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anythingdrabbleTitle: Dreamers
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Characters/Pairings: Spike/Buffy
Word Count: 500
Rating: PG/K+
Summary: Spike knows he doesn't deserve her.
The moon was round and already high in the sky when he rose from his slumber. He stood for a moment, gazing up at the great, orange ball that he could clearly see that night despite the city lights' attempt to intrude. He could hear laughter not too far away. For a moment, something strange settled over him. He didn't have a heart, so it couldn't be hurting. But still, something seemed amiss.
He was definitely aching for something, and he knew what it was -- or rather, who -- if he was honest with himself. He wondered what she had dreamed about today and if she'd managed to stay awake during class. She'd once told him that she tended to daydream more often than actually dream, but he knew better. At home, in her bed, she was plagued with nightmares, dreams of those she'd not been able to save, nasty foretellings of when she would one night fail to stop the monster she was slaying, twisty turns of other ways her life could have been.
He couldn't blame her for wanting her life differently. She deserved only the best of things. He certainly wasn't that, he thought, walking away from his open door and scoffing at the filth with which he was surrounded. He lived in an old crypt in a cemetery. He was a blood-sucking monster himself. He had no right dreaming such dreams as he'd dreamed today of such a beautiful, strong heroine, and she was a hero in so many ways. He'd seen that with the way she cared for her family, both blood and extended. He'd seen that with how much she genuinely cared about the people she saved, even when they never cared about her; she'd received little recognition since that school dance where she'd gotten that glistening, golden parasol and danced in the Great Poof's arms. Bloody bastard, he always got the best things and women!
But Buffy was so much more than any of that or anything either of them could ever procure. She was worth more than any bloke could offer. For a long moment, Spike sat on his bed, truly considering not going out that night, not opening himself up to the fresh pains of seeing Buffy again and knowing he could never be the one for her. She'd asked him once if he dreamed, when she'd been talking about her own dreams. He'd given her some offhand answer that he cannot even recall now, but it was meant as a quick flick of smoke and mirrors.
Yes, he dreamed. He dreamed every bloody day of her, how terrible he was, how amazing she was, and all the reasons he could never deserve her. His dreams had tortured him all day long with those very thoughts. If he had any sense, he'd stay home, filthy, lowly crypt that it was.
But then who'd ever accused him of having sense? Spike shot out his door, knowing at least he'd get to see her.
The End
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Characters/Pairings: Spike/Buffy
Word Count: 500
Rating: PG/K+
Summary: Spike knows he doesn't deserve her.
The moon was round and already high in the sky when he rose from his slumber. He stood for a moment, gazing up at the great, orange ball that he could clearly see that night despite the city lights' attempt to intrude. He could hear laughter not too far away. For a moment, something strange settled over him. He didn't have a heart, so it couldn't be hurting. But still, something seemed amiss.
He was definitely aching for something, and he knew what it was -- or rather, who -- if he was honest with himself. He wondered what she had dreamed about today and if she'd managed to stay awake during class. She'd once told him that she tended to daydream more often than actually dream, but he knew better. At home, in her bed, she was plagued with nightmares, dreams of those she'd not been able to save, nasty foretellings of when she would one night fail to stop the monster she was slaying, twisty turns of other ways her life could have been.
He couldn't blame her for wanting her life differently. She deserved only the best of things. He certainly wasn't that, he thought, walking away from his open door and scoffing at the filth with which he was surrounded. He lived in an old crypt in a cemetery. He was a blood-sucking monster himself. He had no right dreaming such dreams as he'd dreamed today of such a beautiful, strong heroine, and she was a hero in so many ways. He'd seen that with the way she cared for her family, both blood and extended. He'd seen that with how much she genuinely cared about the people she saved, even when they never cared about her; she'd received little recognition since that school dance where she'd gotten that glistening, golden parasol and danced in the Great Poof's arms. Bloody bastard, he always got the best things and women!
But Buffy was so much more than any of that or anything either of them could ever procure. She was worth more than any bloke could offer. For a long moment, Spike sat on his bed, truly considering not going out that night, not opening himself up to the fresh pains of seeing Buffy again and knowing he could never be the one for her. She'd asked him once if he dreamed, when she'd been talking about her own dreams. He'd given her some offhand answer that he cannot even recall now, but it was meant as a quick flick of smoke and mirrors.
Yes, he dreamed. He dreamed every bloody day of her, how terrible he was, how amazing she was, and all the reasons he could never deserve her. His dreams had tortured him all day long with those very thoughts. If he had any sense, he'd stay home, filthy, lowly crypt that it was.
But then who'd ever accused him of having sense? Spike shot out his door, knowing at least he'd get to see her.
The End
