Disclaimers: I don't own this, sadly. If I did, I would have a hell of a
lot more money than I do.
Feedback: Yes, I finally have one hundred reviews! Hallelujah!
Author's Note: I promised smoochies, and I delivered. Satisfied? Ha, who am I kidding, it wasn't a lot of smoochies. Not nearly enough (so I'll make a promise right now for future kissage). To NeverMindDaria, don't worry, Buffy may be in denial, but it won't last (too) long. I really got fed up with season 6 Buffy and her 'I love you', 'No, I hate you' crap. Anyway, this chapter, like I promised, is Buffy's reaction to the kiss, her inner turmoil ('cause God knows she has loads of it), and maybe a little Spike. Just maybe.
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Two hours later, Buffy found herself wandering through the cemetery, dazed. Her plan (if there had ever been such a thing, she was starting to think not) had been to run directly to her house and take a shower. A very long, very -cold- shower. She knew that she needed to get her mind off of Spike, as he was a source of most, if not all, of her stress these days, but she also knew that she had to take some kind of action.
'I shouldn't have done that . . .it was just - just wrong. It was a wrong, bad, sick, twisted, wicked, naughty, yummy kiss. A yummy kiss with a vampire . . . a vampire named -Spike- for God's sake! Not exactly someone you can bring home to mother. Not that I would even consider bringing him home . . . well, I might, but not to meet my mom. What would I say: 'Hey, I'd like you to meet Spike. He's a friend, well, kind of a friend, who used to be an enemy, and we tried to kill each other several times but that's all behind us now, and -'
She stopped herself, realizing she was rambling, and waited for her thoughts to clear a bit before starting up again.
'And he's a real pain in the ass sometimes; a frustrating, aggravating, infuriating, intoxicating, occasionally nice guy that, okay, happens to be undead, but can be really sweet and is a great kisser . . . but I can't be with him, ever. Because he's a demon. And demons are evil . . . right? Spike's evil . . . maybe not so much as of late, but I'm sure that if he had the chip out he would do things. Bad things; things as are expected of a creature like him. I'm sure he's working on getting the chip out as I speak . . . well, technically think. The last time I saw him, he was . . . getting pig's blood from the butcher's shop. But he also . . . um, dusted a vampire.'
Buffy took a seat on a rather large tombstone, sighing and cradling her face in the palms of her hands.
'Reeeeal convincing argument there, Buffy,' she chastised herself, 'What is the -evil- thing planning on doing next - watching television? Sleeping, perhaps? That bastard!'
"Shut up, brain," she muttered grumpily, "What would you know?"
"Buffy!"
Her head shot up at the sound of her name, her throat tightening and her heart starting to pound.
'Oh, God, what if it's . . . Xander?'
"Xander?" she mimicked, confused, "What are you doing here? In the cemetery? At night? Do you have a death wish or something?"
"Not since high school," he joked, jogging over to her. "Giles was about ready to send out a search party for you; Willow said you never came back to the dorm.
Buffy smacked herself on the side of the head. "Oh, man, I completely forgot to check in with her. What time is it?" she asked, guiltily.
"Almost midnight; you'd been gone patrolling for over four hours. Giles called me to say that I should come over 'immediately', and that had been missing for about two hours. I was on my way over when I spotted you in the cemetery. Are you all right? No gaping flesh wounds anywhere?"
She gave a slight smile. "No, no, I'm fine. Clothes are a little dusty, but otherwise, I'm no worse for the wear."
"Maybe it's none of my business, but . . . why -were- you gone for so long? Is something wrong?"
"No, nothing's wrong. I'm just . . . well, I ran into Spike on the way home."
"Spike?" He narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "He didn't try anything funny, did he?"
Buffy shrugged. "Nothing funny . . . he actually dusted a vamp for me." She shrugged. "I don't see why it matters Xander, he couldn't kill me even if he wanted to."
"Right, because he's impotent now."
"He's not impotent! He's . . . incapacitated."
"Are you sticking up for him?" He asked, incredulously.
"I'm not! T-There was no sticking! I was merely stating the facts. Impotent suggests that . . . well, you know. And I don't think he's -"
"Okay, I so -don't- want to go there," Xander interrupted. "Still," he continued, "weren't you the one calling him that just a few days ago? You know, impotent?"
"Was I?" Buffy asked innocently, "I don't remember . . . classes kind of wear me down," she grumbled.
"College is really tough, huh?" he asked, sympathetically, "That's why I stopped going to class after high school, Buff."
'And that's why you're still living in your parent's basement', she thought, rather cattily. Guilt washed over her, and she found herself fighting the urge to apologize to Xander for thinking such a mean thing. 'Bad Buffy. Spike must really be affecting you; pretty soon you'll be calling him Harris. That or 'The Whelp'.'
She giggled at this and Xander stared at her, worried.
"Are you -sure- you're alright? You're acting kind of wiggy . . . you're not possessed or anything, are you?"
