Biding Time // Crowley and Spike // Closed



"Good. I already did blues. I’d rather be purple than green inside. Wouldn’t you?" Crowley took a little match box out of his breast pocket and slid it open. Inside was a single, glowing red beetle, about the size of a ladybug. He poked it until it started moving. It crawled onto Crowley’s hand and found a vein. Began to bite down. Crowley’s hand twitched, but he didn’t bat an eyelash at it, merely watching with mild interest. "Meet Bitey. He’s my little red pill."

Spike had been expecting an actual gel capsule or solid colored pill.  He lifted a scarred brow at the little beetle.  Well, it couldn’t have been worse that that things that Giles had had burrow into his skull about a decade ago.  

He watched the little creature do his thing with interest as it worked its magic on Crowley, “And whut does Bitey do when he gives you his little treat?  Or I should say, what is his treat?”

A Night at BJs


Buffy raised her eyebrows and couldn’t help but look at Spike like he was being a tad pathetic. Here she was; recently single, fresh out of a hellmouth and you don’t see her throwing a pity party, ”Just when I thought there were people out there with real problems.”


He glanced up at her and finished off his drink.  Then he pushed on the bar before he stood up, “Fine, you wanna start harping on me?  I don’t have the bloody energy for snappy banter, Buffy.  I’m glad your back, really, I am, but my misery wanted company, not a battle.” 

Familiar Faces | Spike & Willow


Where there had been ease just moments earlier, Willow couldn’t help but feel weighted down now. Her fingers briefly drummed out a beat over the worn laminate before she tilted her head at his reply.

"Buffy told you she was alive or…?" She let her inquiry trail off, unsure of how to finish it. It had been a long few days—a long few weeks if she was honest with herself—and her ability to comprehend things was severely compromised thanks to a lack of sleep on her part.

"Yeh, she told me when we ran into each other over at that pub just down the way.  It was definitely a surprise considering I’d run into Faith, Giles and Harris a good time before that.”

Spike’s jaw worked and he shut his mouth as the waitress returned with their food.  He shook his head politely when she asked if they needed anything else.  He didn’t speak again until the girl was out of earshot, having picked up a chicken finger and tapped it on the edge of the plate, not in the mood for it anymore.  ”I get that I was never part of your little group… and I’m sure it was all grand and shocking when you all found out, so you  needed time and all  but someone might’ve thought to say something.”

A frustrated huff escaped his lips.  It wasn’t Willow’s fault, of course, she hadn’t known he’d been left in the dark— it was the others he was really angry with.  He was tired of playing that he didn’t have a clue, when he knew bloody well that Buffy was walking around.  I tjust showed up much the whole lot of them didn’t think of him, at all. No one cared what he did or thought in the grand scheme, did it?  Sure he was selfish and brash, but didn’t he at least warrant some little important bit of information like Buffy being alive?

He dropped the fried chicken strip and rubbed his fingers together to get any residual breading off as he sat back completely disinterested in the food.  ”I fought by your sides!  I was there when she disappeared and whut? Hm?  I burned for you lot… and I don’t warrant a call?” 



"Oh Spike…" Her voice held a note of sympathy at the idea of him being ridiculed. "You.. memorized it?" She didn’t have time to really stop him but then again he was right, she did ask for it.

Joyce watched as he recited, trying to understand his old english words.

When he was done she took a breath. “Well… I’ve heard worse. But honestly Spike my question is were you considered a professional in your day? Granted I’m not the best with what some of your words mean but I was able to understand some of it. What I’m trying to say is that there are a few things I can think of. If you were a professional, then I can see how it was potentially awful. That and the one listening might not understand. Yet if that was you trying at amateur poetry… then it’s actually pretty good. Again I don’t know what you were considered back in the day. But that’s my basis compared to now. And if it makes a difference, from the bits I understood, I liked it.”

He could tell Joyce wasn’t sure what to say or even if she’d understood what he’d recited, so Spike simply shook his head.  ”No, not any sort of professional poet, just a man with a romantic heart and his head in the clouds I suppose.”

Shrugging it off as he usually did he set his shoulders back with the facade of confidence. “Joyce, you didn’t like it, and that’s fine.  I don’t bother with pen to paper much at all these days.”