-Sunday, July 14th. 12:02pm-
Buffy lay in bed for a long time on Sunday morning. Not doing much of anything, really. Definitely not sleeping. Just thinking mostly, thinking about the night before. Thinking about what had happened. Thinking about what hadn't happened. Thinking about Lindsey, and about Spike. About whether or not she'd made the right decision. If she'd finally, maybe, gone a step too far. She lay under her duvet with her head beneath her pillow and thought, re-hashed it over and over again in her mind. Replaying every moment, every word that was spoken. Trying to figure out if she should pick up her phone and call. Or maybe just text. Apologize for the way things had ended, or if she should just let it go.
Her phone was buzzing again. It had been buzzing intermittently, phone calls and text messages both, since the initial, too-loud buzzing had woken her up at 9:30 that morning. Lazily, she rolled over, picked it up and stared blearily at the screen.
Dawn. Again.
Buffy wasn't ready to talk to her little sister yet. She knew she was calling to talk about the date, the date that Buffy had mentioned to her very briefly the day before when she'd been getting ready. Before Lindsey had arrived to pick her up. She'd only mentioned it briefly then because she'd been so distracted already by her afternoon run-in with Spike and hadn't exactly been in the mood to do the date-dishing thing Dawn was expecting of her. Not that she was in any more of a mood to do it, now. No. It just wasn't in her to talk about it yet. She was still feeling nauseated, her chest tight and achy, and this time not at all in a hung over sort of way. More in a I really shouldn't have done that sort of way.
And honestly, she was starting to think she'd prefer the hangover.
Buffy palmed her phone in her hand and rolled back down onto her back, her head landing squarely on top of the pillow this time, and sighed. Waited for her phone to stop buzzing before shutting her eyes.
But of course, as soon as she closed her eyes, there was a knock on the door.
The third one in the last half hour.
She'd been ignoring Faith since the first knock had sounded for the exact same reason she'd been avoiding Dawn's calls. Unfortunately, her sister was much, much easier to ignore than her roommate, as evidenced by the final impatient knock Faith pounded into the wooden door before clearly giving up and deciding just to shove her way into the room.
Buffy turned her head, eyes meeting the other girl's blearily.
"I knew you were awake, you big faker," the brunette drawled, wide grin on her face as she bounded into the room and leapt up onto the bed, making the mattress bounce and creak beneath her weight. And making Buffy glare at her. "You never sleep later than 9:00."
Which maybe should have been an indication to leave me alone, she mused to herself, but kept that thought locked tightly away in her head. She'd alienated more than enough people in the last 24 hours. She didn't want or need to pick a fight with her friends, too.
"I was tired," Buffy told her simply, not bothering to sit up. She kept her head back flat on her pillow, arms flat on top of the duvet. In her hand, her phone buzzed again. She squeezed the little ignore button on the side and let her eyes flutter shut.
"Ooo," Faith purred, her voice dropping low and seductive, "tired, huh? Sounds like somebody's date went well last night." She leaned forward and squeezed Buffy's leg through the covers. "Alright, spill."
Buffy groaned. This was pretty much exactly what she'd been trying to avoid.
She lifted her head up off the pillow and fixed the dark haired girl with an exasperated look. "Spill what?" she asked, feeling absolutely miserable, anxious knots worming their way through her stomach. Aching and exhausted. Like she'd been in a twelve round fight the night before.
Which she sort of had, she guessed. If only of the verbal variety.
"What do you mean, spill what?" Faith shifted raucously on the bed, folding her legs up criss-cross beneath herself and sitting up a little straighter. A wicked grin twisting her lips as she bounced on the mattress, she said, "I want every dirty detail."
That had Buffy letting out a long sigh, out through pursed lips. If it was dirty details the other girl was wanting, then she was going to be totally disappointed.
Because there weren't any.
Or, there were. They just didn't have anything to do with what Faith was thinking they had to do with. Didn't have anything to do with her date, or with Lindsey. And had everything to do with her piggish, stubborn, stupid, son-of-a-bitch, know it all of a boss.
Her incredibly sexy, piggish, stubborn, stupid, son-of-a-bitch, know it all of a boss.
God.
Groaning again and shutting her eyes, letting her head fall back down into the pillow with an audible huff, Buffy shook her head. "Faith, please," she said softly, "I really don't want to talk about the date."
This had her roommate pausing in her bouncing, the mattress stilling beneath them both. "Why not?"
"Because," Buffy said, letting her lashes flutter, her eyes open again. She stared blankly up at the ceiling. "It…just didn't go great."
It wasn't true. The date itself, or the first half anyway, had been fine. More than fine. Lindsey had been way more than fine.
He just hadn't been enough.
"Things didn't get all hot and heavy with the cowboy, then?"
Buffy shook her head again, listening to the swish of her hair against the pillowcase. "No," she said slowly, "things definitely did not get 'hot and heavy' with…" She rolled her eyes. "The cowboy last night."
"Oh." The brunette sounded completely confused by the idea. A beat passed. Then, "Why were you so late getting home then?"
Buffy froze instantly at that, blinking rapidly up at the cheap looking popcorn ceiling but refusing to tear her eyes away from it, refusing to look toward her roommate. She swallowed, mouth suddenly all cottony. "Huh?"
Oh, realsmooth, Buff.
"B, you didn't get home until after 3:00 last night." She leaned forward over the bed, crawling up so she could look down into Buffy's face. Dark eyebrows perking up, eyes widening in anticipation. "You had to have been somewhere."
Oh. Crap.
Think. Think fast.
"I…I was…out," she offered lamely, feeling pinned to her own mattress by the dark, knowing gaze of her friend. She could swear the other girl was reading her mind, staring right down through her eyes and directly down into her brain. Buffy swallowed again. "Just…ya know, out."
She hadn't planned a cover story. Hadn't planned on needing one. Had figured Faith either wouldn't be home by the time she got to the apartment, or that she'd be in her room already. It truthfully hadn't ever occurred to Buffy that Faith might even notice her comings and goings.
"Out," Faith repeated, her mouth twisting up at the corners again. "Right." She pressed her hands into the bed on either side of Buffy and pushed herself back up into a seated position, shrugging casually. "Where were you 'out' at if you weren't 'out' with Lindsey?"
"Nowhere," Buffy said immediately, reflexively. A complete and total knee jerk reaction just as her phone began buzzing again. She silenced it once more, eyes flickering toward it just once to make sure it was still just Dawn before doing so. "I was just…nowhere."
"Okay, that's it." Faith cocked a brow, planted her hands on the mattress behind her and leaned back. "Who is he?"
Buffy finally sat up in her bed, eyes wide. "He?"
"Whoever the guy is you're obviously doing?" Faith responded saucily, all cat who ate the canary, touching her tongue up to the roof of her mouth.
