A/N: I'm looking for a little more feedback than I've gotten, so if you read this review it, okay? Thank ya :O)
Spike and Anya sat comfortably across from one another at a small table near the back of the Bronze, chatting animatedly and enjoying their food immensely. Anya was working on her fourth slice of pizza as Spike gnawed his way through a cheeseburger and a dozen chicken wings. Each of them nursed a large Coke, having tacitly agreed to stay away from alcohol when they were alone together. Although regrets were minimal, neither was ready for a repeat performance of the night before.
"Oh God, I am *stuffed*," Anya commented as she swallowed a last bite of pepperoni. "I can't even look at food right now or I may explode."
Spike laughed and stole the leftover crust off her plate. "There's another advantage of being dead," he said, taking a bite of it. "No digestion equals no limit to what you can eat. It's a nice little feature to have at times."
Anya nodded, then frowned. "Wait a second. If your food doesn't get digested then what happens to it?" she asked. "And also, if you never have to go to the bathroom then why do you have a toilet in your crypt?"
Spike chewed thoughtfully on the crust for a moment, thinking of an answer. "I don't really know what happens to the food I eat," he replied. "I guess it just gets absorbed or summat. And I don't know why there's a toilet in my crypt, either. It was there when I moved in."
Anya raised an eyebrow. "Who lived there before you, then? A demon?"
He shrugged. "I assume so. No vampire I know of ever has to use the bathroom."
She nodded. "That's true. I've never-- oh. Oh God." A sick expression passed across Anya's face.
Spike gave her a concerned look as he noticed her complexion paling. "Whatsa matter, pet? You gonna throw up from all the pizza?"
She shook her head. "No. No. Look behind you."
Spike turned around, squinting into the bright strobe lights, and caught site of what Anya was looking at.
Buffy and Willow had just walked in.
"Maybe we should go," Anya said, shifting nervously in her seat. "I'm not in the mood for confrontation tonight."
Spike shook his head. "No. We aren't leaving. I want to talk to Buffy, and I highly doubt Red'll get nasty with you. Just wait here, all right?"
Anya nodded. "Whatever. I just hope she doesn't have a stake on her. She was pretty pissed last night."
He ignored her comments and stood up, then made his way across the club to where Buffy and Willow were sitting. They had their backs toward him, but he could tell that Buffy sensed him as he neared by the stiff posture she'd suddenly taken.
Just as he was about to tap her on the shoulder, she spoke. "Leave me alone, Spike."
"We need to talk," he said, nodding subtly at Willow as she covertly shot him a sympathetic greeting smile.
"No, we really don't," Buffy replied, still not turning to face him. "I have nothing to say to you."
"Well, I *do*," he said patiently, speaking with the learned calmness that came from dealing with her attitude so often. "I want to talk."
"You said that already," she retorted annoyedly. "And I gave you my answer. Would you please just go away?"
"No," he responded simply. "Not until you turn around and discuss some things with me."
She shook her head. "I'm not in the mood to put up with you right now, Spike. Leave."
"No," he repeated, jaw set in a show of defiance. "Just turn around and talk to me."
Willow suddenly stood up, clearly uncomfortable with the exchange going on around her. "Hey, um, there's Anya over in the back!" she exclaimed in an overly-cheerful tone. " I think I'll go see how she's doing." And with that she left Buffy and Spike by themselves.
Buffy let out a noise of incredulity at Willow's departure, then finally turned around to glare at Spike. "Are you here with her?" she asked, barely able to contain the hurt in her voice.
He nodded. "Yeah. Just having dinner."
Her glare deepened. "So what, are you guys like all coupley now or something?"
Spike shook his head. "No. Not at all."
She raised an eyebrow, pursing her lips. "Oh really? Then why is she staying in your crypt?"
"She doesn't have anywhere else to go," he replied steadily. "And we could both use the company."
Buffy closed her eyes for a brief second. "I don't understand why it matters to you what happens to her anyway. You don't even know her that well."
"It matters because she's the only person who's shown me any respect in a long time," he told her. "She's actually able to relate to the things I'm going through."
Buffy bit her lip. "So you have feelings for her then."
Spike let out a frustrated sigh. "No, Buffy, I don't. I'm glad to have her around, but not in the way I was glad to have *you* around. I love you. Even if you refuse to recognize my feelings as being real, I still love you."
She cast her eyes downward. "If you love me so much, why did you sleep with her?"
He shrugged slowly. "I don't know. It was just... it was the lethal combination of alcohol and emotion. It just happened. Seemed the right thing to do at the time."
