Quite Like You
Chapter One - "You Make Me Sick"
"I can do this," Buffy told herself. "I'm strong. I can handle this". She stared ahead of her warily, as if not convinced by her own words.
She rocked back on her heels, making her first tentative, painful movements. But she honestly felt that if she were to get up, she'd be down there again.
Kneeling by the toilet, throwing up.
Buffy was tired. So tired. She pinned the throwing up on the less-than-healthy combination of Doublemeat Palace Burgers and demon antidote. Whatever it was, it was making her tired and bitchy. Considering her behaviour recently, which involved nearly feeding her family and friends to a demon, being bitchy probably wasn't too good an idea. Not to mention the fact that it made slaying rather difficult.
But the slaying never stopped, and tonight was no different. She stood up tentatively and washed her face. Flinging her black leather jacket over her shoulders, she said good night to Dawn, made sure Willow was home, and set off for another long night of slaying. She tried not to think about what she'd like to be doing after slaying.
She noted thankfully, after spending at least an hour combing her usual haunts, that it seemed to be a relatively quiet night. She felt oddly non-aggressive, unusual considering that slaying usually provided her emotional release. But of course, fighting demons, in this case, actually reminded her of the whole problem. Besides the throwing up, of course.
Spike.
Not that he was particularly "evil", even though she sometimes treated him like he was. It was just that the physicality of fighting, the thrill that she got from slaying, reminded her of Spike. He liked the dance. He made no secret of that. She liked it too. The only difference was that she tried with everything she had in her to hide it.
Consumed by her thoughts, she found herself walking past Spike's crypt. She didn't mean to go there, but somehow, it was always the place she ended up.
She walked quietly past the crypt. There might be vampires, or demons nearby, she reasoned to herself. Nothing. "But I didn't really check it out all that well", she said to herself. She turned on her heel and walked past the door again.
She prayed that Spike wouldn't choose to come outside now. What was she going to say if he discovered that she was walking backwards and forwards in front of his crypt? Damn Spike. Damn him and the way he could see right through her. Why did things with him have to be so complicated?
In spite of herself, or perhaps because of herself, Buffy knew deep down that she was wrong. She had been so wrong. She thought of the time when she had beat him, pouring all of her frustration towards herself on to him. His face. But, where a mortal man might have given up, Spike stayed. He always stayed. Which was why Buffy was walking past his crypt, staring at her feet and muttering "Damn you Spike" whilst kicking a stone along.
Of course, Spike chose that moment to open his crypt door. He always chose the most convenient moments, didn't he? Buffy flashed back to the first morning-after, remembering the look on his face when she had called him convenient. Yet another time she had got it wrong. He wasn't convenient at all. He was just the opposite.
"There's a problem, Slayer?" Spike asked, leaning against the doorframe of his crypt.
"Um, no. Nothing's wrong. Nothing at all. I was just...ah, patrolling. Yeah, patrolling. I'm big with the patrolling. All patrol-ly, you know," Buffy babbled, trying not to miss the way he rolled "luv", "pet" and even "Goldilocks" off his tongue. She was just Slayer to him now.
"Quite a busy night, eh?" Spike said, doing his best, annoying "I know that you're lying because I can see right through you" look.
"Very busy. Lots of scary demons and vampires. You might want to go back inside there, Spike. It's not safe," she said, trying to sound flippant.
"Wouldn't want me to get hurt, would you Slayer? Unless you're the one doing all the...hurting," he said with a slight leer on his face.
Buffy had no answer to that. "You make me sick, Spike," she said, trying to sound as if she meant it. Regret washed over her. She didn't need to see that look on his face anymore.
"Look Spike, I shouldn't be here, so I'm leaving, ok?" Buffy said, exasperated with herself.
"I'm not making you stay. I've never made you do anything," he said pointedly.
"Yeah, I know," Buffy replied, looking down at her feet.
Minutes passed. "Um, Buffy," Spike said. "You do realise that you were supposed to be leaving, right?"
"Just give me a minute Spike," Buffy replied. "I'm not feeling the best". That was an understatement - she felt even worse than she did after her drunken binge with Spike. Why did Spike always have to be the one to see her like this?
"Oh, I'm sorry," Spike replied. All at once, he turned from "sarcastic, sex-god" Spike into "caring, concerned" Spike. Damn him. He walked over and placed one hand on her back. "Is there anything I can do?"
"No," Buffy replied, too sick to object to his comforting touch. "I just need to sit for a few minutes. Or possibly hours." She sunk to her knees and sat on the nearest tombstone.
"I've got time," Spike said softly, feeling the way her reluctant weakness made his resolve melt. This was a new experience for both of them - her admitting, he being allowed to comfort. He noticed the thinly veiled concern on Buffy's face, but decided not to question her. Talking tended to lead to bad things. Best be quiet.
Time passed. Neither of them moved. Finally, Buffy stood.
"Thank you Spike," she said slowly, turning and walking tentatively away.
"You're welcome," he said to the wind. He tried not to think about what it meant that Buffy had finally said thank you to him.
