If Not Wisely
Chapter 17: The Cleaning
Spoilers: Begins immediately post-Wrecked, becomes AU after that.
Rating: R for swearing and some sexual situations.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Feedback: Would be highly appreciated. This is my first attempt at fanfic, and I'd like to know how I'm doing. Constructive criticism is welcome.
Distribution: So far, just here. If anyone wants it, just let me know.
Summary: Buffy continues to struggle with her feelings for Spike, and the whole gang tries to help Willow with her abuse of magic.
A/N: Finally a new chapter! This one took my forever to write, and I apologize again for the long delay. I'm afraid that there's not much action in this one, just Buffy thinking and thinking some more. Hey, the girl's got a lot to think about! Thanks so much for all the reviews. An extra special thanks to Bella for her constant encouragement, honest feedback and for putting up with my e-mail rants! You're the best! I hope you guys enjoy the new chapter, and I promise there will actually be dialogue in the next one! If you absolutely hate it, let me know why. Thanks!
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Buffy was restless. Spike had barely been gone five minutes, and she didn't know what to do with herself. Looking for an outlet for her pent-up energy, she decided to turn to housework. She finished the remaining breakfast dishes in record time, and went to work on scrubbing the kitchen floor. Ordinarily, Buffy wasn't one for cleaning—the state of her kitchen floor could attest to that—but today the mindless task seemed comforting. As usual, she had way too much of her mind, and concentrating on something so menial helped her to avoid thinking too much.
She was about halfway done with the floor when her thoughts began to catch up with her. The fact that Spike had spurned her advances really bothered her. The fact that she was bothered by it bothered her even more. She could kick herself for jumping him once again, and she could stake him for turning her down. Who did he think he was, anyway? Who was he to turn her down? If anything, she should be the one turning him down. He was just so infuriating.
Buffy threw the dishcloth into the bucket of soapy water with a little too much force and ended up nearly covered in the now dirty water. Great. God, Slayer strength was such a pain in the ass sometimes. Oh well, just another frustration that she could chalk up to Spike. She knew that she shouldn't be letting him get to her like this, but she really couldn't help herself. She shouldn't be wanting him at all; it was wrong. Just because Spike was incredibly sexy and amazingly good in bed, it still didn't make it right to be with him. Everything about it went against her very reason for being. She sighed, wiping some water from her face, and tried to push all thoughts of Spike of her mind.
Forty-five minutes later, the kitchen floor was so clean she could eat off it, and every other surface in the kitchen was sparkling. Buffy surveyed her handy work and was pleased with the result. Too bad that horrible woman from Social Services wasn't here to see it. Smiling to herself, she suddenly realized that she was starving. Buffy hadn't been eating much since she'd come back, and especially not in the last couple of weeks. She had begun to notice that her clothes were starting to almost hang off of her. Not a good sign. Nobody likes a scrawny Slayer. She decided that she'd better eat something.
Upon opening the refrigerator, Buffy was dismayed to see that it was almost empty. Glumly, she considered her choices. There were some leftovers, which appeared to be growing fur, a half-gallon of milk that had long since passed its expiration date, a package of lunch meat that looked suspiciously slimy, and an apple that had definitely seen better times. Of course, there was no short supply of condiments. Buffy gazed forlornly at the half-used bottles of salad dressing, ketchup, mustard, soy sauce and mayonnaise. Too bad there was no food to put any of it on. Man can not live by condiments alone.
With a sigh, Buffy began to clear everything out. The leftovers went into the garbage, container and all, and the lunch meat soon followed suit. She poured the milk down the drain and pitched the carton. At least now, it was official. Mother Hubbard's cupboard was completely bare. Munching on the apple, which she had taken pity on and decided to spare the fate of its companions, Buffy did a quick inventory of the rest of her food supply. Not much there. The freezer held a half-empty box of fish sticks, two very freezer burned chicken breasts, an ice pack and a couple of frozen waffles. The cupboards were even worse. Hot coco powder and mini-marshmallows, a few stale crackers, one package of Ramen noodles and a can of clam chowder that must have been there since before her mother had died.
Buffy's earlier cleaning high had dissipated in the face of impending starvation. She choked down a few of the stale crackers and tried to decide what to do. It looked like it was definitely going to be a Domino's night. Maybe tomorrow, which was Saturday, she could get Xander to take her to the grocery store. Although the store wasn't really that far, and she did have Slayer strength, Buffy didn't relish the thought of dragging groceries home by herself. She really wished that she had just bitten the bullet and learned how to drive like the rest of the world. But that was neither here, nor there. The problem at hand was the food situation.
