switch!spike
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Summary
Vicious wipes blood from his hands and looks Spike over; cold and grey. Distant.
“You were there to kill me,” Vicious says.
Spike’s surprised he remembers. He’d been the last man in the room, the door guard. It sends a wild thrill of anticipation through him. He pulls his pack of cigarettes out of his jeans pocket. “Nothing personal.”
It sounds cooler than Spike feels, hot at the edges like he can steam the blood back out of his shirt. It’s late July, but cold because Mars is fucked up running on the conversion calendar. The blood on his collar is cooling from alive-hot against his skin to past dead-cold. A sticking splash shedding warmth it will never hold again.
“You couldn’t have,” Vicious says.
Spike’s teeth clamp on his cigarette filter, lips peeling back as he lights it in a rictus snarl. “You want to find out?”
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Syndicate-era long fic, about all the roads converging along the lines of fate.