Last line: He needed to fix this, but how?
He needed to fix this but how? Giles looked in panic at the pile of dust on the carpet that had formally been Spike. He shouldn't have done it, but the vampire had been giving him such aggravation all day, that he'd practically asked for it. Surely Buffy would understand?
No, she would not. Oh hell!
Wasn't there a spell that was said to reconstruct a body? And perhaps another to reconnect Spike's soul? That could work and she'd never have to know what had happened.
On the other hand... Giles reached a decision and switched on the vacuum cleaner.
Last line: Perhaps a cup of tea would help.
"Perhaps a cup of tea would help?"
Spike mustered all his soul into an expression of contempt.
"Don't be a plonker, Rupert. This requires the good stuff. Break out the single malt. My heart is literally in pieces on your floor here, mate."
"Well not 'literally' literally," Giles muttered to himself. Some men were cursed with many burdens, his was having to listen to every Buffy break-up story.
"You've got to speak to speak to her, Rupes. I've written something down for you."
Giles narrowed his eyes at the paper.
"Are these rhyming couplets?"
"Would that be a problem?"
Characters: Giles & Spike
Rating: PG-15 (one sexual reference so just to be safe)
Length: Drabble 336 words
Disclaimer: Characters aren't mine. All belong to the wonderful Joss
Summary: Living with Spike is starting to grate on Giles nerves.
A Nice Cup of Tea
Title: William’s Dream
Length: 100 words
Disclaimer: Don’t own a thing, but Joss did say we could play.
I'm very happy to have gotten it down to 100 words. That was not trivial! :)
Characters: Giles & Spike
Pairing: Spike/Willow (Willow doesn't feature)
Length: drabble 100 words
Disclaimer: Not mine, you all know the drill
Summary: Having Spike as a flatmate was bad enough, but now he's all bewitched and besotted it's even worse.
Bewitched and Besotted
SUMMARY: Season Four with chipped Spike, but before "A New Man"
“I thought you called her.” Despite his headache and aching ankle, Giles looked daggers at Spike.
“Can’t be having you lying at my crypt door, true, but I’m not ringing up the Slayer. No wish for a dusty evening.” Spike helped Giles up, snickered at the pain-ridden moan Giles couldn’t silence, pushed him forward. “Come on, old man, I’ll take you to hospital in the DeSoto. Might get a spot of blood while I’m there too, yeah.”
“So happy to help with your shopping,” Giles muttered, took a step, and winced.
Hurt on patrol. Helped by Spike. Worst night ever.
SUMMARY: Canon-compliant; set in Season 4, when Spike's at Giles's flat.
“It doesn’t work that way,” Giles said, and put his feet up on his coffee table, and sipped his Scotch with intentionally maddening smugness.
Spike, currently tied to a chair, growled. “Hospitality, innit? To offer a guest a wee drop?”
“You’re not exactly my guest.” Giles took another, longer drink.
“Well, I’m not bloody here of my own free will.”
“Right. Who showed up at whose front door, with a smoking blanket and a plea for sanctuary?”
“Catch me doing that again,” Spike muttered, and kicked his chair leg.
Giles savored victory. It was so bloody rare on the Hellmouth.
WARNING: It is entirely possible that some readers might find some language or concepts in the work offensive, though it does not contain any words you can't say on televison. There, you've been warned.
“'Native American,' she says, scolding me like a nursery-school teacher!
Title: The Rules of Hospitality
Setting: Pangs. Season 4.
Length: yeah, well it is 120 words but it was breaking my heart to try and trim it to 100. So I didn't.
Spike looked over the groaning thanksgiving table with some bitterness.
“Don’t I get anything to eat?”
“No,” everyone chorused.
“Well that’s not in the spirit of the Pilgrims is it?"
“It was the Native Americans that offered the hospitality, Spike,” said Willow. “And look where it got them.”
“Watcher, come on, as one colonial oppressor to another, how about a bit of turkey?”
“He is sitting at our table, even if he is all tied up,” said Anya. “We should probably give him something.”
Spike licked his lips. “Come on, come on. Only the breast meat mind, Rupert, and don’t stint on the potatoes.”
Giles slammed the sage and onion bake down in front of the vampire.
“Get stuffed, Spike.”