still_grrr | 133 ficlet

deird1 posting in

Title: Two Minutes
Author:

deird1
Rating: PG
Word Count: 585
Prompt: 133 (comfy)
Characters: Buffy, Spike

Two Minutes

The doors closed with a clang, and they both stood there for a moment, listening to the muffled sounds coming from inside.

Buffy took a deep breath. “You really think they’ll be okay?”

“Your idea, wasn’t it? Shouldn’t you know?”

She shut her eyes. “Spike?”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve just shut four teenage girls in a crypt with a vicious rampaging monster. This is the time to be really positive and hopeful.”

“Okay, then.” He paused, and then continued in bright tones, “Cheer up, love! They’ll be just dandy. No need to worry!”

Spike fell silent again — just long enough for her to start listening to the violent struggle going on behind the crypt doors — and then asked matter-of-factly, “How was that?”

“Better.”

“Good.”

She couldn’t go in there. They needed to learn what they could do without her. She should stay outside until it was over… one way or the other… She just– she had to do something. Just open the door, grab the stake, and– no. She couldn’t. She had to let them do it for themselves. And learn self-reliance. And responsibility. And… she had to go in! She had to help! She couldn’t let them– she… she had to think about something else.

Buffy turned, taking in the rest of the graveyard.

The trees. The grass. The fresh night air, wafting a slight breeze from grave to grave. The graves. The platinum-haired vampire, sitting on top of the nearest gravestone, smoking a cigarette and watching her thoughtfully.

“What?”

He didn’t reply — just raised an eyebrow and proffered the half-empty packet of cigarettes.

Buffy grimaced. “Eww.”

“Do you good.”

“More like they’d make me smoky, and stinky, and… no, actually, I think stinky smoke is probably a good enough reason.”

“True,” he conceded. “Relaxing, though.”

She dug her hands deep into her pockets. “I don’t need to relax.”

A sceptical look. “Your call.”

Forty seconds. Enough time for a vampire to break a girl’s neck, knock out another, and then rip the throat from…
No. Happy thoughts. They’d be just fine.

Spike was still watching her.

“What?”

No reply.

Buffy wrinkled her forehead. “Seriously — what?”

He raised an eyebrow again, and said slowly, “...comfy?”

Oh. Oops. She hadn’t exactly meant to say that.

She frowned. “What?” she asked — trying hard not to blush.

“Let’s see if I’ve got this right.” The cigarettes went into his back pocket, and Spike began working his way through the list. “My crypt was — according to some — a musty hole in the ground, a vile den that would be improved by being burnt down, a rats nest… oh, and smelly. I seem to recall a lot of pointed comments about the smell. From a Doublemeat employee, in fact — who seemed convinced that it was filthy, and cold… and, apparently, comfy.”

She really was starting to blush.

Spike watched her silently for a few more seconds, the tiniest hint of a smile playing on his lips, and then took pity. “It was pretty nice, wasn’t it?” he agreed.

“Yeah, it was. I mean… I guess.”

“At least until some idiot blew it up, anyway.”

“Hey, that was–”

“So, d’you think we should check on them?”

Check on… oh! Right. Buffy blinked. For a moment, she’d completely forgotten.

She swallowed nervously, and stepped forward. What if…

“They’ll be okay, Buffy.” Spike said it so gently. She’d missed that.

Buffy looked up, shared a tiny, tentative smile, then took a deep breath and opened the doors.