She wasn't sure what she'd been expecting. If she really thought she'd be able to get by without anyone ever figuring it out. Without anyone ever asking. And as long as someone was finally asking, Buffy couldn't bring herself to lie anymore. Besides that, it didn't matter much now, anyway.
"Spike," she finally said softly, slumping back into her pillows with a loud, resigned huff. Watching Faith's eyes widen further. "I was with Spike."
-Sunday, July 14th. 12:46am-
"Buffy," Spike breezed as he opened the door to his condo to her, not shockingly, holding a glass of dark amber liquid in one hand, the low sounds of some not-so-punk sounding song Buffy had never heard before thrumming softly from the direction of the record player on his book shelf. He held the door open wide with his left hand, stepped back with just the hint of a smirk on his lips to allow her entrance. "What a pleasant surprise."
"Oh, right," Buffy replied, shoving past him, setting her purse down on his marble kitchen countertop and whirling to face him. "I'm sure you're real surprised."
Looking at her from over his shoulder, Spike raised a faux innocent brow. "I am. Pleasantly. Like I said." He lightly pressed the door closed. Paused, glanced away from her as he raised his drink to his lips, smirking against the glass. "How was your date?"
She gaped at him, mouth falling open. Oh, come on. He was just going to stand there all casual and nonchalant? Acting like he hadn't just single handedly ruined the date he was asking after with that stupid, smug smirk on his stupid, smug face.
Her hands curled up into fists.
"My date was wonderful," Buffy returned heatedly, cheeks flushing hot, irritated by his suddenly oh-so-cavalier attitude. "Lindsey was sweet and attentive and funny and—"
"Lindsey?" he snorted, both brows shooting up.
Ignoring him, she plowed ahead. "—all with the very not married. And things were going great. Really great. Until you." She jabbed an accusatory finger at him the same way she had standing outside of the club, only this time she knew he could see her. "You and your stupid pseudo 'work' texts and your point proving and your—"
"Did he kiss you?"
Buffy balked, her tirade screeching to a sudden, screaming halt as she stared at him. "What?"
"Your date. This Lindsey fellow." Spike still wasn't looking at her. Eyes focused thoughtfully on the ground as he took another casual sip, crunched down on an ice cube. "Did he kiss you?"
Oh.
Yeah, that's what she thought he'd said.
"That…is none of your business," she told him, forcing her voice out as steady as she could manage. Her cheeks were even hotter now than they'd been a moment ago.
His warm chuckle reached her ears, stroking along her spine as he stepped further into the condo, finally turning cool, azure eyes to hers. "Since you're standing here with me instead of still out with him, kitten, I'd sincerely beg to differ."
She made a face at him, wrinkling her nose up.
Kitten.
Ew.
Except, not ew. Kind of tingle worthy.
There was a strained, awkward silence between them as several beats passed. They stared each other down. Gaze unwavering, long, nimble fingers moving to cup the bottom of his glass, turning it over in his hand. She listened to the tinkling of ice against the tumbler's sides as she wet her lower lip, pulled it into her mouth and bit down on it.
Finally, Buffy sighed. "Yes. He kissed me."
She expected a different reaction than the one he gave her then. Maybe irritation. A flash in those blue eyes, that muscle ticking in his jaw. Jealousy, maybe. Something other than the way he was looking at her now. Pleased, verging on amused, he grinned at her. Not a wry smirk, not a sardonic smile. A grin as he stepped closer to her, inching his way into her personal space. "And now you're here."
Oh.
Oh, no.
Buffy backed up immediately, held her palm out flat in front of her, ready to brace against his chest if need be. As if she'd be able to stop him if he was determined to get to her. "Because you got in my head!"
"Is that right?" The grin widened, eyes widening to match. Long lashes fluttering against his cheeks.
"Don't look so shocked." She folded her arms tightly over her chest, arching a brow and lowering her voice. "You knew exactly what you were doing."
Spike chuckled. "Once again, luv, I feel compelled to let you know that I wasn't doing anything. I was bein' your boss." He took another slow sip of his drink, swallowing and gesturing absently toward her with the glass. "What I sent you was about work, nothin' more."
And the most irritating thing? He sounded like he actually meant that.
"There were…undertones," she told him hotly, tightening her grip on her arms and refusing to back down. She'd come over here tonight because she was angry. She was trying hard now to hold onto that anger, to not let the smug look on his face, the roguish glint in his eye, to throw her off her game.
"Undertones? Hardly," he scoffed, stepping in to fill the space her step back had put between them. "It sounds to me like you saw what you wanted to see."
Swallowing hard, tilting her chin up, she lowered her voice to a low murmur. "Which would be what?"
Spike tilted his head to the side, appraised her openly, lashes fanning down over her neck, the swell of her breasts peeking out over the low cut of her blouse before sweeping back up. "You tell me."
Buffy froze in mid-word formation, lips contorting into a soft "O" as she tried to figure out what to say to that. He'd caught her, for the second time tonight. Third time, actually, if she was going to count the text message. Which she guessed she should. It had all led to the same inevitable conclusion.
Her, standing here. In his condo. Frozen to the spot beneath his knowing gaze, letting him look at her like she was lunch.
She'd agreed to go out with Lindsey to avoid thinking about Spike, and all she'd done the entire time she'd been out with Lindsey was think about Spike. And what made that even worse was the fact that he was right. He was so totally right.
You saw what you wanted to see.
She had read into Spike's messages. She had expected him to be jealous and possessive and had been disappointed when he hadn't been, so she'd accused him of trying…well, she wasn't even sure what exactly she'd been so sure he was trying to do. Distract her, maybe. Keep her from having a nice time. But the sad fact was that Lindsey had kissed her. After she'd gone back inside, after she'd tried to apologize to him for being distracto girl all night, he'd pulled her into his arms and kissed her. And it had been a good kiss. His lips had been soft and the kiss had been sweet and it had been the perfect balance of tender and strong.
And Buffy'd felt nothing. Not a thing.
Not that she'd expected to, what with the whole lack of sparkage thing that she'd already more than prepared herself for. No, she hadn't been surprised by the nothingness of the kiss. The feeling nothing hadn't so much been the problem as the feeling nothing and then immediately wanting to…needing to feel something.
And when she'd wanted to feel something, she'd come straight here. Straight to him.
God, why did he have to do this? Why did he have to make it so damn hard for her not to want him? Why did he have to do that thing where he looked at her and made her feel like she was standing in front of him stripped stark naked, like he was always just a half second away from grabbing her and shoving her up against the nearest vertical surface.
The way he was looking at her now. The way he was looking at her as he set his drink down beside her purse and stepped even closer to her still. Like a shark, smelling blood in the water.
"You look nice, by the way," he told her softly, his voice silky and low. Lashes fanning down and up again, trailing over her in slow, measured strokes. His eyes found hers again, lips quirking appreciatively. "I like your hair like that." And she watched as he inhaled, nostrils flaring, his hand reaching up as if he was going to wrap a strand of her hair around his finger.
