milliways_bar | (no subject)

(no subject)

It might be a record: two days running, and he's still in a great fucking mood. Hell, he'd probably be nice to Vicious if he walked through the door right now.

Then again, maybe not.

Spike sits at the bar with a cup of iced coffee, facing the rest of the room, looking through a handful of photographs. Every now and then he stops and smiles and looks like he's completely lost in memories.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

She watches like the simple act of biting into an apple is some little magic trick, something she shouldn't miss a second of, and she drinks it all in: the sharp crunch as his teeth break through that shiny red peel and that glisten of juice she spies on the edge of his lips before his hand moves to wipe it away.

And the way his eyes stay on her, not (she thinks) out of some really deliberate (successful) attempt at seduction so much as an outright disinterest in most of whatever else may be going on around them.

And she smiles again as she takes the apple back from him.

He gets to her every time.

That smile. That one right there: I love it. I love it. And he does what he wanted to do earlier: he takes her apple-free hand in his and kisses each of her fingertips in turn. He doesn't ask her which one she got in front of the camera's lens when she was little; he doesn't need to. He just wants to be close to her.

Intimate with her, intimate in a public way.

Intimate in a way they only are with each other. It's private, but it's not. He doesn't care who knows what they have, so long as they know.

"What do you want to see on Earth from my time when we go? Anything special?"

He knows it will happen. He just knows.

Beth just watches while he lifts each fingertip to his lips.

And she doesn't take her own bite out of the apple until he's done.

She chews thoughtfully and finally says, "Well, that depends on what's left to see." She starts to take another bite, then stops to add, "We could go see what's left of some of those man-made landmarks, I guess. What's good to do on Earth in the future?"

Her eyes angling up to the ceiling, she wonders if they could somehow find the exact spot where St. Bernadette's used to be. Or her home.

Her real home.

That would be really fucking surreal.

"We should watch a sunset."

"Well, it's not much of a tourist spot in my time. People still live there, but not a lot. Too many rock storms and they can kick up pretty damn fast, so you want to be in a place where there's shelter. Either a building, a cave -- something like that -- a car, an underground cavern. Those places are still there. Like... what the hell's that place in New Mexico? With all the stalagmites and stalactites?" He shrugs: Earth geography was never his strongest suit.

But he remembers his mom describing some cave place. "And bats. There were lots of bats, she said." He glances at Beth. "My mom. She's the one who told me about it. When I was little. She used to tell me stories about Earth at night, after she'd put me to bed. I liked that: I'd ask for another story and another one. I never saw Earth while she was alive."

He looks down, lost in thought, still holding Beth's hand and he doesn't want to let go, needs to not let go. But he looks up, watches her watching him, and shakes off the memory. "I bet if we were really good at our homework, we could find Cooksfield. It might still be there."

He smiles quietly, though. "Compare sunsets. You might be surprised at how damn pretty they are in your future."

"You mean Carlsbad Caverns?" She looks down at the teeth marks in her apple. "It's a national park. Was."

And she gives him another small smile, not taking her hand away from him. "I've never actually been. Maybe you should take me."

It'd be pretty fitting. He's already taken her to so many places she's never been.

Later she'll have to ask what some of the other stories his mom told him were about.

"I bet Cooksfield is just as happening a place as ever." She grins.

And the talk of sunsets makes her think of some conversation they had months ago about sunsets and the moon.

In my day, he'd said, it looks like a giant came by and took a bite out of it...

She'd liked that.

"Yeah, that's it. Carlsbad Caverns. I'll take you there." Because it's underground, so it probably still exists.

Cooksfield might not be so lucky. A lot of California got wiped out... but they can find out.

They can always find out.

He holds her hand to the side of his face, resting on it and in it, cradling it, sandwiching it. Sometimes, Beth is the only person he wants to see, the only one he needs to see. Or hear. Or touch.

Especially touch: he's not a real touchy-feely person. Never has been, except with her.

He turns to kiss her palm, then looks up at her and his expression is a mixture of plaintiveness and... well, just desire. "Come upstairs with me. We can lie in bed in the dark and look up at the stars on the ceiling, and I'll tell you some of the stories I used to hear about Earth."

She can't turn down an offer like that. Few things could be better than lying in Spike's bed with him, looking up at ceiling, and having him tell her stories.

Even if tonight she may be more familiar with the things his stories will be about.

She turns the hand he's holding just enough for her finger to be able to trace the line of his jaw.

"There's nothing I'd rather do, bounty hunter."

He nods and gives her a smile

(just for you, just for you)

and kisses her hand again

(just because)

and catches that hand up in his as they stand

(love you, Beth)

and kisses her on the cheek like some awkward high school kid

(you're the best thing that's ever happened to me)

and then holds her tight as they leave the bar.

(Upstairs. Together.)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only