Buffy contemplated this, silent for a moment. "So... you weren't moving on?"
He shook his head. "No. Not *really*, anyway."
She nodded, then spoke quietly. "Oh. Okay. Because I was kind of... sorry... about telling you that. I didn't think it would hurt so much to see you with someone else."
He tilted his head, an expression of hope daring to show itself on his face. "I'm sorry it hurt you," he said. "It was just... it felt good to be with someone who understood for once."
Buffy flinched slightly, pain flashing in her eyes. "You think I don't understand?"
Spike frowned, looking confused. "What are you talking about? I *know* you don't understand anything I feel."
Her face darkened. "How would *you* know?" she asked. "How would you *really* know what I feel?"
His expression turned from surprise and confusion to slight anger. "Because if you understood how I felt you wouldn't have kept telling me that I'm convenient and evil and dirty," he told her. "You wouldn't have stepped on me the way you did."
Buffy stood up, hurt and fury etching itself into her features. "Why are you trying to make me feel guilty?"
"Why are *you* trying to make this about *you*?" he countered, then paused. "Oh. Wait a second. It's *always* about you."
Buffy shot him a murderous glare. "That's it," she growled. "You wanted to talk, we talked. And now we're done. Get out of my way, I'm leaving."
He returned her seething expression. "Fine," he said, voice low as she walked away from him. "It's what you're good at."
He watched as Buffy went and collected Willow and then left the Bronze without a second glance back at him. Anger and frustration boiled in his chest, threatening to spill out in the form of violence. 'Why the hell doesn't she ever *listen*?' he fumed internally, clenching his fists. 'Bitch can't stand ever being wrong. Who the bloody hell does she think she is, trying to tell me she understands? She understands *nothing*. Nothing.'
"Spike?"
Spike gave a start at the sensation of a hand on his arm and whipped around. It was Anya.
"Didn't go well, did it?"
He shook his head, smiling bitterly. "Not at all, sweetheart. Not at all."
She patted his shoulder empathetically. "Would this be an inappropriate time for an 'I told you so?'"
He rolled his eyes. "Very inappropriate."
She nodded. "I thought so. We should go now."
"I have to agree with you on that one."
Anya slipped her arm through Spike's as they made their way out of the club and started on their way back to the crypt.
TBC...
Spike and Anya sat comfortably across from one another at a small table near the back of the Bronze, chatting animatedly and enjoying their food immensely. Anya was working on her fourth slice of pizza as Spike gnawed his way through a cheeseburger and a dozen chicken wings. Each of them nursed a large Coke, having tacitly agreed to stay away from alcohol when they were alone together. Although regrets were minimal, neither was ready for a repeat performance of the night before.
"Oh God, I am *stuffed*," Anya commented as she swallowed a last bite of pepperoni. "I can't even look at food right now or I may explode."
Spike laughed and stole the leftover crust off her plate. "There's another advantage of being dead," he said, taking a bite of it. "No digestion equals no limit to what you can eat. It's a nice little feature to have at times."
Anya nodded, then frowned. "Wait a second. If your food doesn't get digested then what happens to it?" she asked. "And also, if you never have to go to the bathroom then why do you have a toilet in your crypt?"
Spike chewed thoughtfully on the crust for a moment, thinking of an answer. "I don't really know what happens to the food I eat," he replied. "I guess it just gets absorbed or summat. And I don't know why there's a toilet in my crypt, either. It was there when I moved in."
Anya raised an eyebrow. "Who lived there before you, then? A demon?"
He shrugged. "I assume so. No vampire I know of ever has to use the bathroom."
She nodded. "That's true. I've never-- oh. Oh God." A sick expression passed across Anya's face.
Spike gave her a concerned look as he noticed her complexion paling. "Whatsa matter, pet? You gonna throw up from all the pizza?"
She shook her head. "No. No. Look behind you."
Spike turned around, squinting into the bright strobe lights, and caught site of what Anya was looking at.
Buffy and Willow had just walked in.
"Maybe we should go," Anya said, shifting nervously in her seat. "I'm not in the mood for confrontation tonight."
Spike shook his head. "No. We aren't leaving. I want to talk to Buffy, and I highly doubt Red'll get nasty with you. Just wait here, all right?"
Anya nodded. "Whatever. I just hope she doesn't have a stake on her. She was pretty pissed last night."
He ignored her comments and stood up, then made his way across the club to where Buffy and Willow were sitting. They had their backs toward him, but he could tell that Buffy sensed him as he neared by the stiff posture she'd suddenly taken.
