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tamingthemuseTitle: Sweaters, Rain, and Crickets
Fandom: BtVS
Prompt: #3 - Woolly
Warnings: Slight Spuffy in this one. Set in season 6, but this one's full of fluffiness.
Rating: PG, PG-13 for slight swearing.
Summary: Buffy does not want to patrol with rain so imminent, and she certainly doesn't want to run into Spike when she does so.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Really truly.
Wordcount: 2895
I want to thank
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c_woodhaven and mandylancast for their support and help with the last one: you guys are really helping my writing. Again, if you spot anything out of place, please let me know! Concrit is REALLY appreciated!wool·ly also wool·y
1. Relating to, consisting of, or covered with wool.
2. Lacking sharp detail or clarity.
< --- >
It looked and felt like it was going to rain. She so did not want to patrol with a possible shower on the horizon, but since when did what she want count for anything?
She grabbed her favorite sweater and threw it on, then tried to find a compact umbrella she knew they had multiples of. She didn't find a single one, so with a heavy sigh Buffy just headed out without it. It wasn't as if she was going to be able to fight demons while holding the umbrella above her head anyways. She was going to get soaked, and that was that.
“Stupid vampires,” she muttered, then glanced up at the sky. She might as well... “Stupid rain.” There. Now she only felt grumpier and really stupid.
Okay, she'd just make this a quick patrol. No sense in getting rained on, right? The vampires probably weren't going to stay out in the rain either, right? I mean, their food supplies would be hiding indoors tonight because of the weather, right? So that meant that Buffy really didn't need to be out here, right?
If Dawn had tried to give her logic like this concerning homework, Buffy would've told her to suck it up. She didn't want to tell herself to suck it up. It was going to rain, dammit, and she wanted to be inside where it was warm, and snuggle up in her comfy bed where she felt warm and safe and most certainly not soaking wet.
It hadn't even started sprinkling yet, and already she was whining. Well, she had full rights to be. Well, maybe. Okay, she probably really didn't, but she got whiner points for being a Slayer, right?
It occurred to her that a wool sweater was not the smart thing to wear with an imminent downpour on the horizon.
“Of all the times to be blonde...” she said with a sigh. She continued down the road anyways, spotting one of Sunnydale's many cemeteries and sliding past the gate. She slid her stake out of her sleeve and glanced around. No vampires lurking here. She really wished she could just say she'd done her duty and just leave, but her conscience wouldn't let her. She had to do good things, and then she'd get to be a real normal girl tomorrow for it.
If Jiminy Cricket were here, she'd step on him.
She wished she didn't have a conscience. It was probably a lot easier to just do whatever you felt like doing and not care about anyone or anything else. Spike didn't have to. Spike could do whatever he wanted, barring killing hordes of people randomly. He could steal and smoke and do that sexy eyebrow thing.
Of course, Spike chose to care. She didn't know why, but he did. It sort of made her like him.
Speaking of the vampire, where was he while she headed deeper into the cemetery? She was winding around gravestones and almost tripping over small headstones buried in the grass, and he was probably back at his crypt watching reruns of his soap operas. She was going to kick his ass.
A bright patch of almost white blonde caught her attention a few crypts over, and she headed in his direction. Spike wasn't watching soaps then; he was out here in the cooling night just like she was.
She still felt like kicking his ass. She didn't know why, but she just felt like it.
“You're late,” Spike drawled as soon as she got close enough to hear him. She was going to be kicking his ass tonight because of his tone of voice, then. At least she had an excuse.
“Excuse me if I didn't want to come out here on a night like this,” she snapped. “It's going to rain.”
“Already started,” Spike told her. “You must've been moving fast: there's little sprinkles here and there.”
Just as he finished speaking, she felt a tiny drop of something on her nose. It felt as if little bits of dew were gathering on her hair and face, and she sighed. Why tonight?
And why had she chosen to wear a wool sweater?
“Nice wardrobe choice,” Spike commented, grinning. “Were you expectin' to take it off on account of the weather?” He did that sexy eyebrow thing as he leered at her, and she felt warm despite the cooler temperatures the night and sprinkling were both bringing.