Unfortunately, rectifying that problem would take money—something Buffy didn't have much of. She really was going to have to get a job. But where? Spike had been right about the Doublemeat Palace, and she really didn't think that she could resort to stripping and come out with her dignity intact. There had to be a better way. Spike's idea about the self-defense classes had been a good one, and she wondered if there was some way she could make it work. Maybe Anya would let her hold the classes in the training room at the Magic Box. If Buffy promised to give her a cut of the profits, there was no way Anya could say no. She gave the idea a little more thought. It probably wouldn't be so bad to help out around the shop a little, until business starting to pick up. She'd have to stick to stuff like taking inventory or stocking the shelves. No waiting on customers. There was no way she'd relive that nightmare.
Buffy was starting to feel a little better as she washed down the crackers with a glass of water. She really thought there might be a way to make it work. They could put up fliers on the UC Sunnydale campus. College girls were always concerned with protecting themselves. Maybe Willow and Tara could convince people from their classes, or even the Wicca group, to sign up. How much should she charge? Buffy was really starting to get excited now. She'd have to talk it over with Spike and see what he thought. He was always full of good ideas.
Spike. The thought of him made Buffy stop short, glass halfway to her mouth. What was she doing? She was starting to think of him as her boyfriend or something. Why was he the first person she thought of? She slammed her glass down with a groan of frustration and was relieved to see that it did not break. This was getting ridiculous. Spike was not her boyfriend, and he never would be. She would simply have to stop thinking about him in that manner.
Determined to push all thoughts of Spike from her head once again, Buffy decided to do the laundry. She hadn't done any in almost two weeks now, so there was sure to be a lot. She threw the rest of the crackers in the garbage can and stomped upstairs to round up all the dirty clothes. A little avoidance never hurt anyone, and Buffy was an old pro at avoiding things that she didn't want to think about.
She flung herself into the task whole-heartedly as she emptied all of the hampers and started separating the whites, colors and delicates. She even went as far as to crawl under the beds looking for stray socks and brave the horror that was Dawn's closet. There, Buffy found a substantial portion of her own wardrobe. She'd have to pay a little more attention to what her sister wore out of the house in the morning. Dawn knew that she wasn't supposed to take Buffy's clothes without asking, and they'd had more than their share of fights about it in the past. She might just have to have a little talk with her sister about that one. Still, it didn't seem worth it to start a fight, not when she was tying to concentrate on being a better parent. There was no harm in Dawn borrowing a couple of sweaters, as long as she didn't ruin anything.
Buffy put the first load in the washer and went to tackle her own messy closet. She was feeling quite industrious and congratulating herself on avoiding all thoughts of Spike, when she found it. There, at the bottom of her closet, crumpled in a tight ball, was Spike's tee-shirt. She felt a strange little tug at her heart as she picked it up. Spike's shirt. Almost unconsciously, she held it to her face and breathed deeply. His familiar scent washed over her, and Buffy knew that she'd lost yet another battle with herself. She glared at the shirt, wishing it were Spike. Why wouldn't he just get out of her head already? Scowling, she made to throw it on the pile of darks in the corner, but she thought the better of it. What the hell, she might as well have a little souvenir. She held it up to her face again. Yeah, she was definitely keeping it. The shirt was big and comfortable, perfect for sleeping in. Plus, it smelled like him, and she liked it. Buffy folded the tee-shirt carefully and hid it at the bottom of her underwear drawer. She knew that she'd never hear the end of it if Dawn found it.
Closet all taken care of, Buffy decided that it couldn't really hurt all that much to think about Spike for a while. He was, after all, a part of her life now, so why shouldn't she think about him once in a while? She switched the first load of laundry to the dryer and started another. The cleaning spree continued as she set about vacuuming and dusting the living room between loads. This time, however, she allowed her mind to wander freely.
The earlier conversation with Spike had been somewhat surprising. For as long as she'd known him, Buffy had considered Spike to be a very reactionary sort of person. There were actually rather alike in that way. Stake now, questions later, had always been Buffy's motto. Spike was always a bundle of nervous energy, franticly pacing or ranting in anger. That morning, however, he had been quite different. Calmly sitting instead of franticly pacing and listening quietly instead of ranting loudly. He had sat there and spouted platitudes like, "These things take time," and, "You can only do so much." Of course, he was right, as always, but that didn't make his unusual behavior any less disconcerting for Buffy.
