sunnydalealum | (no subject)

Abruptly harsh: "We wouldn't have had to kill any of them if they hadn't started it. If they weren't trying to kill all of us. If they hadn't sent Beth here to steal the Scythe --"

There's venom in her voice, bright and corrosive, when she says Beth's name.

"You're right." Spoon says quietly, "We wouldn't have. They started it. Does it mean that their pain doesn't matter?" Spoon's religious nature is peeking out, yes. "They started it, and we needed to do what we did. But we ended lives, luv, and if we don't accept that...it's an easy route to being a monster." Trust me, is the canine that goes along with that, I've come back from it twice "And it's a hell of a lot harder to come out of it. Don't waste your time hating, Jordie. Grieve instead. It's healthier."

She blinks down at the ground, tears in her eyes again.

"Kennedy wouldn't cry."

"Kennedy wouldn't show she cried." Spoon argues, softly, "I cry. Da' cries. Faith cries. Just a question of where and with who."

One shoulder comes up a little; she's not necessarily convinced, but she's not going to argue it.

"'S why I came here."

A wobbly, crooked smile.

"There's like no privacy anywhere else."

"Really." Spoon say quietly, "I wouldn't lie to you. D' you want me to leave?"

"No," she says quickly, looking up at him, and then again: "...no."

Her eyes stay on his for several seconds, and then abruptly drop.

Her face is flushed again.

Aw, shite. This is awkward. "Right, then. I won't." Spoon is striving for a subtle way to start talking about his impending marriage and six year old daughter.

Spoon is running into the wall of has no subtlety.

Jordie's hair falls forward to cover most of her face from profile view.

"Thanks."

She's leaning against him, just a little.

"You're welcome, lass." Lass. Because she's, what, half his age? (He's going to ignore the fact that Ace is closer to eighty than to thirty, 'k?)

"I didn't mean to, to cry in front of you."

One of her hands cautiously ventures onto his arm.

"But I'm not sorry I did."

"Glad for that." Spoon allows, "Trying to be a brother to you girls." He's trying! He is! Oh, man, he sucks doesn't he? "Crazy older brother. Hope that you'll be comfortable with me, I do. About...things. Like grief, and boy problems, and shite like that."

His arm's gone tense under her fingers. And he's said the word brother twice.

She slowly pulls her hand away, feeling the dull burn in her face again.

He's a thirty-six year old somewhat psychotic werewolf. Seriously. Even if there wasn't the whole, you know, madly-in-love-with-someone thing he'd be very, very wrong for a Slayer.

Especially one of Jordie's age.

"Have I shown you pictures of my daughter?" We're just going to pretend that NOTHING IS WRONG. There is no scent, no flush, no. Nothing. Nope.

Her head comes up sharply.

"I didn't know you h-had a daughter."

"Six years old." Spoon says, "Adopted her a couple months ago." he pulls his wallet out and flips to pictures of Cora, "Cora Wells Witherspoon."

Adopted.

That's different, then, isn't it?

Jordie leans in a little closer to look. "She's pretty," she says softly.

"Yeah." Spoon says, incredibly proud, "She's fuckin' adorable, isn't she? Learning English a treat, when I found her she spoke nothing but canine. Raised by wolves. Real wolves, not things like me."

"...raised by wolves? Seriously?"

Jordie gives him an uncertain look. "I always thought that was just a figure of speech."

"Seriously." Spoon says, contently, "When I found her she was all over dirt, hair down to her knees all tangled up, and spoke not a word of English. Got her milking goats, and she's able to carry on full conversations now. Had to cut some of her hair off, though."

"That's amazing." It's softly said, with a touch of what might be awe.

She looks up from the picture. "You could never be a monster," she says, with quiet and absolute certainty. "You care so much. About everyone."

"I work hard on it." Spoon says, "On caring, that is. It's...not easy. I can be a monster. I just...work on not being one. She's got a lot in common with me hunt-sister Christine."

"Who's she?"

Jordie has her chin pillowed on her upraised hand, now, watching him steadily.

There's some more flipping, until he gets to Christine's picture.

That'd be the Blooded Hunter Cre'hktdi, really. Actually it's the expression that suits Cora. She and the yautja have the same "What in the world are you doing, crazy man?" expression.

"She's the person who got me into the hunting culture that I've used to stay sane."

Jordie starts back at the picture.

"So, uh." Pause. "Is she a demon?"