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fandomweekly2022-03-04 08:03 pm
apachefirecat) wrote in fandomweekly2022-03-04 08:03 pm
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[128] Through the Weeds (Buffy the Vampire Slayer)
Theme Prompt: Gardening
Title: Through the Weeds
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Rating/Warnings: PG/K+ -- Character Death, Slight AU
Bonus: Yes, both of them, Spring flowers and daffodils
Word Count: 1000
Summary: It's time for them to rebuild.
He feels, rather than hears for the roar of his motor, her gasp as he pulls up along the meadow he found weeks ago. Up until now, this has been his hiding spot when things have gotten too tough, when he's just needed to escape for a little while, to escape the others, to escape his thoughts, even to escape Dawnie as she is such a vivid, beautiful, breathing, living reminder of her sister. He still misses Buffy. He can't think of her without a pain more terrible than anything else he's ever known welling up inside his chest, feeling like it might break him completely and destroy all that is left.
It would have too, months ago, if it hadn't been for the Nibblet now jumping off the bike behind him. She's bouncing on her toes, somehow still having the energy and optimism for which youth are known. He often wonders how she manages to keep it, especially with everything they've been through and the fact that she's nowhere near as young as she seems. He knows the Key is ancient, and he knows, from their whispered conversations late, late at night, that she does sometimes feel every bit that old. No child should have to shoulder that burden, but Dawnie's never really been a child.
"Spike," she's squealing his name now, and he grimaces despite himself, "it's beautiful!" She races off into the meadow before he can check it for dangers, but he's come here often enough. He's pretty well got the spot marked as his own, so no other Vamp is going to try anything here. At least none that don't come wielding a death wish.
The moonlight glistens off her long, brown hair, and for a moment, his mind casts back to another time and another glowing mane. Despite the fact that they don't share actual blood, Dawn does sometimes look so very much like her beloved sister. His heart is hurting tonight, but at the same time, he can't help being pleased with her reaction. She's happier right now than he's seen her since long before her sister died.
He follows her at a slow, calm place and swings himself down to a sitting position underneath the tree he often visits, the tree in whose roots he once marked, with his bare fingernails one lonely night, the initials of himself and the only woman he's ever truly loved. He'd thought he'd loved Dru. He'd thought he was in love with Cecily. He would have followed his mother to the ends of the earth and even accepted being transformed for her in the frail, stupid hope that he could somehow save her. But he had never before known love until Buffy Anne Summers.
Reaching underneath his leather coat, Spike feels the grooves in the old tree's gnarled branches. He traces the letters of her name as he watches her sister, the girl child he'd vowed to protect after her death, racing, whooping, and somersaulting through the field of yellow daffodils. "I've been thinking, Dawnie," he starts low when she finally comes to a rest beside him. She's laying on her back on the ground, but the day's been warm enough that he doesn't have to worry about her catching cold. Her brown hairs pools around the yellow bulbs, a beautiful and utterly innocent sight.
He doesn't know how she's done it, still maintaining any innocence with everything she's been through in this mortal life. He knows she doesn't remember the things she did and that happened around her before she got this human flesh she now wears, but he also knows that the harrowing dangers she's experienced and loved ones she's lost since then have been more than enough to make any girl, or bloke, feel ancient. He certainly does, he admits to himself as he slouches down lower against the familiar bark.
Dawn turns her face to look directly at him, but she doesn't speak. There's a peaceful quiet that reigns over this ground, and she doesn't want to interrupt it. She also doesn't want to push him. She learned long ago that Spike will eventually share with her anything that is on her mind, if he thinks she should know it which he clearly does, else he wouldn't have started with that infamous line.
"I know we've been moving around for too long. Had to make sure you were safe, Nibblet." She watches him and sees a man who claims to be evil and yet feels the weight of the world. It may only be their world, but that is all the world that still matters to her. "Giles and Willow are here now, so we shouldn't have any problem of keeping you safe." He sniffs. "Still don't want you running in those old circles though. It got your sister killed -- "
"I'll help where I can, if it's safe and you say it's okay." She slides closer to him on the ground. It feels so good to be out in the country again.
"There's this little hamlet about thirty minutes from here. They've got a decent school too. And I was thinking maybe..."
"Can we stay close enough that we can visit here?" She doesn't pluck any of the flowers like most chits would. Instead she carefully cups a nearby yellow bulb in her palm. "I like it here."
"So do I," he admits, "but I was thinking maybe we could grow a garden together instead. Make our own place, kinda."
She shakes her head, and his eyebrows rise in question. "No. No kinda." She stops cupping the bud and reaches for his hand instead. She never seems to notice how cold his flesh is any time she takes his hand and joins her fingers with his. She squeezes. "We rebuild together. We make our own place. We get happy, just like she would've wanted."