"No," she sniffed, biting back peals of laughter; "I'm just fine. Sorry if I'm pulling a Drusilla on you, it's just been a long night." She glanced down at her watch. "And it's almost one in the morning . . . I think we should probably get back before Willow calls the cops. That and I really need to write that English paper."
"Yeah," Xander agreed, "I've gotta get back to so I can . . . um . . . shower. You aren't the only one with important things to do, Missy," he pointed at Buffy with a stern look on his face. "It isn't all about you, you know."
Buffy grinned. "It should be."
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'All about her, isn't it? Always about Buffy, and her bloody inner turmoil. Don't I get a turn to brood?'
Spike paced around his crypt, his mind racing.
'Wait, no, I take that back. Don't want to turn into the Great Poof, there. But still, why can't -I- be the one to kiss -her- and then run away, all tormented and confused. Girl needs to stop waffling back and forth between emotions. Does she want to be with me or doesn't she?'
He smiled devilishly.
'Well, of course she wants to be with me. Can see it in her eyes, every time I'm around. The only problem is that she needs to accept it, her feelings. Gettin' bloody well sick and tired of her bein' so conflicted. One day she'll probably come barging in here, stake in hand, determined to dust me and end her troubles . . . that, or come for a makeout session.'
'Come to think of it . . . I never told her where I'm currently . . . residing.'
A wide grin spread across his face, as he came to a realization.
'That gives -me- all of the power. I can see her whenever I please, and she can't do a bloody thing about it. She'll have to see me, no matter what. In fact . . .'
Grabbing his duster from the floor, he made his way to the cement door.
'I'm in the mood for a little visit.'
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Joyce Summers took the wet rag from the kitchen sink, ringing it out. She patiently wiped the table down, cleaning crumbs that were only discernable to her 'mom' eye. She was only wasting time, she knew. Buffy had told her that she might be over for dinner that night, and Joyce had waited over three hours for her, only to be left feeling very foolish. Waiting on every 'possible' and 'maybe' would only leave her disappointed and with too much spaghetti.
She scrubbed at the table harder, attempting to get out a miniscule red stain left from dinner. The doorbell rang and she dropped the rag back into the sink, drying her hands quickly. She jogged to the door, hoping that it would be her always-tardy daughter. Opening the door, she peered out nervously at the black-clad figure on the stoop.
"Can I help you?" she asked, politely.
The nervous young man shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
"Is Buffy home?"
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To be continued . . .
A/N: Come on, don't you love Joyce/Spike interaction? You know you do . . . so read Chapter 11, coming soon to a theater near you!
Feedback: Yes, I finally have one hundred reviews! Hallelujah!
Author's Note: I promised smoochies, and I delivered. Satisfied? Ha, who am I kidding, it wasn't a lot of smoochies. Not nearly enough (so I'll make a promise right now for future kissage). To NeverMindDaria, don't worry, Buffy may be in denial, but it won't last (too) long. I really got fed up with season 6 Buffy and her 'I love you', 'No, I hate you' crap. Anyway, this chapter, like I promised, is Buffy's reaction to the kiss, her inner turmoil ('cause God knows she has loads of it), and maybe a little Spike. Just maybe.
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Two hours later, Buffy found herself wandering through the cemetery, dazed. Her plan (if there had ever been such a thing, she was starting to think not) had been to run directly to her house and take a shower. A very long, very -cold- shower. She knew that she needed to get her mind off of Spike, as he was a source of most, if not all, of her stress these days, but she also knew that she had to take some kind of action.
'I shouldn't have done that . . .it was just - just wrong. It was a wrong, bad, sick, twisted, wicked, naughty, yummy kiss. A yummy kiss with a vampire . . . a vampire named -Spike- for God's sake! Not exactly someone you can bring home to mother. Not that I would even consider bringing him home . . . well, I might, but not to meet my mom. What would I say: 'Hey, I'd like you to meet Spike. He's a friend, well, kind of a friend, who used to be an enemy, and we tried to kill each other several times but that's all behind us now, and -'
She stopped herself, realizing she was rambling, and waited for her thoughts to clear a bit before starting up again.
'And he's a real pain in the ass sometimes; a frustrating, aggravating, infuriating, intoxicating, occasionally nice guy that, okay, happens to be undead, but can be really sweet and is a great kisser . . . but I can't be with him, ever. Because he's a demon. And demons are evil . . . right? Spike's evil . . . maybe not so much as of late, but I'm sure that if he had the chip out he would do things. Bad things; things as are expected of a creature like him. I'm sure he's working on getting the chip out as I speak . . . well, technically think. The last time I saw him, he was . . . getting pig's blood from the butcher's shop. But he also . . . um, dusted a vampire.'
Buffy took a seat on a rather large tombstone, sighing and cradling her face in the palms of her hands.
'Reeeeal convincing argument there, Buffy,' she chastised herself, 'What is the -evil- thing planning on doing next - watching television? Sleeping, perhaps? That bastard!'