The movement of his hand broke the spell he'd woven around her, and she stepped back again. Just in time to side step his reach.
"Stop it."
"Stop what?" He asked, blinking at her. His eyes looking surprised, but his voice still all low and rumbly, as real a caress across her skin as if he'd just went ahead and touched her. "Just said you look nice."
Buffy's lashes fluttered, her body wanting to respond to him saying that. To him telling her again. "You're using your bedroom voice," she mumbled, glad she was wearing flat sandals instead of heels when she felt her shoe catch on the edge of something as she attempted another step backward. "It, it isn't fair."
His immediate response was another slow smirk, another husky purr. "Never said I'd be fair. Not gonna touch you, though, am I?"
You don't have to be, she thought desperately, trying to remember why it was she came here in the first place. What exactly had she been trying to prove?
"Made a promise. Told you I wouldn't touch you," he murmured softly, inching toward her again. They were almost nose-to-nose now. He breathed in, breathed out, his breath cool and smelling like mint and scotch and smoke. He always smelled faintly of smoke, even though she didn't think she'd ever actually seen him light a cigarette. His lips feathered over hers, bare millimeters away as he breathed, "Not until you came to me."
-Sunday, July 14th. 12:27pm-
"Oh my God, I knew it," Faith crowed, sitting up on the bed, her back suddenly ramrod straight as she pointed at Buffy. "There was no way you could work for someone that hot and not be doing the dirty."
Actually, there were lots of ways she could have been working for Spike and not been "doing the dirty". Lots of ways Buffy should have actively been working toward before that stupid 4th of July party. What she'd been trying to work toward ever since.
And failing miserably at.
"Faith, shh," Buffy hissed on instinct, knowing even as she did that there wasn't anyone around to overhear them. "We aren't…doing the dirty. We aren't doing anything."
Because they weren't. Definitely were not. Not anymore, at least.
"Maybe you aren't doing anything now, but you did do something." She raised her eyebrows expectantly, looking just way, way too excited about the whole Buffy being a dirty mistress thing. "Right?"
And Buffy, being the dirty mistress that she sort of was, found herself almost appreciating it. Not because she wanted to be anybody's dirty little secret, but because she'd been carrying around this weight, this huge, massive secret all by herself for what felt like so long now. It was kind of nice, honestly. To be able to just talk about it.
So when she felt her lips twitch up a little at her roommate's enthusiasm, she let them. "We…did," she said slowly, still a little hesitant to finally admit it out loud. Then, almost as an afterthought, "Once."
Faith's enthusiasm waned just slightly.
"Once," she repeated emphatically.
Buffy narrowed her eyes at her and nodded. "Yes,once." It was a lie, but it was a white lie. White lies weren't bad, right? They were all tiny and small and…white. "And it was totally before I knew who he was. Before either of us knew who either of us were."
Disbelieving, voice flat, Faith raised an eyebrow and murmured, "So you only screwed your smokin' hot, silver fox of a boss once."
"Once, before I knew he was my boss." Buffy paused, bit down on her lip. Squeezed her eyes shut with a wince and added in rush, voice small, "And maybe once after."
So much for those little, not so bad white lies.
Faith threw her head back and laughed, kicking her feet out into the mattress giddily. "Oh my God, you're totally a dirty slut." Still laughing, she lowered her eyes back to Buffy's. She ran her tongue along her bottom lip and said, "You're totally the trampy little office slut. I love it." Shaking her head, she leaned back again and winked. "I knew I liked you."
"I am not the trampy office slut, Faith," she countered, laughing a little in spite of herself. Maybe she just needed to say something. Say it, for once, out loud. To someone she should have known would do the exact opposite of judge her over it. Not that Buffy maybe couldn't do with a little good-natured judgment, but she definitely wasn't ready for all that just yet. Leaning further into the pillows again, she sighed. "It was just…the two times. That's all."
"Fine. Two times, that's all, whatever." The dark haired girl pulled her full lower lip into her mouth and nibbled down on it, leaning forward conspiratorially and dropping her voice to a husky hum. "How was he?"
"Faith," Buffy warned.
"You have to give me something," she cried, exasperated, falling back onto the bed dramatically. "Please, B, you're killing me here."
Sighing, fighting the urge to smile like an idiot, Buffy glanced down at the duvet, tracing the floral pattern beside her hand over and over again with the pad of her thumb. Searching for a word, a single word, that would somehow describe Spike in bed without having to actually describe Spike in bed. Finally, she settled on the right one.
Glancing up at her roommate through her lashes, she said, "Perfect."
"God, I hate you so much right now," Faith murmured, deftly batting away the pillow Buffy tossed at her head and laughing, rolling over onto her side and propping her head up in her hand. "So, what were you doing last night with Blondie if you weren't doing him?"
The anxious knots made their presence known in Buffy's stomach once again as she thought about how she wanted to answer that question.
"Something stupid," she said softly, all the mirth from a moment ago draining away and leaving her feeling cold.
-Sunday, July 14th. 1:03am-
Spike's lips were almost pressed against hers. She was so drawn to him, a moth to a flame, her body inching toward his even as her mind kept trying to remind her why it shouldn't. Moving closer, closer, closer. Her eyes drifted shut, she felt his breath fanning over her lips again, felt them ghost ever so lightly across hers.
And then her brain won out, and her eyes snapped open.
"We are so not doing this," Buffy told him, quickly side-stepping and moving smoothly out of the circle of his personal space, walking briskly back toward the counter to pick up her purse.
"Funny," he purred from behind her, having turned around to watch her pick her purse off the counter top. "It looks a bit to me like we are."
"No," Buffy corrected him, drawing the word out slowly. "We are not." She slung the strap of her purse over her shoulder. "You aren't pursuing me, and I am definitely not going to come to you. End of discussion." She turned her back on him, moved for the door. "So you can just cut all this out now, and I'm going to go home and—"
His voice caught her. Honeyed, smooth as silk, wrapping itself around her and tugging her backward. "Buffy."
"Oh, no." She turned to face him, pointing at him with an accusatory finger. "No, don't Buffy me. You don't get to say my name like that."
Amused, he asked, "Like what?"
"Like you're…" she floundered for the right words, gesticulating wildly with her free hand, "reading it out of a dirty book or something."
"Why not?"
"Because." Why not? She had a reason. A host of very, very good reasons. At least she had before he'd started looking at her like that. Now, all she could seem to think of was, "It's skeevy, and wrong. And it makes me feel funny." She scrambled for the next words, letting them tumble from her lips in a rush. "And it's undignified."
Lame. Even she knew that was lame.
Smiling softly at her, looking at her covertly through his lashes, he said softly, "'I'd always rather be happy than dignified.'"
