Writing a New Page (BtVS; Giles/Spike; PG/K+; #397: Transient)

[katleept.livejournal.com]

Title: Writing A New Page
Author: Kat Lee
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Character/Pairing: Giles/Spike
Rating: PG/K+
Challenge/Prompt: slashthedrabble #397: Transient
Warning(s): None
Word Count: 400
Date Written: 30 April, 2016
Summary:
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to Whedon, not the author, and are used without permission.




The only thing that carried him through his new living arrangements when he first agreed to let the Vampire stay with him, mostly at Buffy's beseechment, was the reminder that their arrangement was only transient. Spike didn't like being his "guest" any more than Giles liked having him here. He should have kept him chained in the bath tub. Perhaps then, the same thought that brought him relief would not now be festering at the back of his mind.

Rupert turns a page in his book and continues to act as though he's reading, but the truth is that he lost interest in the story two chapters ago. He is using the novel merely as a cover now than anything else, a cover, if he's honest even with himself, so that he can watch that very room mate who annoyed him endlessly their first few weeks together. Spike is scribbling like mad on the notepad Giles took pity on him and gave him. It was the least horrendous of his requests, by far, but he's kept Giles interest ever since he began to put pen to paper.

What, he wonders again, is that bloody Vampire writing about so passionately? He's probably plotting on how to kill them all, Rupert knows, but yet, as he pushes his slipping spectacles back up onto his nose, he frets that may not be so. Spike will always be a killer, rather he wants to be or not. It's the nature of his species.

Giles is reminded of that fact, too, every time he sips his blood, even if it is blood from a bag poured into a mug now. It's still blood. But maybe he's not writing about killing. Maybe he's writing about something . . . else.

Spike glances up. Rupert quickly returns his attention to his own page but not swiftly enough. Spike hides his own smile at having caught the Watcher doing what he does best -- or, at least, that's what they all say about him. He wonders, though, if perhaps they're wrong, if perhaps there's more to the Watcher than merely watching. He knows well about his past, after all. He knows he isn't all tea shots and spectacles. There's a wild man underneath all that tweed, and he wonders, with a mischievous glint in his eyes, what it would take to truly awaken that wild man as he pens his latest poem.

The End