Just as he was about to tap her on the shoulder, she spoke. "Leave me alone, Spike."
"We need to talk," he said, nodding subtly at Willow as she covertly shot him a sympathetic greeting smile.
"No, we really don't," Buffy replied, still not turning to face him. "I have nothing to say to you."
"Well, I *do*," he said patiently, speaking with the learned calmness that came from dealing with her attitude so often. "I want to talk."
"You said that already," she retorted annoyedly. "And I gave you my answer. Would you please just go away?"
"No," he responded simply. "Not until you turn around and discuss some things with me."
She shook her head. "I'm not in the mood to put up with you right now, Spike. Leave."
"No," he repeated, jaw set in a show of defiance. "Just turn around and talk to me."
Willow suddenly stood up, clearly uncomfortable with the exchange going on around her. "Hey, um, there's Anya over in the back!" she exclaimed in an overly-cheerful tone. " I think I'll go see how she's doing." And with that she left Buffy and Spike by themselves.
Buffy let out a noise of incredulity at Willow's departure, then finally turned around to glare at Spike. "Are you here with her?" she asked, barely able to contain the hurt in her voice.
He nodded. "Yeah. Just having dinner."
Her glare deepened. "So what, are you guys like all coupley now or something?"
Spike shook his head. "No. Not at all."
She raised an eyebrow, pursing her lips. "Oh really? Then why is she staying in your crypt?"
"She doesn't have anywhere else to go," he replied steadily. "And we could both use the company."
Buffy closed her eyes for a brief second. "I don't understand why it matters to you what happens to her anyway. You don't even know her that well."
"It matters because she's the only person who's shown me any respect in a long time," he told her. "She's actually able to relate to the things I'm going through."
Buffy bit her lip. "So you have feelings for her then."
Spike let out a frustrated sigh. "No, Buffy, I don't. I'm glad to have her around, but not in the way I was glad to have *you* around. I love you. Even if you refuse to recognize my feelings as being real, I still love you."
She cast her eyes downward. "If you love me so much, why did you sleep with her?"
He shrugged slowly. "I don't know. It was just... it was the lethal combination of alcohol and emotion. It just happened. Seemed the right thing to do at the time."
Buffy contemplated this, silent for a moment. "So... you weren't moving on?"
He shook his head. "No. Not *really*, anyway."
She nodded, then spoke quietly. "Oh. Okay. Because I was kind of... sorry... about telling you that. I didn't think it would hurt so much to see you with someone else."
He tilted his head, an expression of hope daring to show itself on his face. "I'm sorry it hurt you," he said. "It was just... it felt good to be with someone who understood for once."
Buffy flinched slightly, pain flashing in her eyes. "You think I don't understand?"
Spike frowned, looking confused. "What are you talking about? I *know* you don't understand anything I feel."
Her face darkened. "How would *you* know?" she asked. "How would you *really* know what I feel?"
His expression turned from surprise and confusion to slight anger. "Because if you understood how I felt you wouldn't have kept telling me that I'm convenient and evil and dirty," he told her. "You wouldn't have stepped on me the way you did."
Buffy stood up, hurt and fury etching itself into her features. "Why are you trying to make me feel guilty?"
"Why are *you* trying to make this about *you*?" he countered, then paused. "Oh. Wait a second. It's *always* about you."
Buffy shot him a murderous glare. "That's it," she growled. "You wanted to talk, we talked. And now we're done. Get out of my way, I'm leaving."
He returned her seething expression. "Fine," he said, voice low as she walked away from him. "It's what you're good at."
He watched as Buffy went and collected Willow and then left the Bronze without a second glance back at him. Anger and frustration boiled in his chest, threatening to spill out in the form of violence. 'Why the hell doesn't she ever *listen*?' he fumed internally, clenching his fists. 'Bitch can't stand ever being wrong. Who the bloody hell does she think she is, trying to tell me she understands? She understands *nothing*. Nothing.'
"Spike?"
Spike gave a start at the sensation of a hand on his arm and whipped around. It was Anya.
"Didn't go well, did it?"
He shook his head, smiling bitterly. "Not at all, sweetheart. Not at all."
She patted his shoulder empathetically. "Would this be an inappropriate time for an 'I told you so?'"
He rolled his eyes. "Very inappropriate."
She nodded. "I thought so. We should go now."
"I have to agree with you on that one."
Anya slipped her arm through Spike's as they made their way out of the club and started on their way back to the crypt.
TBC...