He squeezes her hand and answers, turning his face away so that she will not see his tears, "Yes."
The End
Title: Through the Weeds
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Rating/Warnings: PG/K+ -- Character Death, Slight AU
Bonus: Yes, both of them, Spring flowers and daffodils
Word Count: 1000
Summary: It's time for them to rebuild.
He feels, rather than hears for the roar of his motor, her gasp as he pulls up along the meadow he found weeks ago. Up until now, this has been his hiding spot when things have gotten too tough, when he's just needed to escape for a little while, to escape the others, to escape his thoughts, even to escape Dawnie as she is such a vivid, beautiful, breathing, living reminder of her sister. He still misses Buffy. He can't think of her without a pain more terrible than anything else he's ever known welling up inside his chest, feeling like it might break him completely and destroy all that is left.
It would have too, months ago, if it hadn't been for the Nibblet now jumping off the bike behind him. She's bouncing on her toes, somehow still having the energy and optimism for which youth are known. He often wonders how she manages to keep it, especially with everything they've been through and the fact that she's nowhere near as young as she seems. He knows the Key is ancient, and he knows, from their whispered conversations late, late at night, that she does sometimes feel every bit that old. No child should have to shoulder that burden, but Dawnie's never really been a child.
"Spike," she's squealing his name now, and he grimaces despite himself, "it's beautiful!" She races off into the meadow before he can check it for dangers, but he's come here often enough. He's pretty well got the spot marked as his own, so no other Vamp is going to try anything here. At least none that don't come wielding a death wish.
The moonlight glistens off her long, brown hair, and for a moment, his mind casts back to another time and another glowing mane. Despite the fact that they don't share actual blood, Dawn does sometimes look so very much like her beloved sister. His heart is hurting tonight, but at the same time, he can't help being pleased with her reaction. She's happier right now than he's seen her since long before her sister died.
He follows her at a slow, calm place and swings himself down to a sitting position underneath the tree he often visits, the tree in whose roots he once marked, with his bare fingernails one lonely night, the initials of himself and the only woman he's ever truly loved. He'd thought he'd loved Dru. He'd thought he was in love with Cecily. He would have followed his mother to the ends of the earth and even accepted being transformed for her in the frail, stupid hope that he could somehow save her. But he had never before known love until Buffy Anne Summers.
Reaching underneath his leather coat, Spike feels the grooves in the old tree's gnarled branches. He traces the letters of her name as he watches her sister, the girl child he'd vowed to protect after her death, racing, whooping, and somersaulting through the field of yellow daffodils. "I've been thinking, Dawnie," he starts low when she finally comes to a rest beside him. She's laying on her back on the ground, but the day's been warm enough that he doesn't have to worry about her catching cold. Her brown hairs pools around the yellow bulbs, a beautiful and utterly innocent sight.
He doesn't know how she's done it, still maintaining any innocence with everything she's been through in this mortal life. He knows she doesn't remember the things she did and that happened around her before she got this human flesh she now wears, but he also knows that the harrowing dangers she's experienced and loved ones she's lost since then have been more than enough to make any girl, or bloke, feel ancient. He certainly does, he admits to himself as he slouches down lower against the familiar bark.
Dawn turns her face to look directly at him, but she doesn't speak. There's a peaceful quiet that reigns over this ground, and she doesn't want to interrupt it. She also doesn't want to push him. She learned long ago that Spike will eventually share with her anything that is on her mind, if he thinks she should know it which he clearly does, else he wouldn't have started with that infamous line.
"I know we've been moving around for too long. Had to make sure you were safe, Nibblet." She watches him and sees a man who claims to be evil and yet feels the weight of the world. It may only be their world, but that is all the world that still matters to her. "Giles and Willow are here now, so we shouldn't have any problem of keeping you safe." He sniffs. "Still don't want you running in those old circles though. It got your sister killed -- "
"I'll help where I can, if it's safe and you say it's okay." She slides closer to him on the ground. It feels so good to be out in the country again.
"There's this little hamlet about thirty minutes from here. They've got a decent school too. And I was thinking maybe..."
"Can we stay close enough that we can visit here?" She doesn't pluck any of the flowers like most chits would. Instead she carefully cups a nearby yellow bulb in her palm. "I like it here."
"So do I," he admits, "but I was thinking maybe we could grow a garden together instead. Make our own place, kinda."
She shakes her head, and his eyebrows rise in question. "No. No kinda." She stops cupping the bud and reaches for his hand instead. She never seems to notice how cold his flesh is any time she takes his hand and joins her fingers with his. She squeezes. "We rebuild together. We make our own place. We get happy, just like she would've wanted."
He squeezes her hand and answers, turning his face away so that she will not see his tears, "Yes."
The End