Apr. 3rd, 2006

stbethadettes: (nightmare)
It's Spike who opens the door for her, Spike with his dark green hair and mismatched eyes and ghost of a smile, but he changes at some point within those two steps it takes her to reach the door.

Grows shorter, thicker in the torso, his hair lighter and tamer, his eyes melting into a chocolate-brown.

His grin is wider.

But the voice, that low voice she almost thinks could get her through a whole reading of the dictionary, stays the same.

"Would you do things differently?"

And then they're both through the door, standing in the churchyard with stars twinkling above them in the clear night sky.

"What about Kermit the Frog?"

He just looks at her, puzzled.

"He's not Kermit Frog, right? The the makes sense," she explains. "Smokey Bear sounds all wrong. It's not--"

She could've suffocated in all that goddamn sexual tension. And even so, she's surprised when he puts his hands on the sides of her face and stops her train of thought with a kiss.

And it's everything.

It's sex and need and bristly facial hair and broad shoulders and appreciation and loneliness and understanding and the tiniest sliver of hope.

It's not until later, when she's mostly rolled off of him and they're breathing more regularly and her eyes are closed in the best and most contented tiredness she's known in two years, that things are different. Yorick had asked what he'd done.

But now, with Spike's voice, he asks again, "Would you do things differently?"

She lifts her head up to look him in the face. That's when it starts: blood seeping from his eyes, nose, mouth.

She doesn't wake quietly.

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