Buffy tried to ignore the way his words, how fluid and musical he somehow made them sound, gave her a full body tingle, shoving the tingles down and opting instead for righteous indignation. "Oh, nice try buddy," she tried for false bravado, planting her hands on her hips. "But that's the wrong Brontë sister."
"Christ," Spike growled good naturedly, "don't tell me you're an Emily girl?" He rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "Next you'll be spoutin' off about how A Farewell to Arms is so severely underrated and how Fitzgerald is the bloody pinnacle of all great American literature."
Okay, really? A knock against Hemingway and Fitzgerald?
Buffy bristled at that, hands digging even harder into her hips. "Oh, that's hilarious coming from someone who reads Salinger forfun."
"The man's a bloody marvel," Spike told her, dropping his eyes level with hers again, his jaw suddenly tense, ticking.
"The man writes lousy narrative, and all."
His eyebrows shot up appreciatively, but he still looked mildly irritated. "Least he wasn't a pretentious sod who spent pages dronin' on and on in flowery language and too-pretty metaphors."
"Whatever," Buffy said dismissively, tearing her gaze away from his. "I didn't come here to argue over your lack of taste in American classics, anyway."
"No," Spike agreed readily, "you came here because I got under your skin tonight."
"No," she countered just as readily, "I came here to tell you that I am not, in no way, under any circumstances, ever, having an affair with you, Spike."
This actually seemed to surprise him.
For the first time since she'd arrived at his doorstep, his eyes widened in genuine disbelief. He stepped back, blinking at her. "I didn't say anythin' about havin' an affair, Buffy."
A little flustered by his genuine shock at her assumption, she covered quickly, folding her arms over her chest and telling him stiffly, "That's what it's called when you repeatedly look to engage in a sexual relationship with a woman who isn't your wife."
Now he looked completely baffled. The expression didn't last long, though, before it shifted to one verging on a lot more than just slightly irritated.
"That's what you think?" he asked her, narrowing his eyes. And she saw it. Just for a second, a brief flash of what might have been rage, and quite possibly a little hurt, in the blue there. "That this is just about sex?"
He spat the word out like it left a bad taste in his mouth, making her jump.
"Isn't it?" she challenged him, sounding a lot more confident than she felt.
"No, you daft girl," he hissed, voice growing menacing, "if this was just about sex I can think of much easier ways to get it, from women who are a right lot easier to deal with than you."
Now, that was uncalled for.
"How sweet," Buffy grumbled under her breath, trying hard not to let it show. The fact that his words had rattled her a little. The way he'd sounded like it was the most ridiculous, the most insulting thing he'd ever heard.
Spike glared at her. "I'm making a point, you silly bint." Then he reached for her, grabbing her by the elbows. Not pulling her against him, leaving distance between them, but leaning his face down toward hers and forcing her to meet his eyes. "This is in no way just about sex to me, Buffy," he said seriously, scanning her face. "I don't even know how you could think that."
"Don't you?" Buffy asked, remembering a little of her ire from earlier, pulling her arms out of his grip. She stepped backward. "What am I supposed to think, Spike? All the innuendo and the undressing me with your eyes and the provocative green dress texts?"
He frowned more deeply, looking equal parts frustrated and also a little bit sorry now, like maybe he was starting to see where she was coming from. "You honestly think all I want from you is sex?"
Buffy paused, wondering at the look on her boss's face. Not entirely sure how to read all the different emotions passing over his features now. "That's what most people want from affairs."
Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say.
"Christ, quit usin' that word, will you?" Spike growled, suddenly furious. Whirling away from her, he reached up to run his fingers back through his hair, tousling the platinum strands as he did, freeing some of the more unruly curls from the gel. Buffy stood mutely, watching as his shoulders moved up, then down as he breathed deeply. Steadied himself.
"That's not what this is," he finally told her, voice strained, like he was trying very hard to keep control of his temper. "And it's not what I want. Besides that, even if it is what I wanted from you, it couldn't be considered that." He glanced at her from over his shoulder. "To have a true extramarital affair you have to have a marriage that's worth somethin'."
Annoyed by what sounded to her like an excuse, and not just any excuse, but an oldest line in the book excuse, Buffy scoffed. "And yours isn't?"
"My marriage is a bloody joke, Buffy," Spike said, turning back around to face her. His eyes dark, expression unreadable. "It always has been."
Wait. Wait, he was actually talking to her…about this. About his marriage.
Freezing in place, Buffy stared at him. "What are you talking about?"
"I'm talkin' about the fact that my wife and I don't speak to each other unless it's about work, or money." His eyes flashed again, jaw clenching tight. Like he didn't want to be telling her any of this but for whatever reason felt like he had to. "Talkin' about the fact that we slept in separate rooms for years before I finally decided just to find a place of my own." He sighed, shook his head. "Somewhere I could go to think. Be alone."
He'd barely begun to talk to her about all this and already her head was spinning, trying to digest the information he was giving her. Wait, what did that mean exactly? A place of his own…
He didn't even live with her anymore?
"Here?" Buffy asked slowly, tearing her gaze from his to look around the loft.
Spike nodded, letting his gaze follow hers. "Here."
"No wonder it feels like such a bachelor pad," she murmured, eyes scanning slowly over the record player, still playing that steady, thrumming beat it had been when she'd first walked in.
"Why did you come here tonight?" Spike asked her suddenly, like a light bulb had just gone off. His eyes lighted on her, narrowed slightly.
She frowned at him. "You're deflecting."
"You're the one barged in my door at one in the bloody mornin', luv." He tilted his head to the side. "Think I have a right to ask."
Buffy guessed that much was true. "I-"
"Tell the truth now, pet," Spike told her slowly, voice steady and low as he cut her off. Like he'd already read her mind and known she was working through an excuse of her own, or maybe another denial.
Tell the truth.
Okay. Sure.
She could do that.
She was asking Spike to tell the truth, so she could do it, too.
Inhaling deeply, letting the air out slowly through her nose, she squared her shoulders and met his eyes. "I came here tonight because I need to know what you're thinking," she told him honestly. It wasn't a lie. Wasn't a lie, even though it wasn't entirely the truth, either. Not the whole truth anyway. But she was here, and he was talking…had been talking. And now she found that she suddenly really wanted to know. Needed to know. "I need to know what this is. Tell me about your marriage, Spike. Tell me about your wife. Please. I…" And there weren't any other words other than what she'd already told him, she shrugged. "I just need to know."
Spike stepped closer to her, and for a split second she thought he was going to try and kiss her again. Instead, he just reached down and around her waist for his drink, the one he'd discarded on the kitchen counter earlier, picking it back up. He glanced at her, nodded his head. Turned his back and started walking slowly toward the main space of his condo. Buffy heard the ice clinking against the side of his glass as he lifted it to his lips, lowered it again. He sighed.
A beat passed in heavy, mounting silence.