“No, I wasn't,” she hissed. “We're not doing that again. I mean it. This is my favorite sweater that my mom gave me, and it's my comfiest. If I was going to be patrolling in this weather, I wanted to feel soft and warm.”
Spike's grin broadened. “If you wanted to feel warm, luv, all you had to do was as...”
“NO!” Buffy shouted, glaring at him. “No, no, no. No more. That was a one time...”
“Eight time,” Spike corrected.
“...deal,” she said, narrowing her gaze. “We're not doing that. I'm not stripping for you anymore, Spike. You're never seeing me undressed again.”
He pouted, predictably, and Buffy wanted to smack him. She just wasn't sure if she wanted to use her hand or her lips. A roar brought their attention to the right, where a big blue demon was running towards them.
Good! After she took care of him, she could say that her evening was complete, and she could go home. Plus, she wouldn't have to deal with Spike anymore tonight, which made her all sorts of happy. Well, maybe.
Ugh! For once tonight, could she be definite about something?
She could be definite about killing the demon. That she was certain about. She ran to meet him, jumping when she'd gotten close enough and landing both of her feet firmly against his. He stumbled backwards a little, and as she dropped, she pulled a mini-flip, landing herself on her hands and feet. She was quickly up again, and he was heading towards them once more.
Spike circled around behind them, and Buffy waited until he was right behind the demon before she stepped towards the blue monstrosity, as if to punch him. As she'd expected, he swung his arm out and she ducked, extending her left leg in a kick that caught him off balance. He almost fell forward, but Spike grabbed him mid-fall and pulled him too far back, sending him head first into a nearby tree.
“And that's my patrol finished for the evening,” Buffy said cheerfully. “Good night, Spike.”
“That's it?” Spike said incredulously. “One measly demon, and you're done? That's pathetic. You can do better than that.”
“I don't want to do better than that tonight!” Buffy told him. “I want to go home and ignore my inner cricket so I can curl up where I'm warm and happy, thank you very much. You should do the same.” The sprinkling was still sprinkling, but Buffy knew it was only a matter of time before the skies opened and drenched them. She wanted to be as far from the burst as possible, and preferably home in her pajamas when it happened.
“Inner...?” Spike asked, before he rolled his eyes. “What about the defenseless people, eh? The ones you're supposed to be savin'?”
“They're indoors, a lot smarter than we are tonight,” she said, turning away and heading for the exit. If she ran, she could be home in five to ten minutes. She only hoped that the rain would stay back long enough for her to get there.
She heard him sigh behind her. “Fine, see if I care,” he muttered. “If one of those demons hurts someone tonight, though, it'll rest on you, not...”
There was a sound of something loud, and Buffy turned quickly to see the blue demon looming over a fallen Spike. She ran towards them, jumping at the last minute onto a nearby headstone, then launching herself feet first at the demon again. This time, however, with her gained height, her target was a lot higher and more breakable. His neck snapped, and he fell to the ground for good this time.
Once she was sure the demon was dead, she turned and found Spike rising to his feet. “Smooth,” she said, grinning in the relief that he was okay. “Those keen vampire senses of yours just make me so jealous someti...Spike?”
He looked pale, paler than he normally was, and when he turned at her call, she saw the left side of his face covered in blood and getting darker by the second. “Spike?” she said again, her grin long gone in the face of what she refused to call panic.
He frowned slightly, as if he was trying to concentrate. “You're all...” His voice was slurred, and he shook himself and tried again. “All blurred and...and woolly.”
Buffy frowned. “Yes, I'm wearing a wool sweater. We discussed that, remember? You made fun of my wardrobe choice?”
Spike shook his head, grimacing as he did so. “No, s'not what I meant. You're...not clear. You're all fuzzy and you're not s'posed to be. You're not...shouldn't be so...” His eyes rolled back in his head, and he tumbled to the ground.
As she stared in shock, there was a rumble of thunder above, and the heavens chose that moment to open. Rain poured from seemingly nowhere, quickly turning the dirt to mud and darkening the color of the headstones.
Buffy simply hung her head and sighed.
