Chapter 9

If I had hoped that staying up all night would have stopped me from having any further confrontation with Spike, I was dead wrong. With no work to go to and the rest of the world still asleep, there was no excuse for not going back into the apartment to try and get some rest of my own. Still, I couldn't help but be surprised when I found him waiting up for me. He was standing in the living room, shirtless and looking fresh from a shower with a mug of blood in his hand. His hair tossed around and slightly curling, begging me to run my fingers through it. But I didn't have the energy for much more than walking past him to sink in to the couch, my back feeling relieved about leaning against something other than concrete stairs.

Minutes passed in silence between us, save for the quiet hum of the TV in the background, and the only movement being his occasional sip from his cup. When I can't stand it any longer, I force my weary body to dig out a clean pair of clothes and head into the bathroom for a shower of my own. Once the dirt and grime from the night before has left my body, I let out a silent prayer that he'll be gone by the time I open the door.

You know, today just doesn't seem to be my day.

This time I find him reclining on his side of the couch, controller in hand and Twisted Metal on the Playstation. My controller is placed on the cushion beside him like some sort of open invitation and for the life of me, I can't figure out why I took him up on it. We were in the middle of our third race in complete silence when he finally spoke.

"You talk in your sleep."

"What?" I ask, thinking I hadn't heard him right.

"That last nightmare you had... I heard you call my name. Start talking about not leaving me. What are those dreams about, pet?" he questions, pausing the game.

"They aren't dreams," I tell him with a sigh. "They're memories. I was the last up the stairs before Faith. I could see you down there, glowing. Talking with Buffy. Something in me just... knew you weren't getting on that bus, but there wasn't anything I could do. Faith dragged my ass out of there right before everything started falling in around us. Buffy was on the top of the bus... and you were gone. And every night since then, I get to watch you burn all over again." I pause with a sarcastic laugh. "Giles called it Post Traumatic Stress. But that still only explains the one night. What about the others?"

For the first time in our entire conversation, I dare to look him in the eyes and what I find there is captivating. They seem bluer today for some reason and the combination of awe and confusion I find there is enough to leave me mesmerized.

"I don't know," he answers after a moment. "It was only once more after that. Night before last... Couldn't sleep. You didn't say anything, but I could tell you were dreaming something nice for a change."

I frown, trying to remember what I could've possibly been dreaming of but nothing comes to mind.

"And you don't snore, just so you know."

"Well thank God for that," I laugh awkwardly.

Setting my controller down, I escape into the kitchen for a minute with the excuse that I need coffee if I want to survive whatever might come next in this conversation. The smell alone calms my shattered nerves as I watch the coffee maker slowly do its magic, counting the seconds between each gurgle of steam to keep myself from thinking. I'm so busy not thinking, however, that I don't even hear Spike's approach until he's right behind me and I'm forced to back myself against the counter to keep any sort of space between us. The expression on his face makes me feel like some sort of experiment, like he's analyzing every move I make and emotion on my face and it takes me a moment to realize it's because he can smell how afraid I am of him, afraid of the questions he might ask.

For a quick moment, I concentrate on slowing my heart beat and taking a few calming breaths. This would be so much easier if I could just get my feelings under control, but that seems like the last thing to worry about when he starts closing the distance between us again, placing his hands on the counter to effectively block me in. My hands come up to push him away, only to stop before they reach his chest as if they know what might happen should my fingers touch his skin and he smirks at my hesitation.

"What do you want from me?" I whisper, my voice practically begging him to stop this emotional torture as frustrated tears cloud my vision.

The smirk turns into confusion at my reaction to his nearness, one hand coming up to brush a lone tear from my cheek. My gaze is drawn to his mouth when I see it become a thin line of determination before he's suddenly gone from my sight, the sound of the sewer access slamming shut in his wake. I collapse to the floor with a sob and cover my face with my hands, filling the sudden loneliness with cries of despair.

There's something about emotional turmoil that just knocks a girl unconscious, although I'm sure that not going to bed after a night of drinking didn't help any. Despite the long nap I'd taken, every inch of my body is demanding that I try to go back to sleep. Not that it was going to happen. In a half awake daze, I realize two things; one: Spike still isn't home and, two: my cell phone is playing some obnoxious song I can't remember ever downloading.

"I hate your ring tone," I grumble into the receiver after seeing Lorne's name on the display.

"Aw, somebody's grouchy when they're hung-over," he teases.

"Let me go back to sleep and I won't be grouchy."

His laughter fills my ear as I force myself into a sitting position, pushing my hair away from my face.

"Nu-uh. You promised me shopping. Now none of that," he scolds me when I groan. "I'm picking you up in twenty."