Chapter One - "You Make Me Sick"
"I can do this," Buffy told herself. "I'm strong. I can handle this". She stared ahead of her warily, as if not convinced by her own words.
She rocked back on her heels, making her first tentative, painful movements. But she honestly felt that if she were to get up, she'd be down there again.
Kneeling by the toilet, throwing up.
Buffy was tired. So tired. She pinned the throwing up on the less-than-healthy combination of Doublemeat Palace Burgers and demon antidote. Whatever it was, it was making her tired and bitchy. Considering her behaviour recently, which involved nearly feeding her family and friends to a demon, being bitchy probably wasn't too good an idea. Not to mention the fact that it made slaying rather difficult.
But the slaying never stopped, and tonight was no different. She stood up tentatively and washed her face. Flinging her black leather jacket over her shoulders, she said good night to Dawn, made sure Willow was home, and set off for another long night of slaying. She tried not to think about what she'd like to be doing after slaying.
She noted thankfully, after spending at least an hour combing her usual haunts, that it seemed to be a relatively quiet night. She felt oddly non-aggressive, unusual considering that slaying usually provided her emotional release. But of course, fighting demons, in this case, actually reminded her of the whole problem. Besides the throwing up, of course.
Spike.
Not that he was particularly "evil", even though she sometimes treated him like he was. It was just that the physicality of fighting, the thrill that she got from slaying, reminded her of Spike. He liked the dance. He made no secret of that. She liked it too. The only difference was that she tried with everything she had in her to hide it.
Consumed by her thoughts, she found herself walking past Spike's crypt. She didn't mean to go there, but somehow, it was always the place she ended up.
She walked quietly past the crypt. There might be vampires, or demons nearby, she reasoned to herself. Nothing. "But I didn't really check it out all that well", she said to herself. She turned on her heel and walked past the door again.
She prayed that Spike wouldn't choose to come outside now. What was she going to say if he discovered that she was walking backwards and forwards in front of his crypt? Damn Spike. Damn him and the way he could see right through her. Why did things with him have to be so complicated?
In spite of herself, or perhaps because of herself, Buffy knew deep down that she was wrong. She had been so wrong. She thought of the time when she had beat him, pouring all of her frustration towards herself on to him. His face. But, where a mortal man might have given up, Spike stayed. He always stayed. Which was why Buffy was walking past his crypt, staring at her feet and muttering "Damn you Spike" whilst kicking a stone along.
Of course, Spike chose that moment to open his crypt door. He always chose the most convenient moments, didn't he? Buffy flashed back to the first morning-after, remembering the look on his face when she had called him convenient. Yet another time she had got it wrong. He wasn't convenient at all. He was just the opposite.
"There's a problem, Slayer?" Spike asked, leaning against the doorframe of his crypt.
"Um, no. Nothing's wrong. Nothing at all. I was just...ah, patrolling. Yeah, patrolling. I'm big with the patrolling. All patrol-ly, you know," Buffy babbled, trying not to miss the way he rolled "luv", "pet" and even "Goldilocks" off his tongue. She was just Slayer to him now.
"Quite a busy night, eh?" Spike said, doing his best, annoying "I know that you're lying because I can see right through you" look.
"Very busy. Lots of scary demons and vampires. You might want to go back inside there, Spike. It's not safe," she said, trying to sound flippant.
"Wouldn't want me to get hurt, would you Slayer? Unless you're the one doing all the...hurting," he said with a slight leer on his face.
Buffy had no answer to that. "You make me sick, Spike," she said, trying to sound as if she meant it. Regret washed over her. She didn't need to see that look on his face anymore.
"Look Spike, I shouldn't be here, so I'm leaving, ok?" Buffy said, exasperated with herself.
"I'm not making you stay. I've never made you do anything," he said pointedly.
"Yeah, I know," Buffy replied, looking down at her feet.
Minutes passed. "Um, Buffy," Spike said. "You do realise that you were supposed to be leaving, right?"
"Just give me a minute Spike," Buffy replied. "I'm not feeling the best". That was an understatement - she felt even worse than she did after her drunken binge with Spike. Why did Spike always have to be the one to see her like this?
"Oh, I'm sorry," Spike replied. All at once, he turned from "sarcastic, sex-god" Spike into "caring, concerned" Spike. Damn him. He walked over and placed one hand on her back. "Is there anything I can do?"
"No," Buffy replied, too sick to object to his comforting touch. "I just need to sit for a few minutes. Or possibly hours." She sunk to her knees and sat on the nearest tombstone.
"I've got time," Spike said softly, feeling the way her reluctant weakness made his resolve melt. This was a new experience for both of them - her admitting, he being allowed to comfort. He noticed the thinly veiled concern on Buffy's face, but decided not to question her. Talking tended to lead to bad things. Best be quiet.
Time passed. Neither of them moved. Finally, Buffy stood.
"Thank you Spike," she said slowly, turning and walking tentatively away.
"You're welcome," he said to the wind. He tried not to think about what it meant that Buffy had finally said thank you to him.