave. Spike pays the check and I wonder where he gets his cash, but don't ask. He's being very sweet recently and I don't want to rock the boat.
"I have an idea," he says and grabs my hand. I really have to explain to him about the yanking me along thing. But for now I'm nervous and ask him about his idea, but he's being cagey, gathering things, not letting me see what he's doing. This could be very bad.
Well, turns out that hookey, for Spike, aside from drinking cocoa, also includes placing paper bags full of dog crap on someone's front porch, torching it, and ringing the bell several times.
"I.Spike! You can't do that!" I protest as he drags me away and into a bunch of bushes. "It'll catch fire to the hou."
A strong hand, and I can't really explain how strong because it's pretty scary for someone to be that powerful, anyway a strong hand is clamped over my mouth, cutting me off mid-sentence, while he shushes me quietly. I highly resent being told to shut up, in any way, and try to stomp on his foot, but his darned vampire reflexes save the day..uh night.
The front door swings open, and as much as I thought I was appalled, I'm watching and waiting just like he is, minus the maniacal grin that he is sporting. Apparently, he feels me giving in and relaxes his hold on me.
The guy at the door is yelling about the fire and to call 911 when he stomps on the bag, like an idiot. Hot poop flies everywhere. Behind me, Spike is giggling like a goofy kid, his chest brushing against my back, and he nearly looses it as the guy figures out what he is splattered with. And did I mention that Spike is pressed against me?
I don't have much time to think about that. He pulls me away and we leave the bushes undetected, running around the corner.
"I positively love doing that," he says as soon as his laughter subsides enough for him to form a sentence.
"Spike." I want to say something appropriately grown-up and chastising, but I end up laughing as well. "Did you see his face?"
"Yeah.it was worth smelling that shit, it was." He lights a cigarette and walks off, something on his mind just that quickly. I'm starting to be able to read him better. He goes quiet at odd moments. Sometimes he's just thinking, other times he's bothered.
"What's wrong?"
He looks over at me, a little startled, like I shouldn't notice, and takes a drag before answering. "Nothing's really wrong, just a bit different, is all." I watch him and he explains further. "I used to do that little trick to get a bloke to step outside the house. Hunting technique." He glances away.
"Oh." I doubt he feels guilty and I suppose he shouldn't. Maybe it's nostalgic for him. "So how was it, you know, without the ultimate yummy goodness?"
He chuckles and seems to consider my question, weighing this experience against previous ones. I wait patiently. Finally, he speaks, tossing the smoking object away.
"It was good. Not better, coz nothing is really better than fresh, hot sweet blood, slipping down your throat, the erratic pounding of a dying heart forcing it into you." His eyes close for a few seconds and when he opens them they are gold for an instant before reverting to the human blue. "Sorry.I was saying it was good, mainly because I had someone to share it with."
And then he stomps off on his own, knowing that I'll follow.
I'm beginning to think I'll follow him a lot of places.
The End