True to his word, Lorne comes barging into the apartment twenty minutes later with a Starbucks coffee and Fred in tow. It takes the three of us another fifteen to leave after he refuses to be seen in public with me. Apparently, baggy sweatpants and slippers don't count as 'proper shopping attire'. Who knew? But by the time our little excursion was finished, I had more 'sexy' nighties than thoughts in my head and enough of every other type of clothing that I would probably never have to wear the same outfit twice for the rest of my life. Don't ask me where Lorne got the money to pay for all of it. All I know is that I feel guilty for spending so much and for cluttering up Spike's living room with the dozens of bags that are now lying around.

"I'm never doing this with you guys again," Fred complains as she falls gracelessly onto the couch.

"What are you griping about? You only have one bag! I'm going to have to use the kitchen as a closet," I reply from my place on the floor, trying to organize the chaos.

"Do I sense some ungratefulness?"

"Thank you, Lorne," we both chime.

"That's better. Now how about a drink?" Lorne asks before heading into the kitchen.

"One drink," I call after him. "Then I'm kicking you two out."

"Aw, we don't get to stay for the fashion show? I wanna see his eyes pop out of his head when he sees you in the red one."

'The red one' just so happens to be a floor length silk slip with black lace around the top and bottom and a slit reaching mid-thigh. It's one of those things a woman wears when she wants to be subtly sexy and, despite my hesitation, it's turned out to be one of my favorite pieces.

"That one's my favorite, too," Fred whispers conspiratorially, as if hearing my thoughts.

"Yeah, well... I'll be sure to tell you guys all about it on Monday. How he came home to find me resting seductively on the bed and couldn't stop himself from taking me into his arms before telling me to stay out of his room," I croon, my voice a combination of dreamy and sarcastic.

Fred laughs quietly, "At least he'd notice you laying there. I swear, no matter how far out there I put myself, Wesley can't take the hint."

"You know what would solve both your problems?" Lorne questions, handing us each a glass of wine.

"A vibrator?" I reply.

"Ha ha. No. Just kiss them. There's no better way to say 'Take me, I'm yours!'"

"Really?" Fred asks. "Because I'm pretty sure 'Take me, I'm yours' works well too."

"I swear, both of you are teaming up to drive me insane."

"All I know is, Fred needs to stop bitching. The only reason Wes isn't noticing your flirting is because he's so busy mooning over you, his brain can't function," I say before pausing to take a sip of my wine. "One little push is all you guys need before there's dramatic confessions of love to cheesy orchestra music. While I seem to forever be damned to 'the friend zone'."

All three of us burst out laughing when Lorne starts imitating the theme song to The Twilight Zone.

"Bloody hell, it looks like a mall vomited in here," mutters a voice from the doorway.

"My fault, sweetie," Lorne tells Spike as I scramble to finish putting things away. "Our favorite slayer needed clothes."

"And now she has them! So, we'll just be going now," Fred chimes in, practically dragging Lorne out the door.

The door slams shut behind them, effectively leaving me alone with Spike in a room full of silky, lacy undergarments. Awkward. He glances between me and the door before raising a brow, the question going through his head being quite obvious. 'What the hell was that about?'

"You don't want to know," I grumble, trying to stuff more of the clothes into my suitcase.

With as much stuff out of the way as possible, I grab some night clothes before retreating to the bathroom to change. No, I didn't grab 'the red one', although I was very tempted. Instead, I slipped into a black, silk cami and a matching pair of pants. Definitely one of the more toned down pieces, but I wasn't in the mood for a seduction.

"Stayin' in tonight, pet?" Spike asks when I walk into the kitchen to get another glass of wine.

"No, I was thinking about heading to the club and seeing how sexy these things are. For almost a hundred and fifty bucks, it better start raining men when I walk out that door."

There's something about the way he reacts to my sarcasm that sets me on edge. The smirk and quiet laughter feels forced and it makes me wonder what's going on in that head of his. After the strange events of last night and his disappearance this morning, my gut tells me that this isn't the same Spike that I've been friends with over the last week. Something's changed.

"Are you okay?" I ask, leaning against the counter. "You seem… off tonight."

He stares at me a moment, his head cocked to one side, as he thinks about his answer.

"Fine, pet," he finally says. "Just got a lot on my mind, is all."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

He shakes his head as he stands, moving slowly until he's right in front of me.

"Maybe another time, yeah?" he asks, pushing y hair away from my neck.

"S-sure. You know I'm here if you need me," I stammer.

Silence passes between us as he plays with the strap of my tip, causing the silk to brush softly against my shoulder. My body is tense, expecting him to do something more than teases my skin and I know he can hear my heart beating furiously inside my chest. For the life of me, I can't figure out what is going on.

"Well, g'night then," he cheerfully tells me before casually walking out of the kitchen.

Absolute shock shuts down any intentions of responding I might have had and I can feel myself gaping at the empty doorway. Yeah, something's changed. And my instincts are screaming that a lot of good is about to happen… or all hells about to break loose.

Maybe both.