Green Eggs and Spike
Summary: Set in supposed Season 7, spoilers for the end of S6. Spike and Buffy are together.
Rating: PG-15 For language and some sexual ... wording.
Archiving: Carnal Sins, Only Time, DeathMarkedLove, all other please ask.
A/N: I have no idea where this came from. One of those Saturday afternoon ramblings.
At that moment she felt like singing... one of those songs from long ago... from years ago, from lifetimes ago... so far away they were.
She watched her hands as he packed before her. Black shirts that he always wore, green shirts she had told him to buy but later found out that he stole, white shirts he would never confess to having.
His two pairs of black jeans. One pair was nearly gray-white, the same one he's had since she first met him, five years ago. The other was dark black denim that he wore for special occasions like fucking on the back row of the theatre.
It didn't take much to please him. Just giving herself to him.
But herself was all she had. It was the most precious thing. The one thing no one should have.
That was why he was leaving.
She thought they had everything worked out. She thought everything was ok.
But the moment they had to walk into the Magic Box holding hands she had failed the test.
His hands felt cold and clammy against her smaller warm ones and she had instinctively dropped it. Like a cold salmon on the dock. Lifeless and dead. She had hated his nature that moment.
Her friends stared at her with question, they already knew but it was time to make it official. She couldn't do it.
It killed her to do it.
It killed him.
No longer would he growl and snip at her.
He stared at her warmer hands, the former holder--never at her--only her hands. The one connection to the world and he simply walked out.
She would've called him if it were not for her sore throat--she swore she had a sore throat.
So she just watched him leave.
She turned to look at her wolf pack--that group of friends made family.
Her sister rolled her eyes at her and walked to the back room. Anya clicked her tongue and went back to counting her money on the counter where she had fucked her boyfriend silly.
Xander was delighted and she could've hit him at that moment.
Willow looked around uncomfortable... Giles took off his glasses and rubbed them spot-free.
She knew she had made a mistake.
"I'm gonna get some air," she had told them.
And they all nodded like they didn't know she was going to go after him--like this was some natural occurrence, like this was ok.
But it wasn't ok. She loved a soulless demon who loved her in return when he shouldn't--which made everything more complicated than a word problem.
If a girl has one heart and looses it how can she love another that offers her love? Even if he loves her as much as she ever will--enough to make her grow a heart. So one heart plus another equals what?
She hated math.
She hated him for making her use math in real life--making all her high school teachers right in their math persistence.
She walked out into the night after him. Like a shadow that looks for it's body.
He wasn't there.
So she ran to her house--their house.
The shack of love.
When the lady May meets December, she looks forward to a warm July.
She was running after her old man--120 yrs old and crazy for him... as long as they didn't have an audience she would hold his hands all he wanted. She would kiss it and warm it in her breath, until it tingled with life.
She found him in her room--his room-- packing his shirts.
He said nothing, she said nothing.
Black shirt, black shirt, red shirt, green.
I do not like green eggs and Spike; I do not like them Buffy I am.
He says not a thing so she decides to sit across from him on her chair, filled with pink fluffy pillows and fluffy bunnies. A girl's room for a woman.
Her heart flutters since his face gives nothing. She has to say something--anything--now or never.
"So... where ya going?" in valley girl talk, small smile, blonde thoughts.
He looks up at her as if she's grown another head. This is not the same girl who nearly spanked him with lust last night.
He sighs and continues his packing.
Now he's picking up his socks and his jelly... she starts to panic and stands in front of him.
"I'm sorry, ok?"
Sorry doesn't cut it, Scarlett O'Hara-- it's too late m' valley-belle.
"I'm leaving," he says.
She stared at the top of his bleached head. Hard hair that is slicked back with power and warning.
Don't fuck with me, it says.
"Where are you going?" she asks in a small voice, picking up Mr. Gordo as if he were going out for a business trip. He'll be back Monday, Mrs. Summers--a business trip, you know.
"Don't know," he answers back and he's done packing.
She freaked and stands in front of him.
"Please... let's just... talk."
"You never want to talk, slayer." he says and walks around her.
Slayer, so we're back to slayer? She thinks.
"Give me time," she begs at his back. Strong hard, unyielding back.
"Gave you time," he says over his shoulder, as he quickly climbs down their stairs.
Small sob--tinny like a rabbity prey. "Just a bit more, Spike..."
He grabs packets of his blood from the freezer and stuffs them in his back. He doesn't care to even get his cooler.
He grabs his shoulders and takes his face in her hands. Small tiny hands and lips that flutter kisses and pleas.
He stands still--like the rock of Gibraltar.
Tura lura lura....
Irish lullabies to an English poet.
"I love you, I love you," she whispers over and over, like a plea, a chant, calling the god of wisdom.
"You love me in hiding," he growls and pulls away.
She doesn't know what to do with her hands, her lips, her heart, her soul... she was giving it to him, on a lend. Five orgasms a day. A bargain.
"I do not--they know," she reasons after him as he walks to the front door.
He doesn't stop--he doesn't turn he continues down the yellow brick road.
"I'd die with out you," she calls from her front door as he walks down the steps.
He looks at her.
"And you'd come back... you always do... my immortal slayer."