After ten minutes, she managed to get Spike into the crypt. Her teeth were chattering, as was to be expected. Her wool sweater was heavy, and she felt like she was wearing a lead vest. It was also soaked completely through, and while she was fairly insulated, it was still wet and only adding to her discomfort. The chill in the air plus the dampness from her sweater equaled a shivering and not so happy Buffy who was still trying to carry an unconscious Spike through the rain.
It was with great satisfaction that she placed him in his chair: the sarcophagus would've been easier, but not nearly as nice. She'd done her good deed for the evening, and the feeling to squash her own Jiminy Cricket had never been stronger. She'd like for once to not have to care, not want to care.
She wouldn't be Buffy, though. And she did sort of enjoy being Buffy. Just...not at the moment so much.
She grabbed her hair and twisted, wringing as much water out of it as possible. Water was dripping from her sweater onto the floor, and she could've sworn that the bottom of the sweater was at her knees. Stupid wool.
She needed to take care of the blood on his face. Most of it had been superficial and had been washed away with the rain, thank goodness. There was still a nasty looking wound on his forehead, however, that she wanted to take care of.
She scanned the crypt until she spotted a First Aid kit. She snagged it and headed towards the chair, kneeling down in front of him and rummaging through its contents. Bandages that looked too well used greeted her vision, and she hauled them out, making a mental note to get Spike a new kit. This one wasn't going to last him much longer.
She wondered briefly if antibiotic creams would help him any, then figured it couldn't hurt to try. She'd never heard of a vampire getting an infection, but she wasn't taking chances. She unscrewed the cap on the tube, carefully squeezed out enough to cover her fingertip, then raised herself up and dabbed at the wound.
Spike hissed and jerked away slightly, slowly opening his eyes. Buffy winced in sympathy and murmured a soft, “Sorry,” before dabbing again.
“Don't really need it,” he said. “Appreciate the thought, but it doesn't do us much good.”
“You felt it sting though, right?” she said, moving back to get more. “That means it's working.”
“No, that was from your pretty little finger brushin' against it,” Spike said. He still sounded half out of it. “Anythin' touchin' it at this point is gonna bring pain.”
“Oh,” Buffy said, closing the tube. “Sorry.”
“No harm done,” Spike assured her, before blinking a few times and resting his gaze on her. “You're soaked,” he finally said. He reached out, his touch surprisingly gentle as he moved her wet hair from her face. “And cold. You should get out of that before you catch somethin'. Last thing I want to do is see you sick.”
“There's nothing to change into,” she said. The thought of getting into something besides the sweater made her very happy, despite her going against her previous word about not stripping in front of him. She'd do a lap dance for him if she could feel warm again.
Spike glanced over at a chest near the sarcophagus. “Should be somethin' in there,” he said. “Go on; your lips are blue, luv. Need to get you warm again.”
“Your head...” she started, and Spike shook said head, grimacing as he did so.
“None of that. Get yourself warm, and then we'll deal with this. It's not goin' anywhere, I promise you that.”
Buffy sighed and rose to her feet, making her way to the chest and crouching to open it. “You're banged up and probably feel like crap, and you still care more about me than you,” she murmured. She glanced through the items inside, finally finding a long-sleeved shirt that she could button up. The sweater was pulled off slowly, and once it was off, goosebumps rose as her wet skin was exposed to the cool air. The shirt was pulled on immediately, and once she'd buttoned it enough, she headed back to Spike. “Thanks,” she said, reaching for the bandages. “Now lemme see that head.”
She spent the next fifteen minutes placing the bandages around his head, trying to be as gentle as possible. Every flinch or wince from him made her pause and bite her lip, which she knew was going to be black and blue for a different reason beside the cold by the time she was through. Having figured this out for himself, Spike started talking to her, telling her random things that made her smile and giggle despite herself. He ended up smiling himself, and it was a nice thing to see.
When the bandage was on and he stopped telling stories, she felt disappointed and she didn't want to. He evoked emotions in her she didn't want to look at too closely, for fear of actually recognizing what they were. She turned her thoughts instead to home, where her warm bed and comfy spot was waiting for her.
“You look exhausted,” Spike said softly, blinking a little sleepily himself. “You should head home; you need your rest.”