Then, finally, just when she thought she couldn't take it anymore, he said softly, "Not a very happy story, I'm afraid." A wry glance back over his shoulder at her. "Though you've probably sussed out as much for yourself by now."
Buffy sighed in turn, mentally trying to prepare herself for whatever it was he was about to tell her. She removed the strap of her purse from her shoulder once more, moved forward herself, setting it back down on his countertop. She nodded, biting down on the inside of her cheek. "Sort of had that much noodled, yeah."
Buffy found herself holding her breath as she watched him, watching him drop his head, his shoulder sag in resignation before he looked back up. Started to talk.
"I'd been out of University for about a year, year and a half when we met," he began, speaking in a low, measured tone. He wasn't looking at Buffy, but he wasn't exactly avoiding her eyes, either. Just a little distant. Like he was remembering something he'd been trying not to think about for a really long time. "I was young, you know? And I was foolish, and listless and the first time I met Cecily, I thought she was…perfect. I thought she was what I needed." He took a thoughtful pause, looking down into his glass. "My life hadn't exactly been…stable, up to that point. What with mum and dad's split, and me bein' so bloody selfish. I'd gotten in some trouble with the law throughout the years. Got worse after I graduated." His eyes flickered to Buffy's. "Nothin' huge, mind you. Just a little too much drinkin', some fighting. But it got bad enough that I felt like I was losin' my grip on things. Then, when mum got sick, I…" he trailed off, raising his glass to his lips for another drink. "Anyway, we started datin', got married a whirlwind six months later and moved to the States right after that."
Buffy kept her eyes on him, taking a few steps further into the living space as she let all that sink in.
Cecily. His wife had a name now. Cecily Pratt.
That was the woman that he'd married…she stopped, quickly did the math in her head, remembered vaguely what he'd told her their first night in the bar. "Twelve years ago."
Spike nodded, looking down into the remaining liquor he was beginning to slowly swirl in his glass.
She let that sink in for another moment before she said it again. Repeated the number of years he'd been married to this woman, Cecily. His wife.
She wasn't sure why it surprised her, really. He was more than old enough to have been married that long. He would have only been what, twenty-five? That was plenty old enough to be married. It just…twelve years seemed like such a long time to Buffy. Twelve years ago, she was playing with Barbie dolls and still in gymnastics and God, in the fifth grade.
For the first time in a long time, Buffy felt the full weight of her age. Felt the weight of how young she actually was. It had been a long time since she'd felt her age.
"You've been married for twelve years," she said it again, working through the truth of the words for the last time as she spoke them out loud. Twelve years of very real marriage to a very real woman.
Spike's lips twisted sardonically as he nodded again, finishing his drink and immediately moving toward the bookshelf to pour himself another. Bottle in hand, his back to her, he said, "And we'd been married for a little over a year, the first time I caught Cecily in bed with another bloke."
Whoa.
That…hit her harder than she expected.
Buffy felt her chest tighten in a strange way as she stared at the back of his bleached blonde hair. The first time. That's what he'd said, right? The first time. As in the first of many times. And he said it so casually, too. So coolly. The way you'd tell someone that your neighbor's house was for sale, or that you'd been considering getting a dog. Like finding the woman he'd been married to for twelve years in bed with another man was just…nothing. A throw away.
"Just the first time I caught her, mind you," he continued, capped the bottle of whiskey and set it down, using the same hand to pick up the glass tumbler once more. "Probably'd been goin' on from word go."
"The first time," Buffy managed, repeating the words aloud hesitantly. And she didn't want to ask, but she also couldn't seem to stop herself. "There were…more times?"
Spike snorted, finally turning back around to face her. "Oh, sure," he said quickly, "lots more." Then he paused, as though considering his attitude about it for the first time. He cocked his head to the side, eyes running over her face. "You know, you think it'd be somethin' I'd be used to by now, yeah? I guess I kind of am. Certainly doesn't surprise me anymore, and it sure as hell doesn't bloody bother me."
And she thought he might actually be telling the truth about that. It didn't seem like an act, or that he was covering for some deep-seated pain the topic of his marriage caused him. He certainly didn't look like it bothered him all that much. Not to talk about, and not that it was happening. Had been happening.
But that could have just been some weird defense mechanism.
"Your wife," Buffy hedged cautiously, the word sounding unnatural on her tongue as she said it. She cleared her throat, stepped a little closer. "Cecily," she corrected, forcing the name out through dry lips. "She's having an affair?"
"Mmm," Spike purred in response, clicking his tongue reproachfully. "There's that word again. Affair. Think that implies a longstanding commitment to someone other than her husband, doesn't it?" He pursed his lips and ducked his gaze thoughtfully. "Far as I know she hasn't had that."
Buffy swallowed, a lump in the back of her throat now that hadn't been there a moment ago. "So, just…"
"Just strings of random men," he finished for her, looking up to offer her a strained, tight smile. Another nod. "Random to me, anyway. Don't know exactly how many. Haven't cared enough to ask."
Buffy's chest tightened again, her stomach doing this uncomfortable flippy thing. Wondering a little how he could be standing there and telling her this all so…calmly. Like it meant nothing. Like it didn't make her want to claw Cecily's no doubt stupidly gorgeous eyes out. Like it wasn't absolutely horrible and gut wrenching and sad.
But Spike didn't look sad. He looked haunted, true. Jaded, maybe. But he didn't look sad.
And for whatever reason, that made it all seem that much worse.
"Oh, God, Spike," Buffy breathed, aching for him suddenly, inexplicably. Forgetting for just a moment that he was her boss and she was his employee and that she shouldn't be standing there listening to this, that she had no right to feel vindicated in any of her actions just because his wife was obviously a complete and total moron, she stepped closer. Fighting every impulse she had to reach for him, bring him into her arms. Her eyes began to burn. "I…I'm so…"
"You're what, pet?" he cut her off, his voice unexpectedly hard. Icy cold. His eyes raked over her, searching for something he must not have found because a second later, he was angry. "Shocked? Appalled? Or is it worse than that." He lowered his voice and narrowed his eyes. "Are you feelin' sorry for me now?"
Caught off guard by the abrupt shift in his mood, Buffy stepped back. Blinking, shaking her head, she said, "No." It was a lie, but she wasn't about to tell him that now. Not when that was so obviously the last thing he wanted. "No, I'm…confused." That wasn't a lie. Along with the shock and the abject, chest aching pity, there was also confusion. Lots of it. If Cecily wasn't faithful, if they didn't even speak to each other, then why? Why stay? And now she had to know. Just had to. So she asked, "If it's that bad, if it's always been that bad, then why—"
His eyes flashed and his expression darkened as he cut her off. "Don't ask me a question you know I can't answer."
And just like that, all the anger Buffy'd had stored up, all the fury she'd had fueling her on her way over to Spike's condo earlier that evening came rushing back in a blinding flash, a wave that started at the crown of her head and cascaded down to her toes, flooding her entire body with heat.