"Shut up, brain," she muttered grumpily, "What would you know?"
"Buffy!"
Her head shot up at the sound of her name, her throat tightening and her heart starting to pound.
'Oh, God, what if it's . . . Xander?'
"Xander?" she mimicked, confused, "What are you doing here? In the cemetery? At night? Do you have a death wish or something?"
"Not since high school," he joked, jogging over to her. "Giles was about ready to send out a search party for you; Willow said you never came back to the dorm.
Buffy smacked herself on the side of the head. "Oh, man, I completely forgot to check in with her. What time is it?" she asked, guiltily.
"Almost midnight; you'd been gone patrolling for over four hours. Giles called me to say that I should come over 'immediately', and that had been missing for about two hours. I was on my way over when I spotted you in the cemetery. Are you all right? No gaping flesh wounds anywhere?"
She gave a slight smile. "No, no, I'm fine. Clothes are a little dusty, but otherwise, I'm no worse for the wear."
"Maybe it's none of my business, but . . . why -were- you gone for so long? Is something wrong?"
"No, nothing's wrong. I'm just . . . well, I ran into Spike on the way home."
"Spike?" He narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "He didn't try anything funny, did he?"
Buffy shrugged. "Nothing funny . . . he actually dusted a vamp for me." She shrugged. "I don't see why it matters Xander, he couldn't kill me even if he wanted to."
"Right, because he's impotent now."
"He's not impotent! He's . . . incapacitated."
"Are you sticking up for him?" He asked, incredulously.
"I'm not! T-There was no sticking! I was merely stating the facts. Impotent suggests that . . . well, you know. And I don't think he's -"
"Okay, I so -don't- want to go there," Xander interrupted. "Still," he continued, "weren't you the one calling him that just a few days ago? You know, impotent?"
"Was I?" Buffy asked innocently, "I don't remember . . . classes kind of wear me down," she grumbled.
"College is really tough, huh?" he asked, sympathetically, "That's why I stopped going to class after high school, Buff."
'And that's why you're still living in your parent's basement', she thought, rather cattily. Guilt washed over her, and she found herself fighting the urge to apologize to Xander for thinking such a mean thing. 'Bad Buffy. Spike must really be affecting you; pretty soon you'll be calling him Harris. That or 'The Whelp'.'
She giggled at this and Xander stared at her, worried.
"Are you -sure- you're alright? You're acting kind of wiggy . . . you're not possessed or anything, are you?"
"No," she sniffed, biting back peals of laughter; "I'm just fine. Sorry if I'm pulling a Drusilla on you, it's just been a long night." She glanced down at her watch. "And it's almost one in the morning . . . I think we should probably get back before Willow calls the cops. That and I really need to write that English paper."
"Yeah," Xander agreed, "I've gotta get back to so I can . . . um . . . shower. You aren't the only one with important things to do, Missy," he pointed at Buffy with a stern look on his face. "It isn't all about you, you know."
Buffy grinned. "It should be."
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'All about her, isn't it? Always about Buffy, and her bloody inner turmoil. Don't I get a turn to brood?'
Spike paced around his crypt, his mind racing.
'Wait, no, I take that back. Don't want to turn into the Great Poof, there. But still, why can't -I- be the one to kiss -her- and then run away, all tormented and confused. Girl needs to stop waffling back and forth between emotions. Does she want to be with me or doesn't she?'
He smiled devilishly.
'Well, of course she wants to be with me. Can see it in her eyes, every time I'm around. The only problem is that she needs to accept it, her feelings. Gettin' bloody well sick and tired of her bein' so conflicted. One day she'll probably come barging in here, stake in hand, determined to dust me and end her troubles . . . that, or come for a makeout session.'
'Come to think of it . . . I never told her where I'm currently . . . residing.'
A wide grin spread across his face, as he came to a realization.
'That gives -me- all of the power. I can see her whenever I please, and she can't do a bloody thing about it. She'll have to see me, no matter what. In fact . . .'
Grabbing his duster from the floor, he made his way to the cement door.
'I'm in the mood for a little visit.'
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Joyce Summers took the wet rag from the kitchen sink, ringing it out. She patiently wiped the table down, cleaning crumbs that were only discernable to her 'mom' eye. She was only wasting time, she knew. Buffy had told her that she might be over for dinner that night, and Joyce had waited over three hours for her, only to be left feeling very foolish. Waiting on every 'possible' and 'maybe' would only leave her disappointed and with too much spaghetti.
She scrubbed at the table harder, attempting to get out a miniscule red stain left from dinner. The doorbell rang and she dropped the rag back into the sink, drying her hands quickly. She jogged to the door, hoping that it would be her always-tardy daughter. Opening the door, she peered out nervously at the black-clad figure on the stoop.
"Can I help you?" she asked, politely.
The nervous young man shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
"Is Buffy home?"
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To be continued . . .
A/N: Come on, don't you love Joyce/Spike interaction? You know you do . . . so read Chapter 11, coming soon to a theater near you!