TITLE: "Like Pennies" (1/1)
AUTHOR: Marie-Claude Danis
EMAIL: mc@fangy.net
SITE: http://fangy.net
ARCHIVE: My site, list archives, those who already have my stuff. Otherwise just ask.
PAIRING: Spike/Buffy
SUMMARY: Superheroes need to eat, too.
NOTE: More domestic bliss for Our Heroes. Find the gratuitous 'Say Anything' quote and win a cookie. Thanks to Alex, who's up as late as I am.

* * *

"You're kidding me."


"Count Chocula?"


"You think that's funny?"

"Not particularly."

"Then why--"

"Makes the milk go all brown. S'disgusting."

"And so you purchase a family-size box of it."


"I love you."

Spike smiled triumphantly and tossed the box in the cart, over the crunchy oatmeal-y things she liked to pretend were edible (and she had just raised a knowing eyebrow when he had commented on that, purposely steering away from the age-old Wheatabix debate).

Buffy pushed the cart down the aisle; the front left wheel protested, skidding sideways, grating on the dirty linoleum. Spike kicked it.

"Sodding... thing."

"Stop that."

"It's making that, that NOISE!"

"Deep breaths."

"Why can't we get one of them little baskets then? Handy, those. And they don't do that."

"Because every time we do, it's the same thing, and we end up looking like idiots. We fill the little basket till it can't hold anymore, then we walk around with so much crap in our arms we can't even HOLD the little basket, and then you trip and the manager makes us pay for things."

"That was the one time."

"And I learn from your mistakes. Hence, cart."


"Grab that, you're taller than me."

"Ew. No."

"Come on, Spike. This is taking forever."

She leaned across the handle with both arms folded over it, and her flimsy top gaped open a little, just enough to let his eyes follow the hollow curve of her collarbone. He reached out - not much, he was never all that far from her - and traced the exposed flesh with a chipped nail. It was chaste, not all that inappropriate for a grocery store, even less so for this time of night, but she swallowed thickly and wrapped her fingers around his hand, pushing it away.

"Not here."

"What, not here? There's no one in here. It's the middle of the bloody night."

She just stared at him, then smiled, just a little tug of her lips he didn't quite get. She pushed the cart forward and he followed.

"You know, for a pretty girl, you eat a lot of crap."

She looked at him pointedly. "Yes, and I'm taking flack from Mr. O-neg here."

"I mean, look at this! Frozen pizza. Double-Stuffed Oreos. Mac and Cheese. *Skittles ice cream*? There's no food in your food. Well, except for that granola crap. And the jury's still out on that one."

"You used to complain I didn't eat enough. Now I eat. Be quiet."

He ducked his gaze. "You're right. I'm sorry."

They walked along the empty aisles a bit more, plucking various items - some for him, most for her - off the shelves with deliberate silence. Spike followed her with his eyes in quiet contemplation. She didn't seem upset at him. But he was right, had been all along, about how her beauty really did shine through better when she had a little flesh on her bones. There had been a time where he'd watched her melt to nothing - because of her mum, because of her sister, because there was always something - wanting so very badly to sit her down and feed her things he'd cook himself like he would've learn to, for her sake if nothing else.

He watched her look at the display of olives and cleared his throat, breaking the silence hesitantly. "You're beautiful, you know."

She barely turned, looked at him from over her shoulder, most likely wondering why he said things like that, awkward sappy things, while he would utter such truly magnificent words to her in the dark.

"I mean it, Buffy."

"I know."

Had the store been any busier - or busy at all - he wouldn't have heard her quiet reply. He just nodded and they both turned away, busying themselves with this futile task they had taken on doing every Wednesday night, late, when it became Thursday.

It was later, with half of their list checked and even more food selected at random, and in front of the bulk spices, that he slid both arms on each side of her waist and locked his hands on the handle, effectively trapping her in an inescapable cart/Spike hold.

She pretended not to notice how his body hovered a hair's breadth away from hers, making her skin, underneath the layers, warm up to him, oddly, like she found it always did when he stood behind her.

"What are you doing?" she laughed lightly, and it dissipated the rest of the uneasiness her earlier comment had created between them.

His cold nose buried itself in her hair, under her ponytail. "Nothing. Just ignore me."



"Can you really eat all this? All the real-people food?"

"Sure I can. You know this."

She fingered the wrinkled list in her hands, looking down at it. "But I mean... can you taste it?"

"I can taste some things. Other things I just like the texture of. Some, both."

"And that's enough for you?"

His hands left the handle and slender leather-clad arms wrapped around her waist, tugging her to him. He reached up to tuck the label of her blouse back in, then put his lips to the same spot, his tongue flicking at her salty skin. He let the taste roll on his tongue briefly, before flicking it against the roof of his mouth, where it tasted like old pennies.

"It's more than enough."