"I don't know that you can't answer," she cried, exasperated, her voice shockingly loud in the space between them. At some point, his record had stopped playing, and neither of them had been talking much louder than a low hum. Until now. "Here you are telling me that your marriage is a joke, that it's been a joke for the last twelve years, and yet you won't tell me why you won't just get a divorce and be done with it."
Spike regarded her for a moment, his expression shadowed, unreadable. Finally, he glanced away from her. "It's none of your concern."
That. That was just absolutely hysterical.
And not something she was going to let him get away with.
"You made it my concern," she told him furiously, moving across the room until she was standing directly in front of him, staring up into his face. Making him look at her. "The minute you decided to pursue whatever this is between us, you made it my concern."
Spike responded with a semi-stunned shift, a step backward. Averting his gaze, he opened his mouth immediately to refute her. "I told you, I'm not pursuing any—"
"Oh, Spike, save it," Buffy hissed, folding her arms protectively across her chest. "No more games. I'm so tired of this. Just tell me. Tell me what it is, whatever it is she has on you. Whatever it is you've—" And her eyes and her voice softened at once, word sticking in her throat when she saw the anguish that flashed in his eyes when they rose to meet hers again.
Checking her pride and her rage where she stood, she inched toward him and hesitantly reached up, feathering her fingers over the planes of his cheek as she said softly, "Tell me why you can't leave her."
He turned his head further into her hand on instinct, pressing against it. Stared down at her for an endless moment. The blue of his irises darkened, turning to a gleaming navy as he searched her eyes. And she thought, really thought, that he was about to tell her. Could practically see the words forming.
But then he reached up and pulled her hand away from his cheek, saying harshly, "I just can't, alright?"
No, she thought pathetically, Not alright.
Feeing stung, more than a little disappointed, Buffy pulled her hand out of his grip and back to her side. She inhaled, blinking rapidly to clear her blurry vision. "Fine. You just can't," she spat the words back at him, shaking her head. "Then don't ask me to do something you know I just can't do, either."
And with that, she turned to leave.
"For the last time, Buffy," Spike growled, clearly as out of whatever patience he'd had as she was, "I'm not askin' you to have an affair with me." She heard a slam as he set his drink down and a moment later, his hand flew out to catch her around the wrist. "I'm not askin' you to be the other woman, or my mistress or whatever the fuck else you think it is I'm after."
She turned back to face him, letting him use his grip around her wrist to tug her forward until they were nearly nose to nose. Exhaling slowly, she asked, "Then what are you after, Spike?"
And he looked her dead in the eyes and said simply, "I don't know."
Well. At least he was being honest about it.
Buffy nodded, once more pulling her hand out of his grip, though she did it gently this time. "Then I should go."
She only got about three feet away before Spike spoke again. "'You should try it sometime.'"
Buffy paused, frowning, but didn't turn back around.
Encouraged, maybe, by the fact that she'd stopped walking, he pressed on. "Those were her exact words. 'S what she said to me, Cecily did. The last thing she said to me before I left the house that night." He paused, and when he spoke next, his voice was much closer to her ear than before. "The night I met you."
A cold chill raced down Buffy's back at the implication in his words.
"You should try it…" she trailed off, turning slowly around again. "It. Cheating?"
Spike didn't nod. Didn't acknowledge the truth of her statement in any way, but he didn't really have to. She could see it written on his face. The set of his lips, the storm in his eyes. "She didn't mean it," he said instead, voice soft. "Not really. She was just goadin' me, tryin' to get me to…she's always tryin' to get me to do things like that."
He said it almost flippantly, a sharp edge of irritation in his voice as he glanced away from her. Like it wasn't something that had worked. Whatever it was his wife was always trying to get him to do, it had worked that night. The night they met.
It had worked with her.
"Oh," Buffy murmured, starting to understand. She blinked several times, starting to feel a little numb. "That's why you started talking to me at the bar."
"No." His eyes snapped back to hers instantly, open and wild. "No, that's not…" Jaw clenched, muscle ticking as he turned his eyes to the ceiling, he sighed. "Christ, this is why I didn't want to tell you."
"Why?" she asked simply, voice level. Flat. "So I wouldn't find out that night we spent together was about revenge sex?"
"No," he said again, more forcefully this time. "That's bloody well not what that night was about. And what she said to me wasn't the only reason I started chattin' you up, either."
That might have been true, too. But it didn't feel like it mattered a whole lot anymore. Buffy shook her head and turned to go once more, saying softly, "It's the only reason I think I need to hear."
"No, no." Instead of grabbing for her this time, Spike skirted around her, moving so quickly it didn't even register in her muddled brain that he'd stepped in front and blocked her path to the door until she collided with the wall of his chest. He caught her by both elbows, keeping her from stumbling, and said severely, "You don't get to do that. Ask me to tell you and then scarper off with your tail between your legs the second you hear somethin' you don't like."
He was right.
He was right, and she knew it. More over, she didn't have the energy in her to argue with him about it. She asked for the truth and he was trying to give it to her, and she couldn't bail now. Not yet. So she settled in, let him halfway support her weight in his hands and looked up at him expectantly, eyes fixed to his, letting him know without saying so that she was there, and she was listening.
"Twelve years, Buffy," he began, both his grip on her arms and his voice intensifying as he spoke. "Twelve years of just…putting up with it. Turnin' the other bloody cheek. Focusin' on my work, on nothin' but my work. And I just…that night, I'd just had it, I think. And I went out, and you were there. And you were so…" he paused for a brief moment to search for the right words, finally settling on, "Funny, and smart and sexy. I think I had more fun in those couple hours with you than I'd had in all those twelve sodding years and I just thought to myself, you know…why not?" His hands started to slide up her arms, his skin soft as it skated over hers, moving up from her elbows to curl around her bare biceps. "What's one night, one time?"
One night. One time.
The words hit her in a funny way, somewhere right in the middle of her chest, making it ache differently than it had before.
"That is all I was, then. A one night stand." Buffy hated the way her eyes had started to burn again, the way her voice sounded shaky with hurt instead of resentment as she said it. "A way to get back at Cecily for treating you like dirt for the last twelve years?"
"That's all you were supposed to be," Spike corrected her meaningfully. A subtle distinction, but probably an important one. "But you drew me in. Dug your way under my skin and stayed there. Feisty and sweet all at once. Soft and strong, and a hell of a lot smarter than I'd even imagined." He softened then, began rubbing slow, soothing circles into her skin with his thumbs. His eyes on hers, holding her completely in his thrall. "You just kept pullin' me closer and closer until you were it, the only thing I could…bloody hell, Buffy, you worked one over on me. Didn't even see it comin'. And I don't know how to navigate this, either," he told her softly, honestly, using her own words from the argument they'd had a week ago. "I've made a lot of wrong calls, and I'm a lot of sodding nasty things but I'm not an unfaithful man. Never have been. Know I'm s'posed to feel guilty and wrong bout it. But I…" he let the sentence hang in the air between them, tugged her a little closer, dropped his voice to a silken whisper. "This, with you? It's not wrong."
