http://smells_corrupt.livejournal.com/ (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
smells_corrupt.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
sb_fag_ends2011-07-01 04:50 pm
smells_corrupt.livejournal.com) wrote in sb_fag_ends2011-07-01 04:50 pm
Entry tags:
Fic: 20 20 24 Minutes to Go
Author: smellslikecorruption
Title: 20 20 24 Minutes to Go (As far as puns go, that one is just...really awful.)
Rating: pg
Prompt: Twenty-Four
Summary: Buffy counts down the last twenty-four minutes of her birthday.
AN: Last mont I wanted to do something with Buffy's S7 birthday, but I couldn't figure anything out. And along came this month and the twenty-four prompt, and voila! Fic was born.
Eleven thirty-six on the night of Buffy’s twenty-second birthday, found her sitting in silence on her back porch, a grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. This was, by far, the best birthday she’d had in years and she’d spent the whole day avoiding the fact altogether. There had been no cake, no singing, no silly hats. Certainly no presents. Although, she mused, being able to slip out of an increasingly crowded house and spend half an hour alone was a fantastic present in and of it’s self. Better than an arm-in-a-box and all that followed, or a hulking, unbalanced, pissed off vampire, or a demon-Giles, or a bleeding sister, or The-House-Party-That-Refused-To-Die.
Or grounded and packing because she’d burned down the gym. Actually, in hindsight, that had been one of her better birthdays.
She checked her watch. Twenty-four more minutes and she could relax.
The back door eased open and as Buffy felt a familiar pricking on her back, she smiled.
“Hey.”
Spike dropped to the step beside her. “Hey. Do you mind? Dawn and the new one are doing laundry. And chattering up a storm.”
No doubt. Dawn was so excited about having someone she actually knew in the house she could hardly contain herself.
“It’s fine.”
So they sat, barely an inch between them, staring into the dark back yard. He was breathing in time with her, and she idly wondered if he did it on purpose. Timing his breath to match the human he’s with. Memories raced through her, unbidden, proving her theory wrong.
Spike sawing air, angry and restraining himself while she baits him, Buffy gasping in the middle of a fight while Spike breathes steady, Spike panting in her ear as her body tautens and she forgets how to breathe.
She shivered, and tried not to think about straddling him in the cemetery two nights ago. She failed.
Fourteen minutes.
“How are you’re ribs?” her voice was too bright, her face too…something, but if he noticed he kept his mouth shut.
“Fine. Thought I’d be completely healed by now, though. Been nearly a month.”
And she thought today had been stressful. It had nothing on the days she’d spent trying to get him back from The First. House filling up with frightened girls, Neanderthal vampires. And, always, frantically trying to locate Spike, and even more frantically trying to hold on the excuse that they needed him back because of the trigger, and not because the idea of him dying made her blood run cold.
She shivered again. “I’m really glad you’re okay.”
The look on his face made her breath catch and her heart stutter, but she didn’t look away.
Awe…and love. Again. Still. Even if he never said it anymore.
He cleared his throat. “I, uh, I knew. That you’d find me.”
“How?”
His boots suddenly became a lot more interesting. “Because you’re Buffy.”
Their eyes met then, and she really didn’t know what to say, because the sheer amount of faith he has in her? It’s kind of mind-blowing. So she did the only thing she could. She went back to staring at the yard.
Six minutes.
Spike was still looking at her. She could feel it on her neck, but she couldn’t turn around because it was still her birthday for another four minutes, and no way could she risk another birthday disaster. Not now. Not while the worlds was already falling to pieces around her.
Instead she stared at her watch until, finally, finally it wasn’t her birthday anymore. The extra tension she’d been carrying around all day rolled off of her, leaving nothing more than the usual apocalypse stress headache.
Spike was smiling when she turned back to him. His hand came down to cover hers for a moment that was so brief she nearly thought she’d imagined it. But his hand lingered closer to her than it had been before, and her own skin was burning from his touch.
“Happy not-birthday Slayer.”
“Spike do you want to-“ Patrol? Go for walk? Hold my hand again? Kiss me?
Before she could settle on a way to end the question, a crash sounded from inside, followed by Anya’s voice.
“You’ve been told at least a dozen times not to play with the crossbows in the house. Buffy’s going to be very displeased about that window.”
