A nice attempt at making him jealous
A/N: I spend the majority of my life imagining how the reunion between Buffy and Spike would have been when he went back to her. I have never been able to understand why he would stay away when the love each other so much (clearly) but for the purpose of this story I'm going to assume that Spike had undergone a personality transplant and never got it contact. I don't imagine Buffy would react too well…
"Buffy. Slow. Down." Willow whispers pointedly as she grabs my arm to stop me bringing my drink to my lips. I shake her off quickly and give her a look that I hope says 'back off this is my decision'. I drain the whisky from the bottom of my glass: she sighs and I shudder. Whether my reaction is to the whisky or the disapproval painted all over my friend's face I'm not sure. I should really be used to both by now. Willow's disappointed in me, disapproved of how I am living my life. I'm coping I told her that's all I can do right now.
I lean further over the bar to try and attract the attention of the barman before the effects of my last drink wear off. Damn slayer metabolism makes getting wasted very difficult. And expensive. I nod slightly as he moves to pour me another drink. No more conversation is necessary. I've been coming to this bar for a few weeks now. It's dark and dank, the music too loud and the men too ready to try and grope you. The perfect place. The first few times I'd been in the guy had tried chatting to me about the usual: my accent, my taste for strong liquor and why I should 'cheer up it might never happen'. It already has I told him. He soon lost interest in me after that. They all do in the end. No one wants to be with a girl with a load of baggage and I carry the world on my shoulders.
Other men still approach me daily. Strangers. Admirers. They see a pretty young girl and nothing more- I can't remember when that description ever fitted me. As I grab my refill from the sticky bar I'm aware of a group of guys on the other side of the room trying to catch my eye. Let them try. Soon one of them will pluck up the courage and come over to me asking what a pretty girl like me is doing in a place like this, if they can borrow fifty pence to call my mom and tell her I'm not coming home or if it hurt when I fell from heaven. I'll sigh and roll my eyes because I've heard all their lines before but I'll say nothing more. I won't tell them that I'm here mending my broken heart, that I have no mom and no home or that I didn't fall from heaven but was ripped out against my will and forced to live in this cold, dark place. I won't tell them a thing. They don't need to know why I'm here or who I'm trying to forget.
When I found out he was back, that he'd survived, I felt I'd been given my life back. I could hardly stop from exploding when I thought of the moment he'd walk back into my life. I knew that soon he would be holding me tight in his arms and everything would be okay again. Until that moment I spent evening after evening sitting by the phone waiting to hear the voice I thought was gone forever. During the days every blonde man I passed made my heart skip and every English accent in a crowded room made my head snap around. It was never him. Days, weeks, months and now nearly a year has passed and I have given up waiting: given up hoping. I know he's not coming back for me. He can come back from hell or whatever dimension he was sucked to but he can't cross the country to see the girl loved. Well, said he loved. I just have this effect on men. They love me so much they leave.
So I left him too. I left America and any chance of him turning up at my door. I tried to leave him behind me as I came here; came to the country where he was born and where every brash, abrasive voice reminded me of the one Englishman who wasn't here. Good one, Buffy. I wonder if he watches every little blonde woman and wonders if she's me? I doubt it.
"Buf, can we get out of here?" Willow moans, tugging on my arm. I try to smile at her and understand her rush to leave. It's so not her scene here, she'd rather be at home researching whatever big evil the girls are preparing to fight but I need to be here trying to forget my own internal battles. When I thought he'd died, when I thought I'd never see him again, I threw myself head first into the slaying. I'd known there was no point trying to socialise when there was no way I could meet anyone I cared for like I had him. I put everything I had into trying to be the best slayer I could so I still had something in my life to fight for. Now that he's back, though, there seems little point in slaying. I'll still fight the big fights, give the girls the pep talks, sure, but there are so many girls now I don't need to be out every night searching for my place in the world. So I come here to see which guy wants to take me home. They'll never be him and I don't want them to even try. I want them to want me even though I don't want them. I want them to make me forget that the one I love has left me. I want to feel that somehow, somewhere he feels a surge of jealousy that I'm in someone else's arms.