And that was her cue.
"Yes, it is," Buffy insisted half heartedly, tearing her gaze away from the captivating power of his. It felt like a cop out as she said it. Like she was just saying it to say it, not because she felt really strongly about it being the right thing to say.
Right was wrong and down was up and all her clear-cut black and white had faded into various shades of grey and she felt more confused, more turned around now than she had before she'd ever demanded the truth from him.
Ignorance is bliss.
"Look me in the eyes and say that again."
Buffy forced her head up, meeting his gaze as steadily as she could and whispering sternly, "This is wrong."
Even she could hear it. The catch in her voice. The way the words just didn't quite ring true. And if she could hear it, she knew Spike could. The slight tightening of his grip around her arms let her know he had.
"No," he insisted, "It isn't. My marriage is…it's poison. It's…" His voice dropped impossibly low then, his hypnotic gaze dropping with it, "a glorified fuckin' business arrangement."
She blinked at him, wondering if she'd just heard him right. "What?"
"Nothin'," he said quickly, looking back up at her again. Suddenly in a rush, it seemed. To cover up whatever he thought it was he'd just let slip. "Never mind. It's late." He released her, letting his hands skim over her bare arms one last time before letting go completely. He reached up, ran a hand over his face and said, "You were right, you should go."
But now Buffy was stuck on something. What he'd said just a moment ago. What he'd told her that first day in his office. Calling his marriage a business arrangement. The meeting with the divorce lawyer when he wasn't getting a divorce. When he couldn't get a divorce.
She looked at him, narrowing her eyes slightly. "That first day, in your office. Te very first thing you thought…you asked me if I was trying to blackmail you." Hearing the word made him physically balk, and he immediately turned away from her. She reached out and grabbed him this time, gripping his arm tight and pulling him back around to face her. "What would I have been trying to blackmail you over, exactly?"
"Don't," he warned her, Buffy having clearly touched some nerve. She wasn't sure if it was a warning to drop her line of questioning or to drop his arm.
She didn't do either.
"Why are you afraid of her?" she asked instead, pushing forward.
Spike's eyes flashed. "I'm not."
But Buffy didn't buy that. Not now, not for one second. "Then what are you so afraid of?"
"This isn't about fear, pet. This is about obligation." He did wrench his arm away from her then, rolling his shoulders back and squaring them against her. When she opened her mouth to respond, he cut her off before she could get a single word in with a callous, "You're little more than a child, Buffy. You wouldn't understand."
She gaped at him, furious that he'd use her age of all the stupid, petty things as an excuse to deny her the truth. "You're only fifteen years older than me!"
"With about thirty more years' worth of life experience," he told her coldly.
Buffy scoffed, not entirely sure what else to do. Feeling thrown. First her age, and now her life experience. What excuse would he find next, the color of her finger nail polish? The length of her skirt?
Looking at him in disbelief, she furrowed her brow, narrowed her eyes to slits. "You don't know anything about my life experience."
And it was true. He didn't. That was something Buffy kept very close to her chest, refused to show her cards. Her life was already way too messy without giving out any more of her personal information. But her words, instead of silencing Spike's argument like she'd hoped they would, only seemed to egg him on. Push him forward.
"You're right," he said, voice rough, "I don't. And do you know why?" He jabbed an accusatory finger at her, eyes dark navy, blazing as he answered his own question. "Because you keep shuttin' me out even though you're absolutely dying to let me in."
Buffy stumbled, choking on the words she'd been about to say because they weren't at all relevant anymore. How had he done it again? Managed to turn this back around on her? This was about him. Not her. Not her inability to open up, not her keeping some things to herself. This was about him and his marriage and what he wanted and in no way was this about her.
"I-I'm not," she stammered, caught off guard once again by one of his insanely mercurial mood shifts.
"You are," he argued, and then began to advance on her. Slowly. "You want this. You want me. You want all the things you know I can give to you." He backed her up until she felt the side of his marble counter top digging into her lower back. Pinned, no where to go, she could only stand there and stare up at him, letting his words trickle and shimmy down her spine. "You want to let me in, luv. All the way in. Into your mind as much as your body. You want to shudder and cry out and cling to my back; wrap your legs around my waist, come apart in my arms." He leaned in very close to her then, his pupils dilated, eyes black, and whispered, "You just don't want to be responsible for it."
Buffy slapped him.
Reached out on impulse and struck him across the face, her palm landing with a loud, satisfying smack against the smooth curve of his cheek.
And without missing a beat, Spike grabbed her by the wrist and jerked her against him, crashing his lips roughly down to hers.
She fought him. For a moment, she fought him. Struggled in his arms as he brought her wrist around, looped her arm behind his neck. Tried only half heartedly to shove him away even as he swept a strong hand up her back to hold her in place. But when his tongue flicked out, when he ran it greedily against the seam of her lips, she parted them for him instantly with a throaty moan and melted into his embrace.
He kissed her hard, mercilessly, using the length of his body to pin her against the counter. She clutched at him, one hand digging into the nape of his neck while the other twisted in the fabric of his shirt. And it felt good, this wild, aggressive kiss. Felt good to give into him for a moment.
A moment that stretched into two. Then three.
When he finally tore his mouth from Buffy's, he left her dazed, lips swollen, gasping for air. Seemingly satisfied, he reached up and threaded his fingers in her hair to keep her head still, to keep her eyes on his. "I didn't bloody ask you to come here tonight," he growled, his own chest heaving in time with hers. "You came here on your own. You came to me." He leaned in and kissed her once more. Hard, purposeful, quick. Then pulled back again to say, "So you can act as high and mighty as you like, but don't pretend I'm the only one doin' anythin' less than proper here."
Eyes flashing, going wide, realizing just what exactly had happened, that she'd just stood there and let him practically manhandle her, Buffy began to struggle against him. "Let me go."
"Gladly," he said, and released his hold on her immediately as he stepped back. Eyes black, chest still heaving, he shook his head as he took in her disheveled appearance. "You've no business bein' here until you're ready to admit out loud what you already know in that head of yours."
"There's nothing to admit," she said heatedly, the lie leaving her lips so second nature that she hardly even noticed how insensitive it sounded. Frustrated, fighting to right her lopsided skirt, to calm the fire raging in her gut and flaring across her cheeks, she kept her gaze locked on his. Reached up to run a slightly shaky hand through her tangled hair.
And Spike just looked at her, his lips set in a thin line as his brow furrowed, he shook his head again. She would have missed it if she hadn't been paying attention. The brief flash of pain in his eyes just before his expression suddenly became unreadable. He sniffed, angled himself away from her and said, voice unsteady, "I trust you can see yourself out by now."
