Fic: A Funeral in Her Heart
Oct. 23rd, 2013 05:38 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dragonyphoenixTitle: A Funeral in Her Heart
Rating: G
Setting: B4
Summary/Prompt: Written for the 2013 Halloween Challenge over at SB Fag Ends. Lacrimosa's The Way of the Shadow: funeral shroud
Buffy stepped into the bathroom as quietly as only a Slayer could. Spike, chained in the tub, still had that pale blue bit of blanket wrapped around himself. He wasn't breathing, his skin was as pale as death, and his cheeks so sunken-in he looked half-way to concentration camp victim. The blanket, wrapped around him like that, reminded her of a shroud. She ripped the blanket off him, getting it caught in the chains. He woke as she was trying to tug it away. “Hey! Hey, Slayer. What the bloody hell are you doing? Bathtub's cold enough without you running off with my only blanket.”
Buffy dropped the blanket. “I … You looked dead.”
With a frown Spike said, “I am dead.” He tugged at the blanket. “You've gotten it all tangled in the chains. Thanks a lot, Slayer.”
“Sorry,” Buffy said. She couldn't get the image of Spike, dead but not ash, out of her mind. “You look like you could use more blood?”
Spike looked wary. “Wouldn't say no.”
“I'll go heat some up.”
Standing in the kitchen, watching the cup go round and round in the microwave, Buffy couldn't figure out why she cared whether Spike of all people, or um vamps, lived or died.
Rating: G
Setting: B4
Summary/Prompt: Written for the 2013 Halloween Challenge over at SB Fag Ends. Lacrimosa's The Way of the Shadow: funeral shroud
Buffy stepped into the bathroom as quietly as only a Slayer could. Spike, chained in the tub, still had that pale blue bit of blanket wrapped around himself. He wasn't breathing, his skin was as pale as death, and his cheeks so sunken-in he looked half-way to concentration camp victim. The blanket, wrapped around him like that, reminded her of a shroud. She ripped the blanket off him, getting it caught in the chains. He woke as she was trying to tug it away. “Hey! Hey, Slayer. What the bloody hell are you doing? Bathtub's cold enough without you running off with my only blanket.”
Buffy dropped the blanket. “I … You looked dead.”
With a frown Spike said, “I am dead.” He tugged at the blanket. “You've gotten it all tangled in the chains. Thanks a lot, Slayer.”
“Sorry,” Buffy said. She couldn't get the image of Spike, dead but not ash, out of her mind. “You look like you could use more blood?”
Spike looked wary. “Wouldn't say no.”
“I'll go heat some up.”
Standing in the kitchen, watching the cup go round and round in the microwave, Buffy couldn't figure out why she cared whether Spike of all people, or um vamps, lived or died.