The Good Fairy - Part 4
Aug. 6th, 2006 05:45 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
botiasRating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Timeline: About six months after my previous fic for Seasonal Spuffy
Characters: Spike/Buffy
Summary:What exactly was Buffy up to while Spike was off fighting Evil and Sobriety?
Warnings: Un-betaed, schizophrenic baby!fic run away!
A/N: This fic is more or less in response to the fairy tale challenge of![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
seasonal_spuffy Spring 2006
Sod it, he was going after her.
A moment’s hesitation on the sunny threshold and he was off. It was immediately apparent that Buffy hadn’t gone for any walk. He followed her scent through an obstacle course of stairs and drop-offs, sexed-up with the occasional abandoned building and a jumbled construction site on indefinite hiatus.
As he ran, he kept to the shadows whenever he could, but every so often he ran his fingers through the light, like a child running a stick over a picket fence. Only yesterday this was unimaginable, and he would have said it was unwished for. He knew what the sunlit world looked like, and Rome at mid-morning wasn’t a patch on Rome at dawn, or dusk, or night.
Today though, he wasn’t just a gawker, scuttling from one vantage point to the next. Shops were open that he’d only ever seen shut. There were more people, and they seemed relaxed, trusting. They talked quieter; they looked about them less. He felt lighter, as if he’d received a partial absolution of some sort, or at least a parole anyway. He knew it was all so much bollocks, of course, but not even the scent of Buffy’s tears did much to dampen his mood.
Anyway, pregnant women (pregnant!), they cried at the drop of a hat, the whole lot of them. It had been a long time, another life, but some things didn’t change. Hadn’t he watched even his unsinkable and unsentimental Charlotte spring a leak over falling leaves and broken teacups? ‘Course they didn’t always cry without reason; he’d seen his share of that too. Caused his share. But that was also another life, a soiled thing that he’d been all too pleased to burn to ash where it would do the most good.
Pregnant women were supposed to tire more easily too, but this one was leading him on a merry chase.
It was easy to picture her running ahead of him, arms and legs flashing in a swift, perfect rhythm. Buffy moved with such economy, struck so hard, that it would be easy to figure her for being all business, all about making the kill and going home. She didn’t overreach, like Faith, who tended to let her eagerness put her a little off balance. She didn’t pull her punches just a hair, like Nikki, like maybe she wasn’t quite comfortable with her own power. She never favored technique over the demands of the fight, like the Chinese slayer had.
But if you watched Buffy, like the great love-sick git that you were, then you could see it, every once in awhile: some little twirl as she went into the fight, or the way she stayed at-ready for a few seconds after, eyes shining, feeling her strength like it was for the first time. Oh yeah, Buffy was just a little bit in love with it. He liked to imagine that she was never so in love with it as when she did it with him. She danced with him.
Which was good, 'cause he was probably going to need all the help he could get.
He came to a halt when he got to the river. There was no shelter from the morning sun on the bridges or for some little distance on either side. He shrugged, ducked his head, and kept going.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Timeline: About six months after my previous fic for Seasonal Spuffy
Characters: Spike/Buffy
Summary:What exactly was Buffy up to while Spike was off fighting Evil and Sobriety?
Warnings: Un-betaed, schizophrenic baby!fic run away!
A/N: This fic is more or less in response to the fairy tale challenge of
seasonal_spuffy Spring 2006The Good Fairy - Part 4
Sod it, he was going after her.
A moment’s hesitation on the sunny threshold and he was off. It was immediately apparent that Buffy hadn’t gone for any walk. He followed her scent through an obstacle course of stairs and drop-offs, sexed-up with the occasional abandoned building and a jumbled construction site on indefinite hiatus.
As he ran, he kept to the shadows whenever he could, but every so often he ran his fingers through the light, like a child running a stick over a picket fence. Only yesterday this was unimaginable, and he would have said it was unwished for. He knew what the sunlit world looked like, and Rome at mid-morning wasn’t a patch on Rome at dawn, or dusk, or night.
Today though, he wasn’t just a gawker, scuttling from one vantage point to the next. Shops were open that he’d only ever seen shut. There were more people, and they seemed relaxed, trusting. They talked quieter; they looked about them less. He felt lighter, as if he’d received a partial absolution of some sort, or at least a parole anyway. He knew it was all so much bollocks, of course, but not even the scent of Buffy’s tears did much to dampen his mood.
Anyway, pregnant women (pregnant!), they cried at the drop of a hat, the whole lot of them. It had been a long time, another life, but some things didn’t change. Hadn’t he watched even his unsinkable and unsentimental Charlotte spring a leak over falling leaves and broken teacups? ‘Course they didn’t always cry without reason; he’d seen his share of that too. Caused his share. But that was also another life, a soiled thing that he’d been all too pleased to burn to ash where it would do the most good.
Pregnant women were supposed to tire more easily too, but this one was leading him on a merry chase.
It was easy to picture her running ahead of him, arms and legs flashing in a swift, perfect rhythm. Buffy moved with such economy, struck so hard, that it would be easy to figure her for being all business, all about making the kill and going home. She didn’t overreach, like Faith, who tended to let her eagerness put her a little off balance. She didn’t pull her punches just a hair, like Nikki, like maybe she wasn’t quite comfortable with her own power. She never favored technique over the demands of the fight, like the Chinese slayer had.
But if you watched Buffy, like the great love-sick git that you were, then you could see it, every once in awhile: some little twirl as she went into the fight, or the way she stayed at-ready for a few seconds after, eyes shining, feeling her strength like it was for the first time. Oh yeah, Buffy was just a little bit in love with it. He liked to imagine that she was never so in love with it as when she did it with him. She danced with him.
Which was good, 'cause he was probably going to need all the help he could get.
He came to a halt when he got to the river. There was no shelter from the morning sun on the bridges or for some little distance on either side. He shrugged, ducked his head, and kept going.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-08-07 06:00 pm (UTC)I was reading about the boy in your journal with the fundy parents. I'm so glad he found a supportive place. I think the folks must have been able to love him well aside from being unable to accept his orientation since he had the strength to go for something good for himself instead of buying into their viewpoint.