355: Soap - BtVS - Joyce, Spike - Clean
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anythingdrabbleTitle: Clean
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Characters/Pairings: Joyce, Spike, Buffy
Word Count: 500
Rating: PG/K+
Summary: In which Spike comes to the rescue with a spot of cleaning.
She was right, Joyce thought, stopping to stare at the blouse in her hands. The blood spot was still just as large, if a darker shade of crimson than when she had first set to work on it. Tears pricked the mother's eyes as she glared at the offending spot. Buffy was right. She was growing to hate having to admit that, and it had nothing to do with her daughter's coming of age and everything with her becoming the Slayer.
The Slayer, Joyce sniffed, pushing back a fallen lock of hair with a soapy hand. She was still just a little girl, her little girl! There was so very little she could do to help her, and now, it seemed, she couldn't even save her last favorite shirt from before. From before her husband divorced her. From before her own mother died. From before she had to pick up roots from the town she knew and the house she loved to try to rebuild, to give Buffy a better future --
And that future had been stolen from her by some stupid English guy and some bloody, ancient "calling"! She was a kid! Joyce didn't hear the tender fabric begin to rip in the last blouse her mother had bought her daughter, but suddenly, there were hands around her own, gently guiding her out of the sink.
"Easy, luv," the British lilt murmuring next to her ears was becoming familiar. Familiar and soothing, as he cut through her despair to begin soothing her tears right away. She knew she looked a mess, but Spike wouldn't care. It wasn't like that between them. It couldn't be like that between them.
"Hey, why don't you let me have a go at the pet's shirt, and you go find us that bottle of wine for Passions? It'll be on soon, just a few minutes now."
"But -- " Joyce fidgeted, wouldn't meet his gaze. "What do you know," she asked at length, "about girls' clothes?"
Spike grinned. Either she wasn't bothered by his fangs, or she refused to notice them, as so many humans did until it was too late. "I've been washing clothes long before there were machines for it, luv. Saved a number of outfits for me ol' mum an' my ex." His accent was thicker than usual, but he knew she liked it that way.
Joyce snorted. "She never deserved you."
"No more'n Hank deserved you," he added, and was almost tempted to say Buffy also didn't deserve her. But then, the Slayer had a way of making people fall hard for her in both love and dedication, didn't she?"
"I must look a mess," Joyce said, withdrawing her hands from his and trying to shield her face from view.
"You're beautiful, pet, always," he assured and felt, rather than saw, her blush as he turned to focus on Buffy's blouse. He'd fed before he'd came, good thing too, but it wasn't her blood. He'd get it cleaned.
The End
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Characters/Pairings: Joyce, Spike, Buffy
Word Count: 500
Rating: PG/K+
Summary: In which Spike comes to the rescue with a spot of cleaning.
She was right, Joyce thought, stopping to stare at the blouse in her hands. The blood spot was still just as large, if a darker shade of crimson than when she had first set to work on it. Tears pricked the mother's eyes as she glared at the offending spot. Buffy was right. She was growing to hate having to admit that, and it had nothing to do with her daughter's coming of age and everything with her becoming the Slayer.
The Slayer, Joyce sniffed, pushing back a fallen lock of hair with a soapy hand. She was still just a little girl, her little girl! There was so very little she could do to help her, and now, it seemed, she couldn't even save her last favorite shirt from before. From before her husband divorced her. From before her own mother died. From before she had to pick up roots from the town she knew and the house she loved to try to rebuild, to give Buffy a better future --
And that future had been stolen from her by some stupid English guy and some bloody, ancient "calling"! She was a kid! Joyce didn't hear the tender fabric begin to rip in the last blouse her mother had bought her daughter, but suddenly, there were hands around her own, gently guiding her out of the sink.
"Easy, luv," the British lilt murmuring next to her ears was becoming familiar. Familiar and soothing, as he cut through her despair to begin soothing her tears right away. She knew she looked a mess, but Spike wouldn't care. It wasn't like that between them. It couldn't be like that between them.
"Hey, why don't you let me have a go at the pet's shirt, and you go find us that bottle of wine for Passions? It'll be on soon, just a few minutes now."
"But -- " Joyce fidgeted, wouldn't meet his gaze. "What do you know," she asked at length, "about girls' clothes?"
Spike grinned. Either she wasn't bothered by his fangs, or she refused to notice them, as so many humans did until it was too late. "I've been washing clothes long before there were machines for it, luv. Saved a number of outfits for me ol' mum an' my ex." His accent was thicker than usual, but he knew she liked it that way.
Joyce snorted. "She never deserved you."
"No more'n Hank deserved you," he added, and was almost tempted to say Buffy also didn't deserve her. But then, the Slayer had a way of making people fall hard for her in both love and dedication, didn't she?"
"I must look a mess," Joyce said, withdrawing her hands from his and trying to shield her face from view.
"You're beautiful, pet, always," he assured and felt, rather than saw, her blush as he turned to focus on Buffy's blouse. He'd fed before he'd came, good thing too, but it wasn't her blood. He'd get it cleaned.
The End
