first_summers | Riverview >> Inbox

There might be something in the kitchen, but probably not. Pick something up on the way, I'll pay for it.

[ Because she wants to see him. Please. ]

[That dark side in his mind told him that this was too easy. That there was some shoe waiting to drop when he got there, but he still remembered that dream. Still remembered the taste of her on his tongue, and that's what prompted him to reply back:]

Be there in 20.

[ Twenty minutes is too long and yet nowhere near enough time. To make the passing of those seconds a little easier, she straightens up her room a little, not that there's actually much to straighten since she has yet to really personalize it. She brushes her hair, washes her face, pulls a white silk robe on over her blue tank top and pajama pants, and then... just waits.

Fifteen minutes. Ten. Seven. Too long for the way her stomach is twisting itself into knots. Far too long. ]

[He doesn't rush, but he doesn't take his time, stopping in to get something to drink. That's where he wastes the most time, actually. What does one bring over to drink at the Slayer's? Can't be too pricey, or she'll realize how much thought he put into it. Can't be pisswater either, otherwise it'll look like he's trying not to care too much.

He settles for a black label whiskey that he's gotten to like while being here, paying for it and heading over to the communal building with a look up at the sky. He's got hours until dawn, but it's still best to check and be sure. Wouldn't want to be trapped in the stairwell until nightfall. That'd make for a boring day.

Still, he shows up, nails with black-chipped paint on them that has him cursing silently to himself that he didn't take the time to redo them. Black trenchcoat, black boots, black jeans, black tshirt, broken up by the dark blue button up he had open underneath it. He'd been told it brought out his eyes.

... What did he care if it did?

... Why was he lying to himself? Taking a deep breath, he knocked quickly on the door, wondering if she'd open it with a stake or not.]

[ Honestly, Buffy wouldn't have given much thought at all to whatever alcohol Spike decided to bring. If it were expensive, she'd assume he chose that one because she offered to pay for it. Cheap would be explained by the fact that he's not the typical job type. No, she has other things on her mind while she waits, when she jumps at the knock on the door, when she takes her own deep breath and goes to open it, her hands very obviously empty. ]

Come on in, Spike.

[ There's a small smile there, her body language relaxed while her expression is just a bit nervous. She steps back from the door to let him in, hesitates just a moment, then gestures toward the kitchen. ]

I'll get some glasses.

[The invitation was still a surprise. Oh, sure, he'd been invited into the Scoobie den before, but there was always the 'And if you do anything, I'll kill you' comment that went along with it. Not that he'd been able to do anything. That had been why they'd allowed him in.

Still, he noticed the smile and the invitation, stepping in close to pass her by as he holds up the bottle.]

Hope you can stomach whiskey. I'm not much for girly wine.

[Of course, he could have gone for beer, something he knew they both drank, but... well. Shut up.]

[ It would have felt wrong not to invite Spike into her home, even if this one is nothing like the house she'd lost in Sunnydale. A simple apartment without much of her own touch, and shared living spaces at that, but... still. He's a part of her life and there's no getting around that. ]

Whiskey's fine. I might make a face. [ There's even another smile at that before she turns, somewhat awkwardly, to find two suitable glasses in the kitchen. There's not much to choose from there, but it's better than sharing swigs straight from the bottle -- like that day he wouldn't remember. ]

You make a face when you drink beer, Pet. Bubbly water's a bit too much for you.

{Was he mocking her? Maybe a little. Teasing, more likely. But he wouldn't have minded sharing swig for swig. Germs were never something he had to worry about, and there'd be the added bonus of that little bit of a taste of her. There was that predator part of him coming to rise again...]

[ For a second, she looks like she's going to both pout and protest that statement, but then she just shrugs with a look of acceptance -- since, well, he's not wrong. And she likes that he's teasing her again, it feels like the good old days. Or the good... future days, for him.

Retrieving two short glasses from a cabinet, she nods toward the private rooms before leading the way to her own. It's late and she doesn't want to wake anyone, but part of her has to wonder if it wouldn't have been better to do this anywhere else. ]

[He can smell that one of the rooms has more of a concentration of her scent. Her room. Her bedroom. Well, that was just bringing to mind a whole host of things, and he found himself wiping a suddenly sweaty palm over the side of his jeans. Right. It was just a dream. Just a stupid dream.

He wasn't in love with her. The future was a lie. This was just... well. Something familiar.]

After you.

[ Buffy doesn't think about those things, because it hurts too much to remember those days and know that this Spike hates her. Even if he doesn't really, he thinks he does, and he isn't the Spike she fell in love with. Not yet. He just... could be.

The room isn't different from any of the others, save for the few tiny personal touches she's made to it. A light blue blanket draped across the end of the bed. The beaded necklaces she'd recently acquired hanging from the lamp on the desk, a few papers from work carefully stacked beneath them. She walks inside and sets the glasses on the desk beside those papers before turning to Spike, crossing her arms awkwardly for lack of anything else to do with them. ]

Well, this is it. Nothing special. [ Nothing like what she used to have. ]

Right. Better than what they set me up in.

[Still, he looks around, moving over to go run his fingers over the beads dangling from the lamp. She never changed. Not really. Always that steel cord running through her wrapped up in lace and pink. She looked like she'd fall over in a storm, but he knew better.