"You go Will I'm gonna stay out a bit longer." I nod. I want to let her know I'll be okay. Every night someone comes out with me in an attempt to calm me down or cheer me up. I'm grateful that they want to support me but they just can't understand how I feel. They want the old Buffy back- want me to be all sunshine and smiles in the face of an apocalypse like I was when I was sixteen. But when I was sixteen the worst thing was some unknown evil whereas now I have to accept that someone knew every part of me, understood me better than I did myself and then rejected me totally. Now the worst is knowing that I'm unloveable and completely forgettable and try as I may I can't vanquish those feelings and go back to being the life of the party.
"You sure you'll be okay?" She asks with concern in her warm eyes.
"Hey, Slayer girl here! I can take anything anyone throws at me." I Smile and try to laugh off her worries. "I'll be okay." I whisper as she pulls me into a hug goodbye. As she squeezes me tightly I wonder if I'll ever be okay again.
As she leaves I order another drink and down it quickly. The whisky reminds me of his kisses and the alcohol numbs my senses. I remember how it felt when I first came out of heaven and nothing felt real and I long for that feeling once more. Now I feel everything. Too much of everything, especially when I think of him, and it threatens to overwhelm me. I long to be able to get through a day without feeling that I'm going to break down at the memory of what I used to have. What I need is a distraction.
I feel a light tap on my shoulder and turn quickly, feeling slightly dizzy as I do as the whisky rushes to my head, to see one of the guys who was checking me out earlier. He's tall, with light brown hair and deep blue eyes. Not bad looking, I suppose, he just looks so nervous at the thought of talking to me. I stare at him blankly for a few moments as he tries to think of something to say.
"Do you want a drink?" He asks quickly, leaning in to make himself heard over the boom of the music.
"Sure." I shrug, who turns down free alcohol? "Double whisky. No ice." I hand him my glass and he eagerly gets it topped up. He reminds me of a puppy- big eyes and eager to please.
"So… What's your name?" He asks politely as we sip our drinks. Polite. Damn. I don't know if I can deal with polite tonight.
"Anne." I answer quickly. It's less complicated and leads to fewer questions that trying to explain away being called Buffy.
"I'm Peter." He announces. I didn't ask I thought wryly. "What brings you here tonight?"
"Work." I state simply and take another slug of my drink. As I do I catch sight of his and feel a bit mean, even for me. "I just moved here from America." I decide to chuck the puppy a bone.
"Wow. America. Where abouts are you from? I went to Florida with mum and dad a few years ago…" He carries on jabbering. I tune him out after a while and nod towards the bar and we go and he buys me another drink. I'm feeling the effects now. My head is spinning and I want to get out of here. I try to focus on what the boy is saying. He really is a boy as well. Can't be more than 20 judging from his manner. I notice he's stopped talking and looking at me expectantly.
"Sorry, what?" I ask him quickly.
"I said: what do you do? For a job, y'know?" He seems slightly offended that I wasn't hanging off his every word. I bet he's used to girls falling at his feet. I giggle slightly. I'll put him back in his place.
"I slay vampires." I tell him. He laughs. I don't.
"Serious?" He's looking at me like I'm crazy now. I shrug it off. I really want to leave now.
"Hey, shall we get out of here?" I ask, tugging at his hand.
"Where do you want go?" He replies looking a little lost. Maybe he thinks I'm going to slay him.
"Do you wanna take me to yours?" I ask trying to sound seductive. I'm aware I probably just sound drunk but I'm not that bothered.
"Hell yes!" He exclaims as his face lights up like a kid a Christmas. I grin. "This is the best night of my life!" He mutters to himself. I shudder. Why break with tradition? Give a guy the best night of his life and then he'll never want to see you again. Or try to kill you. I'm pretty sure that this guy will fall into the first category though. Not that I'd want to see him again.
We step out of the bar and onto the sidewalk and the fresh air and noise of London hits me so fast I feel like I'm going to fall over. I stumble slightly into Peter but he doesn't seem to mind. He's fumbling for something in his pocket.
"Do you smoke?" He asks as he produces a packet from his jacket and offers me one. I pause for a moment.
