At First Glance
At First Glance
Joss is god, I just play in his world.
Spike sat in one of L.A.’s many dimly lit bars, nursing his third beer of the night. He scowled at the mirror over the bar, cursing the fact that he was already a little bit drunk.
His reflection scowled back.
Bloody Powers that Screw with Your Life, he mentally groused.
Not to be taken the wrong way, he wouldn’t give up saving Fred’s life for anything, but he had loved being a vampire. He hadn’t even really wanted the buggerin’ shanshu; it was mostly because Angel wanted it so badly, but now he was stuck with it and everything it included. He’d lost most of his strength, though he was still stronger than the average man his size. He didn’t have the blood lust or the sun allergy anymore but he’d gained all of the unpleasantness that accompanied being human as well as having to deal with the Brooding Avenger’s constant pouting over his great gleaming prophesy being snatched away.
Spike took another large swallow of his beer as a woman seated herself next to him, her lack of reflection putting him on alert.
“Come here often?” she asked and Spike nearly choked on the liquid.
His gaze flew to the mirror (still no reflection) then to the impossibility sitting next to him, smiling smugly.
“Buffy?” he asked, after his choking had subsided.
“In the flesh,” she said. “As you seem to be. Were you planning on telling me about that anytime soon?”
“Buffy?” he asked again as she claimed his glass and took a sip. “How? When?”
Then finally, “You’re a vampire.”
“Yep, happened last month on patrol and by a fledgling no less.”
She looked disgusted with herself, then shrugged.
“Oh, well,” she concluded then leveled him with a gaze he knew all too well.
“Looks like you’ve got some explaining to do yourself. Not only are you not dead but you’re also…not dead! Mind telling me just how that happened?”
And he did, from his re-materialization in Angel’s office to his recorporealization in the lobby to the day he saved Fred from the demon dust and suddenly felt his heart kick start him back into the land of aliveness. (He had to admit that he was pretty drunk by that point in his narration.) Buffy listened to it all in silence until he reached the end.
“And in all that time,” she finally began. “You don’t call, don’t write, not even a friggin’ e-mail!”
Her eyes flashed golden for a moment before she got herself under control.
She sounded hurt and Spike shrugged, not meeting her accusing gaze.
“Don’t know pet,” he muttered. “Seemed kind of anticlimactic, I guess. You knowing I went up in a blaze o’ glory then gettin’ a bloody phone call a month or so later; ‘Hey, I’m not dead, how’re things?”
He finished his beer, feeling her silence like a weight on his chest, wondering how long he could put off staggering to the loo. Bleeding human body functions.
“Do you like it?” Buffy asked, suddenly.
“Being human,” she repeated. “Do you like it?”
He pretended to take time to contemplate her question for a moment before giving up all pretenses and burying his face in his hands.
“It’s bloody awful, luv. I haven’t been human for 130 friggin years an’ I hated it the first time around!”
She was silent again. Must be a new record, Spike thought and had to stifle a drunken giggle before he embarrassed himself.
“Well,” she said after several minutes. “If you really hate being human, I could…maybe…remedy it.”
He turned and looked at her full on for the first time since she had taken her seat, then leaned (toppled) forward and kissed the surprised slayer vampire full on the mouth.
“I bleedin’ love you, pet.”