“I will,” she said, her small smile melting into a huge yawn. “As soon as I can see straight.”
He moved over slightly in his chair. “Then rest here a bit before you head on your way. Rain sounds as if it'll be over with soon, so you can head home without fear of bein' soaked. Again.”
The rain did sound softer now, not pounding so on the roof like it had been doing when she'd pulled them in. It would quit soon enough, and she could be refreshed enough to head home then. She nodded, feeling too tired to want to argue, and his arms immediately reached for her, pulling her down into the chair with him. Despite his having moved over, it was still too tiny for them to sit side by side, so she ended up more on his lap than anything.
With the yawn Spike gave, she didn't think getting frisky was something he had planned. She rested her head against his shoulder, her eyes feeling heavy as she listened to the rain. A slight pressure rested against her head, and she closed her eyes all the way, letting him lay his head upon hers.
Maybe she didn't need her pajamas or her comfy spot in her bed. She felt warm here, despite still being slightly wet and pressed against a cold body. It was a feeling inside of her, and the little drips of water from her hair didn't bother her. She just felt warm.
She felt safe, too. Normally she would've been curled up with blankets and sheets and the knowledge that nothing could get her in her little haven she created, but she wasn't there now. She was laying against a vampire in a crypt that didn't have a lockable door. (She'd made sure of that weeks ago.) She should've felt exposed and been more worried, but she wasn't. Not with his arms around her, the curls of his hair tangling gently with hers.
And though she didn't want to admit it, especially since she was with Spike of all people, she felt happy. This was...nice. She felt comfortable and safe and warm and she was just going to rest a moment. Then she'd make herself leave, and she'd head home to her bed all by herself with no Spike.
It didn't sound as appealing as it once had.
Her eyes stayed closed, and soon Spike closed his own eyes, letting their little doze turn into a night of sleep and comfort.
~Nebula
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Date: 2006-07-25 02:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-25 02:49 pm (UTC)~Nebula
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Date: 2006-07-25 06:44 pm (UTC)~Nebula
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Date: 2006-07-25 07:27 pm (UTC)set off by itself was a perfect comedic beat. (Please forgive me, I still have WriterCon buzzing through my head.)
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Date: 2006-07-25 11:37 pm (UTC)~Nebula
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Date: 2006-07-25 07:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-25 11:39 pm (UTC)~Nebula
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Date: 2006-07-25 08:15 pm (UTC)Oh, man. I can just PICTURE Spike's face at that moment. First confusion, then realization, then an exasperated 'oh bloody hell'. *cackle*
Neb, I'm very upset with you. You've got be ENJOYING Spuffy. I mean, actually wanting to put the pairing in one of my stories enjoying. *head-desk* I'm getting plot bunnies for the pairing in Exorcist of the Vampire, even. Oh, man, this is all your fault. *nods* yes, yes it is.
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Date: 2006-07-25 11:43 pm (UTC)Glad Spike's emotions were really evident there. I kept picturing him doing that myself; I mean, it's just Spike. You so know that he would do that, you know? ~_^
Really? Really truly honestly? SQUEEEEEEEEE!! *does happy dance* I'm SO glad sweetie. That makes me oh so happy, because I know you love your Spander to death, so if you like Spuffy even the tiniest bit, my day is made. ^__________________________^
You write wonderful Spuffy! (This isn't just because I have been the recipient of your only two fics in it...~_^) You can like Spander and Spuffy at the same time, you know. I did for ages. I couldn't stand Buffy getting bashed in Spander (which I love that you don't do), or Xander getting bashed in Spuffy (which I don't do).
I take full responsibility, I really do. ^_^
~Nebula
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Date: 2006-07-26 02:11 am (UTC)Yes, I'll be sure to point in your direction when I finally write a Spuffy that's not for you. *grin* Yup, I didn't do it, it's all Nebula's fault. XD
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Date: 2006-07-28 05:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-29 04:18 am (UTC)Like how you've caught Buffy's confusion and denial here. Show with such lines as: She just wasn't sure if she wanted to use her hand or her lips
her grin long gone in the face of what she refused to call panic.