"Sure." I shrug. Why not? He hands me one and I place it into my mouth cautiously. He lights it for me with shaking hands and as I exhale I fight the need to cough back up what's just gone into my lungs. I watch him smoke and try to narrow my eyes enough to imagine I'm looking at the man I want to take me home tonight. But no angle can change this boy into him. If I had a few more drinks I could pass him off as a Riley look-alike maybe. I laugh out loud at what he would say to me going home with a younger "Captain Cardboard".
"You ok?" Peter looks concerned about me. I suppose I'm not putting across the best picture of mental health with all the insane laughter. Oh jeez, I'm turning into Dru.
"Fine. Just saw something funny." I lie as I grind my cigarette under my boot. It was making me feel rather sick. He seems satisfied with this and he gestures towards a cab parked on the road. This British reserved nature was starting to get on my nerves. "Shall we go then?" I ask him walking forward and grabbing the door.
"Urm… Sure." He mumbles as he quickly scrambles into the cab after my and tells the driver where to take us. Thankfully it's only a short ride as Peter seems to have given up on conversation and just stares at me like he can't believe his luck. He only wants me because he wants my body. I've never had everything a man wanted. Hot but crazy. Sweet but needy. Strong but unattainable. Interesting but distant.
We arrive at Peter's apartment a few minutes later and he guides me up the stairs and opens the door. Little is said because there is nothing left to say- we both know what is going to happen next. Peter asks me if I want a drink and I nod as he apologises for not having any whisky and hands me a beer instead. I find out the vampire was right all along. British beer really is better than the American stuff. We sit on the sofa side by side waiting. I wish he'd just kiss me all ready so we could get this over and done with.
As if reading my mind he lunges across and catches my mouth with his. The shock of this movement makes me slop beer all down my front and I curse at the stain will develop on my favourite top. He apologises clumsily and places the beer on the floor.
"Shall I urm, carry on?" he asks. Jeez well that killed any romance that may have been hiding in this room.
"Sure." I say. That seems to be all I say these days.
Peter kisses me again. His tongue barges into my mouth and awkwardly tries to connect with mine as his hands fumble trying to pull my top off. I remember how his hands used to feel on me. It felt like he traced lines of fire up my body. I used to shiver at his touch and ache to have him inside me. Peter touches me, tracing the same patterns over my now pale skin and I feel an overwhelming nothing. He's pulled my top off and began to suck at my nipples. I fight the desire to laugh. You easily get used to a man have a hundred years of experience and forget that most men move about a woman's body as if blindfolded.
When Peter's struggled to get the remainder of my clothes off he looks down at me and I feel vaguely proud. I can see the desire in his eyes. He sure as hell doesn't love me, might not even like me, but he wants me. For a second I thought of the way he used to look at me. As if I was the only woman in the world and as if he'd never felt this way about someone before. I shake it out of my mind. So many lies. I pull Peter towards me. I wrap my legs around him as he moves inside of me, rocking us backwards and forwards. I'm careful to hold myself back so I don't hurt him. I remember the passion I used to feel. The feeling that if I didn't have him that second I would burst. I've accepted that I'll never feel that again. This is… nice. It feels good. My world is hardly shaking but I've known worse. I try to make the right noises and sound like a normal girl should. He moves faster and faster running his hands through my hair and kissing me deeply. As he comes he shouts my name loudly. He calls me Anne. I lie there for a moment, catching my breath as he holds me. I'm thinking how I can get out of here quickly. I'm thinking of how I can avoid giving Peter my number.
"Was that urm… okay?" He asks nervously.
"Sure. It was great. Really great." I smile at him as best I can. "I'm just going to… y'know… freshen up." I escape his grasp and run to the washroom.
Once inside I bolt the door and lean my head against the cool tiles on the wall. I fight back the tears that have wanted to fall all night. I know I'm never going to get over him and never going to stop comparing every man I meet to him. They never live up to him. Every night I do this. What do I think it will achieve? I don't know but it's sure as hell better than sitting at home crying over a man who doesn't care. Better than stopping my life to wait for a man who's never coming back to me. I splash my face with water and look up into the mirror. I barely recognise myself. I wonder if he would. I wonder if he senses what I'm doing like he used to. I hope he does. And I hope it hurts.
A/N2: Okay I know this is the bit everyone hates where I basically beg for reviews but please tell me if you liked it or why you hated it. I know it's a very different depiction of Buffy than normal and I would really like to know what you all thought!