Just like that, all the raging, fury fueled wind rushed out of her sails. Because somehow, someway, she'd hurt him. She'd hurt him and she hadn't meant to. Hadn't wanted to. Not really.
Not that it mattered now.
She sighed, lashes fluttering shut as she steadied herself before calling out to him. "Spike—"
"We're done here," was all he said, turning his back completely on her and moving across the condo. She opened her eyes just in time to watch numbly as he disappeared into his bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him.
-Sunday, July 14th. 12:30pm-
Buffy was scanning through her phone, glancing at the various text messages that had been left there by Dawn. All from Dawn.
She didn't want to admit it, but she'd been more than hoping one of them might have been from Spike.
No such luck.
Ten messages on her phone, and each and every one of them was from the sweetly, if not super annoyingly, persistent younger Summers. Buffy was going to have to call her back soon. No more being avoidy girl. She set the phone down once more, eyes meeting the dark gaze of her roommate.
Faith's eyes were sympathetic, her face confused as she continued to stare at Buffy. "So it's over then," she said slowly, dark brows knitting together. "You and Spike?"
You and Spike.
She wished it didn't have such a nice ring to it.
"Yeah," Buffy mumbled, remembering the look on Spike's face last night. The haunted look in his eyes, the pained set of his lips as he'd kicked her out of his condo the night before.
"We're done here."
She sighed, flicked her gaze back up to Faith again and nodded. "Yeah, it's over."
-Sunday, July 14th. 1:10pm-
Once Faith had given her a somewhat awkward, if not completely well intentioned sideways hug, she'd had to get up and leave for work, leaving Buffy once again alone with her thoughts.
After being alone with her thoughts for a grand total of three minutes, Buffy had finally worked up the nerve to call her little sister back. Even enduring the nearly ten minutes of the beginning of the phone call which consisted mainly of Dawn scolding her over ignoring her several phone calls and more than several text messages was preferable to jumbled mess of thoughts tumbling around in her brain, to the ever present lump that seemed to accompany the anxious knots in her gut, so she'd settled back down into her pillows and listened. Then gradually began to answer her sister's questions about the night before.
About the date.
"I don't know, Dawnie," she was saying now, staring blankly up at the ceiling. I wanted to like him. I did like him. He was totally sweet, and a complete gentleman." She sighed, reaching one hand up to press against her forehead. "He just…"
"Okay, stop right there," Dawn warned her suddenly, cutting her off. "If the words 'he's just not Angel' are about to come out of your mouth, I'll fly across the country and kick your butt myself."
Buffy laughed at that. A short, sputtering little sound, because it had caught her so off guard. And becaude it so hadnt been what she'd been thinkjng. "No," she said emphatically, letting her hand delve into her hair, pulling it back away from her forehead. "No, definitely not what I was going to say. He's just…he kissed me at the end of our date. And it was nice." She paused, trying to think about what she wanted to say. Exhaling through her nose, she continued, "Really nice. But—"
"But that was it," Dawn supplied for her.
Buffy nodded even though she couldn't see her. "Yeah."
"Is there someone else?"
"What?" Buffy asked, thrown by the question even though not even an hour ago it had been the exact same conclusion her roommate had come to. She shook her head, again even though she knew Dawn couldn't see her. "No. No, I just think that…"
And her phone buzzed against her ear, the sound making her jump, cutting her off. Buffy shifted the phone away from her ear, rolling over onto her stomach and glancing down at it.
One new message.
From Spike.
Freezing, lowering the phone down to her mattress and flipping it on to speakerphone, she mumbled something verging on incoherent to her little sister as she opened up the message and read through it. Once, twice. Three times.
Spike. 7/14 1:12pm I'm sorry, luv.
She blinked rapidly, re-reading the words again. Shocked. Both by the fact that he'd texted her when he'd seemed so obviously, so entirely done with her last night.
And also a little shocked that he'd apologized. Not that he'd never apologized to her before, but he'd never apologized when he hadn't actually done anything wrong. She stared down at her phone, the anxious knots twisting and releasing, melting into little, beating butterfly wings as she thought about the question Dawn had just asked.
Is there someone else?
"Okay, yeah," Buffy murmured into the speakerphone, inhaling deeply as she admitted it out loud, "I think there might be."
Her phone buzzed again, another new message from Spike. Another before she'd even come up with a response to the first one. She swallowed, clicking the new message open. The first part was just an address. A street she vaguely recognized, that she knew was somewhere over in Beacon Hill.
The second part of the message had her breath catching in her throat.
Spike. 7/14 1:15pm Meet me here at 3:00 today and I'll explain everything.
What could have brought on such a total and complete change of heart, Buffy wasn't sure. She also wasn't sure it mattered. If he was willing, if he was wanting to explain everything to her, who was she to sit around and argue about the why?
On the other end of the line, Dawn sounded confused. "There is someone else, or there might be someone else?"
"Umm," Buffy mused, squinting down at the words on her phone's screen. "I'm not sure yet."
"Ooo, juicy. Tell me about this someone else," Dawn was saying, and Buffy could hear some muffled sounds in the background. Traffic sounds. Dawn was probably walking along Main street, maybe doing some shopping. Maybe going to meet a friend for lunch. "What's his deal?"
"There's no…deal." Buffy answered stiffly, still wondering what exactly it was she was supposed to be saying in response to the texts she'd received from said someone with no deal. Even though there was a deal. There was a big, big deal. She sighed, rolling over onto her back, bringing her phone up over her head so she could keep staring at it. "Things are just complicated."
As if that wasn't the most understated of understatements.
"Do you like him?" her little sister asked, making the question sound so easy. So simple.
And the response came easy, too. Just as simple.
"I do, yeah," Buffy admitted it softly, but out loud. Ou loud for the second time. She swallowed, nodding her head and closing her eyes to say more quietly, "A lot."
Too much.
"Does he like you?"
Another vibrating buzz in her hands, and her eyes fluttered open to read the new message.
Spike. 7/14 12:20pm Please, Buffy.
Her lips quirked into a small smile as she read it again and said, "He does."
There was a beat, a long pause on the other end of the line. Then, finally, "That doesn't sound so complicated to me."
She almost laughed out loud.
"No," Buffy agreed, the small smile slowly falling from her lips as she considered that. "I guess when I put it like that it doesn't."
She'd oversimplified it, sure. Made it sound so completely uncomplicated. Girl meets boy. Girl likes boy. Boy likes girl. Easy, simple. Not at all like how it actually was.
"So what's stopping you then?" Dawn asked. Again, point blank. Making it sound so easy. So simple.
Buffy re-read Spike's message one final time, pulling her bottom lip into her mouth and nibbling on it before pressing reply, typing out her single word response.
Okay.
"I'll let you know when I figure that out," she told her sister quietly, hitting send.