Buffy groaned. They’d just replaced those too.
Spike grinned at her ruefully. “Once more unto the breach?”
He offered his hand, and she took it.
Title: 20 20 24 Minutes to Go (As far as puns go, that one is just...really awful.)
Rating: pg
Prompt: Twenty-Four
Summary: Buffy counts down the last twenty-four minutes of her birthday.
AN: Last mont I wanted to do something with Buffy's S7 birthday, but I couldn't figure anything out. And along came this month and the twenty-four prompt, and voila! Fic was born.
Eleven thirty-six on the night of Buffy’s twenty-second birthday, found her sitting in silence on her back porch, a grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. This was, by far, the best birthday she’d had in years and she’d spent the whole day avoiding the fact altogether. There had been no cake, no singing, no silly hats. Certainly no presents. Although, she mused, being able to slip out of an increasingly crowded house and spend half an hour alone was a fantastic present in and of it’s self. Better than an arm-in-a-box and all that followed, or a hulking, unbalanced, pissed off vampire, or a demon-Giles, or a bleeding sister, or The-House-Party-That-Refused-To-Die.
Or grounded and packing because she’d burned down the gym. Actually, in hindsight, that had been one of her better birthdays.
She checked her watch. Twenty-four more minutes and she could relax.
The back door eased open and as Buffy felt a familiar pricking on her back, she smiled.
“Hey.”
Spike dropped to the step beside her. “Hey. Do you mind? Dawn and the new one are doing laundry. And chattering up a storm.”
No doubt. Dawn was so excited about having someone she actually knew in the house she could hardly contain herself.
“It’s fine.”
So they sat, barely an inch between them, staring into the dark back yard. He was breathing in time with her, and she idly wondered if he did it on purpose. Timing his breath to match the human he’s with. Memories raced through her, unbidden, proving her theory wrong.
Spike sawing air, angry and restraining himself while she baits him, Buffy gasping in the middle of a fight while Spike breathes steady, Spike panting in her ear as her body tautens and she forgets how to breathe.
She shivered, and tried not to think about straddling him in the cemetery two nights ago. She failed.
Fourteen minutes.
“How are you’re ribs?” her voice was too bright, her face too…something, but if he noticed he kept his mouth shut.
“Fine. Thought I’d be completely healed by now, though. Been nearly a month.”
And she thought today had been stressful. It had nothing on the days she’d spent trying to get him back from The First. House filling up with frightened girls, Neanderthal vampires. And, always, frantically trying to locate Spike, and even more frantically trying to hold on the excuse that they needed him back because of the trigger, and not because the idea of him dying made her blood run cold.
She shivered again. “I’m really glad you’re okay.”
The look on his face made her breath catch and her heart stutter, but she didn’t look away.
Awe…and love. Again. Still. Even if he never said it anymore.
He cleared his throat. “I, uh, I knew. That you’d find me.”
“How?”
His boots suddenly became a lot more interesting. “Because you’re Buffy.”
Their eyes met then, and she really didn’t know what to say, because the sheer amount of faith he has in her? It’s kind of mind-blowing. So she did the only thing she could. She went back to staring at the yard.
Six minutes.
Spike was still looking at her. She could feel it on her neck, but she couldn’t turn around because it was still her birthday for another four minutes, and no way could she risk another birthday disaster. Not now. Not while the worlds was already falling to pieces around her.
Instead she stared at her watch until, finally, finally it wasn’t her birthday anymore. The extra tension she’d been carrying around all day rolled off of her, leaving nothing more than the usual apocalypse stress headache.
Spike was smiling when she turned back to him. His hand came down to cover hers for a moment that was so brief she nearly thought she’d imagined it. But his hand lingered closer to her than it had been before, and her own skin was burning from his touch.
“Happy not-birthday Slayer.”
“Spike do you want to-“ Patrol? Go for walk? Hold my hand again? Kiss me?
Before she could settle on a way to end the question, a crash sounded from inside, followed by Anya’s voice.
“You’ve been told at least a dozen times not to play with the crossbows in the house. Buffy’s going to be very displeased about that window.”
Buffy groaned. They’d just replaced those too.
Spike grinned at her ruefully. “Once more unto the breach?”
He offered his hand, and she took it.