Buffy paused in her vacuuming, remembering what Spike had told her in the kitchen. He had looked so sad, telling her that he had no friends, but more than a little resigned to the fact. She had felt sorry for him, this creature, this thing of evil, who had turned his back on everything he'd known for over a century to help his worst enemy. At the time, it hat seemed like the most natural thing in the world to say that she was his friend. What does anyone say in response to something like that? Spike hadn't really seemed to believe her, and Buffy wasn't sure if she even believed herself. Were they friends? Before everything that had happened with Glory, before she had died, Buffy would have never even considered labeling Spike as a friend. A reluctant ally maybe, but certainly not a friend. But so much had changed since then. He had proven himself over and over, and she had been forced to acknowledge that Spike really did care about her and Dawn. Hell, he'd even stuck around after Buffy had died, looking after Dawn and helping her friends patrol. Weren't those the actions of a friend?
The vacuum whirred as it sucked up some of the fringe from the rug under the coffee table, and Buffy quickly shut it off. She hadn't been paying much attention to what she was doing. With a sigh, she bent down to pull the fringe out of the rollers. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to think about Spike while vacuuming, lest she end up with a broken vacuum cleaner. Buffy climbed back to her feet and plopped heavily onto the couch. She might as well give up any pretense of cleaning and just continue trying to decipher her strange relationship with Spike.
Could they ever be friends? Well, Spike hadn't tried to kill her in a really long time. Also, he'd really been there for her ever since she'd come back. He always listened to her ramble on about her many problems, and often tried to help her make things better. She knew that he would always help, no questions asked, if she ever needed him, and that he would not hesitate to lay his life on the line for her. But it was more than that. Spike always seemed to know exactly the right thing to say, no matter the situation, and he could never fail to bring a smile to her face. He had a way of forcing Buffy to face the hard truths that she'd rather avoid, but he always knew when to lay off. She had to admit that she definitely felt more comfortable, more herself, around him than with anybody else. It was becoming increasingly clear that Spike was, indeed, a very good friend.
Buffy let out a small gasp as she came to a sudden revelation. She'd been mentally ticking off all of the ways in which Spike had been a friend to her, yet she had not thought of one way in which she was a friend to him. Had she ever asked him how he was doing? Had she ever even really cared? Buffy never listened to Spike talk about his problems. In truth, she didn't even know if he had any. She'd been so consumed with obsessing over how her death and resurrection had affected her, that she'd never even bothered to ask Spike how it had affected him. She never stuck up for Spike with her friends, never told Xander to quit picking on him. Buffy felt a hot wave of shame creep over her. God, she had not been a friend to Spike at all. No wonder he hadn't seemed to believe her. He had given her so much of himself over the past few months--comfort, companionship, counsel—and had never asked for anything in return. What had Buffy given him?
Sex. The answer was sex. Other than hatred and disdain, that was the only thing that Buffy had ever given him. Always with complete detachment, and always on her terms. They had sex when she wanted it, where she wanted it, and how she wanted it. He never asked for it, never tried to initiate it. Even the other night, when she had turned on him and abruptly put an end to the impending sex fest, he hadn't tried to change her mind. No, he'd just accepted it, the way he accepted her. Spike never made any demands, except that she be truthful, to him and to herself. He didn't expect her to be any way other than what she was. If she really thought about it, Spike was probably the best friend that she had right now. None of the others could accept her as unconditionally as he did. Nobody could make her feel even half as good as he did. She didn't deserve him.
It was funny, really, how the source of her deepest shame—for she was truly very ashamed of herself for sleeping with, having feelings for, this monster—could also be the source of her greatest comfort. It was with a deep sense of revulsion that Buffy realized that she was using Spike. As a shoulder to cry on, an ear to bend with her myriad of problems, an extra set of hands to protect her sister or handle a demon that she couldn't take on her own and as a good, hard fuck when the tension became too much. Buffy just took and took, and Spike never seemed to tire of giving. What kind of horrible person was she, that she'd never realized this before? There must be a limit to one person's self-absorption. It must hurt him terribly to be so in love with her—and she truly believed that he was—and to give all of himself to her, yet receive nothing in return. Well, not nothing exactly. He did get sex, meaningless, emotionless sex.
Yet, that morning he'd turned her down. Buffy had thrown herself at him, as she always did, and Spike had turned her down. Earlier, she'd been so concerned with her own wounded pride that she hadn't really thought about why he'd done it. Was this man, who'd calmly explained that sex would be a mistake, the same vampire who'd tied her up and begged for a crumb? Sex with her was certainly much more than a crumb, and still he'd said no. Why? Because he loved her, that's why. This evil, soulless demon was in love with her, and he wanted a real relationship. He wanted a relationship based on love and trust, not sex. What did that say about Buffy that meaningless sex was enough for her? What did it say about Spike that he wanted something more? She wasn't prepared to give him what he wanted; didn't think she even could, not now. Why had she let sex get in the way? Why couldn't she just have been a friend to him?
