[T] Chapters: 1 Words: 400 Setting: 1880 to 2003 Complete
Spike considers his place in his own love life.
1. Nothing
She despises me. No, that would require caring. Cecily clearly doesn’t care for me, or even respect my words. She says I’m nothing to her, and I realize that deep down, I already knew that. I simply couldn’t face it. I couldn’t face that my deep love of her beauty and charms would inevitably be met with cool disinterest. Apathy may actually be stronger than hate.
But into my empty, tear stained world comes a vision in flowing black, catching my words from the air as if by magic, speaking them with such warm appreciation. Maybe love is stronger still.
2. Too Much
Our life together is fast. Fists and fangs and fun, a mad rush from one place to the next, chasing the latest riot, war, or slayer, wherever Drusilla’s visions lead us.
But some nights it’s a bit too much, nights I wish we had a home, a place to slow down. I find myself wanting a comfortable, familiar place we could trust to be there for us, to give us peaceful, quiet moments that are just for us, to pause and enjoy what we have.
Nah, that’s not her style. But sometimes, it would be nice to have a home.
3. Too Little
We never go anywhere, or do anything of interest. I feel like I’m trapped in my own home. And Harmony might be an even worse jailer than this bloody chip.
As much as I like having a tiny scrap of the world to call my own, my companion within its walls leaves much to be desired. There’s too little conversation worth having, too little silence in between, and not nearly enough fighting, travel, and adventure to make any of it worthwhile.
My life with her is not at all what I want. But somehow, I feel like I’m getting closer.
4. Just Right
We’re between battles tonight. Between all the fights between us and fighting a war together that could change the world. But in the sweet, quiet moments in between, Buffy’s comfortably curled up against me, fast asleep.
Life with Buffy is never on stable ground for long. We’re a series of earthquakes together, opposed or side by side. But in the stillness between aftershocks, she’s still with me. When there isn’t fists and fangs and fighting, there’s care and respect and the warmth of home.
I called her Goldilocks, but maybe it was only because I couldn’t see my own reflection.
myrabeth 