Holding up the bottle, he gestured at the glasses.]

Shall I?

[ It's been hard to stay strong without any of her anchors to keep her standing. First she'd lost Dawn, Giles, her friends, their emotional ties effectively mangled by that one night back in Sunnydale. Yes, she'd still fought to keep them safe, she would always do that given the chance, but... Things will never be the same between them. And then Spike. She'd lost him completely, finally, and now here he was, Spike but not her Spike, and she tries not to let it break her even further. ]

Please.

[ She hesitates for a moment, then takes a seat on the edge of the bed, the only other spot the chair at the desk. Whichever he decides to take is fine with her, and she'll try not to openly admit that she'd prefer he be next to her. Because she shouldn't want that, not with him not having lived through those months yet, but when did her heart ever do what she told it to. ]

[He went to grab the drinks, taking them over to sit not far from her on the bed. Not because he wanted to be closer -- well, not entirely, but because it was easier to hand her one of the glasses caught in his fingers, easier to pour them both a drink when they were both there. Easier to set the bottle down on the little night table and lift his glass to her.]

Here's to... the crazy never stopping.

[ She watches his hands the entire time, noticing the chipped paint but not thinking anything of it other than it being a sign of typical Spike. When he's set aside the bottle, she lifts her glass to gently tap against his. ]

We'd be bored without it.

[ There's a grin, because it's so true it's a little pathetic, and then she takes a sip of the drink--

and promptly makes a face. It's stronger than what she'd had at the bar a few days earlier with him, and her expression is nothing compared to what it had been the night she'd gotten drunk in his crypt (and around town), but it's still something akin to a grimace. Give it another few sips and she'll get used to it. ]

Bloody right.

[He watched her drink first, laughing when he got the look he'd been expecting, then downing a healthy swallow out of his own glass.]

Need to build up your tolerance, Slayer. Be a bit of an irony if it's Jack Daniels that takes you down when no other could.

I guess you'll just have to drink with me more often then.

[ It's slipped into the conversation almost as an aside rather than the hopeful invitation it is. It would be nice if they continued to meet like this, for drinks or sparring or... anything, really. A few years ago, she would have looked at herself and been appalled at how she was wishing so desperately to spend time with any man, let alone Spike, but the last few months really had changed everything for her.

It's not pathetic to want to be with the person you love, even when they don't love you back. It's just... a little sad, that's all. ]

[Give him time, Buffy. He was slowly getting there. He hadn't had the same amount of years to get used to it as her. Things might develop differently here if she wasn't constantly telling him to back off.

Still, the words got him to raise both brows, the nicked one closest to her as he gave her a look.]

That another invitation? Careful, Goldilocks. I might start to think you like having me around.

[ Time is something she has in spades now that there aren't a dozen things trying to kill her on a daily basis, or an annual impending apocalypse trying to destroy the world. She'll wait however long she has to if it means even a chance at having him back in her life.

She smiles over at him with amusement and affection practically beaming from her expression. ] Well, we wouldn't want that.

[ It's clear that she's teasing, being nothing more than playful, or... at least, she hopes it's clear. Taking another sip of her drink, she's quiet for a moment before turning a bit to face him more fully. ] Will you tell me something? Anything, about your life here.

Tell you what? I haven't been here that long -- few months at most.

[Still, he may have things to tell. Not all of them things he wanted to share with her. It felt... wrong. Personal. A bit like he'd done something he shouldn't have, but he didn't exactly regret it. It was... complicated.]

That's longer than me.

[ It doesn't matter what he tells her, so long as it doesn't involve murder she (probably) won't judge him for it. Her days of judging people for all sorts of indiscretions went right out the window when she started accumulating a list of her own. ]

But I don't know. I guess... Do you have friends here? What do you do for fun?

[ And wow does she sound lame. And desperate. Lamely desperate and desperately lame. Good job, Buffy. ]

Got... dunno. Couple blokes I hang around with. One's older than the Master. Immortal, apparently. In that real way you don't actually see. Other's an older fellow. Ex assassin, if I had to guess. Nice enough. Has good taste in whiskey and doesn't mind sharing.

[He wondered for a moment if she was trying to subtly ask if there were other women in his life here. Any Harmonys or Drus to keep him company.]

Do what I normally do, though... I got work now. Funny thing, they seem to like handing out jobs here.

[ There hadn't been any conscious thought of other women in his life, but... maybe it was there, buried under everything else. She doesn't have a right to be jealous, she should be happy if he has someone here. He doesn't mention anyone, though, and she's a little glad for it. ]

It seems a little too good to be true, all of this. [ Quietly, she adds while looking down into her glass-- ] I want it all to be true.

[ She clears her throat and turns her attention back to him. ] I'm glad you have friends here, Spike.

Too good to be true? Some magical reality pulling people in who feel out of place? I'd think you'd be a bit squirrelly about that. Leaving all those you love behind. You may run off now and then, Pet, but you always come back.

[He realized how that may have sounded, clearing his throat before he took another sip.]

Go back. To them, I mean.

It's not that simple anymore.

[ If she sounds heartbroken, it's because she is. When she'd first arrived in this place, she'd been under the impression that she didn't really have anyone to go back to, not anyone who couldn't manage well enough without her. ]

There's only one person I'd want to go back to, and you're sitting right here.

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