Gradually, Buffy came to the realization that Spike didn't want to be friends with her. He would never be content to simply have her friendship. No, he wanted her love. He wanted Buffy to love him as wholly and unconditionally as he loved her. Spike wanted a partner, an equal, someone to laugh with and make love to. Of course, with all of that would also come friendship, but he could never settle for being just friends. He'd told her as much that night when everyone had been singing and dancing—the night she'd sealed her fate with one searing, passionate kiss. What was that he'd sung to her? Let me rest in peace. Stop visiting my grave. Well, that settled it, then. They couldn't have sex, and they couldn't be friends. Where did they go from here?
Buffy sighed to herself. It was just like Angel all over again. Doomed. Their relationship, what there was of it, was doomed to fail. She should really just run away now, but there was no way she could give him up. Even if he never touched her again, she still needed him in her life. Why couldn't he settle for friendship? It would make everything so much easier, and she could learn to fight her attraction to him, if she had to. Buffy was reminded of something Spike had said to her and Angel years ago, when he'd kidnapped Willow and Xander. Something about the two of them never being friends. Leave it to Spike to cut right through all the bullshit and tell it like it is. What had he said? You're not friends. You'll never be friends. You'll be in love until it kills you both. You'll fight, and you'll shag, and you'll hate each other until it makes you quiver, but you'll never be friends.
She sat up with a start. Oh my God, that's us! She was shocked to see that Spike's words from three years ago described their current relationship to a tee. In fact they seemed to fit in relation to her and Spike much better than they ever had for her and Angel. Sure, it was true that she and Angel would never be friends, but she didn't love Angel anymore, hadn't for a long time now. As heartbroken as she'd been over his leaving, she'd never been able to muster up the strength to actually hate him; Angelus maybe, but not Angel. Now Spike, there was someone she could hate, and he had definitely made her quiver a time or two. Nowadays, thinking of Angel only inspired a vague sense of wistfulness—for lost youth and innocence more than anything—but Spike could inspire a maelstrom of emotions. Everything about their relationship was intense, heated and stormy. Those long ago words had summed everything up perfectly; they fought, they shagged, they hated, and they probably would be in love until it killed them both.
Love? Where had that word come from? Buffy hadn't meant to even think about loving Spike. It did seem rather fitting, though. After all, weren't love and hate opposite sides of the same coin? Buffy began to wonder if maybe she shouldn't just stop fighting it. Maybe she shouldn't deny herself the opportunity to love, and be loved in return, just because fate had decided to make them enemies. She knew that it was probably a mistake, and that her friends would think she'd lost her mind, but she didn't really care. She deserved to be happy, damn it, and if Spike made her happy, then why not? She couldn't help remembering what else Spike had said that day. Love isn't brains, children, it's blood—blood screaming inside you to work its will. Maybe she'd just have to stop listening to her brain and pay more attention to the screaming of her blood.
Right then and there, Buffy came to a decision. She would stop trying to bury her feelings and give Spike a chance. Maybe they could find the middle ground between friends and lovers. Maybe it would end up being the best thing that had ever happened to her. If he wanted to take things slowly, then she'd take things slowly. She'd talk to him and, more importantly, listen. It occurred to Buffy that she really didn't know that much about Spike. Well, she would just have to find out; she owed him that much. Perhaps there could be something real and good between them. She needed to find out, for both their sakes.
Buffy looked at the VCR clock and realized that Dawn would be out of school by now and probably on her way to Spike's crypt. As much as she wanted to run right over there and tell him about her decision, she decided to let Dawn have her time with him. She had all the time in the world to talk to Spike, and Dawn needed him as much as she did. Buffy was a big girl, and she could wait until after Dawn finished her homework and had dinner.
Feeling much better than she had in weeks, Buffy decided to head over to the Magic Box to get in a training session. She'd been slacking off in that department lately. Plus, she needed to tell Anya about Willow's leaving, and maybe even run her new money-making scheme by her. If she was lucky, Anya might even know what Spike and Xander had been talking about at the Bronze the night before.
Forgetting all about the laundry and the vacuuming, Buffy took off for the Magic Box. Anyone watching would have seen a smiling Slayer with a new bounce in her step.