Disclaimers: None of this is mine, unfortunately. If it were, there would
be a lot more Spike shower scenes in BtVS.
Feedback: Yes, please.
Author's Note: So sorry that this chapter took so friggin' long, and that's it's so SHORT! I've been rehearsing for Oliver! every day until 8:30 and I really am not in the writing mood. Anyway . . . I'd like to thank everyone for their wonderful comments; it really makes me feel good about my writing and truly does help me write faster. If I don't get any reviews, I sob for hours on end. Okay, just kidding there. Anyway, this chapter will have more Buffy, as well as Spike . . . I wouldn't keep you Spike deprived for too long. So, (hopefully) enjoy!
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It had been two weeks since she had last seen him, the two longest weeks of her entire existence. At least it felt that way to Buffy. There had been times when she had been tempted to run to Spike's crypt, say that she loved him, and give him a hug. But she realized that she couldn't; life is never that simple, as she said so herself. Buffy thought (and after two weeks of mulling it over, it started to sound normal) that she really did care for Spike. Was it love? She sure as hell didn't know, but whatever she it was, it was strong. The feelings she had, at times, threatened to overwhelm her, and she had to sit down and take a breather. The 'talk' that she had had with her mother had been an eye-opener, to both herself and Joyce, but still hadn't solved her problem.
'Is it love?'
That was the question of the week (or weeks), the dire problem with only two solutions, as Buffy could see it. Either she did, in fact, love Spike and would tell him, resulting in romance and lots of smoochies, or she could say that she didn't, and in this scenario, he would leave Sunnydale, never to return. The thought of the latter gave Buffy the chills.
'But there are other possibilities,' she reminded herself, 'He doesn't have to leave. We could . . . stay friends, just good friends. Or . . . I could say that I don't love him and he's so distraught that he stakes himself.'
She groaned, burying her head in the palm of her hands, entwining strands of hair around her slim fingers. 'Don't be so melodramatic, Buffy,' she thought, 'he wouldn't -kill- himself. His whole life doesn't revolve around you; just . . . keep telling yourself that and you'll be fine. You need to make this decision by yourself, for yourself; mom said as much! I have to do what's right for me . . . even if it does crush Spike's heart.'
Buffy groaned again in frustration, pressing her fingertips against her temple in a hope to alleviate the pounding in her skull. No such luck. She craned her neck up as soon as the phone rang, her head throbbing harder in protest of the shrill noise. Buffy picked herself up off of her bed slowly, making her way to the phone across the room. It rang again and she wobbled over to it, her legs shaky from sitting for a number of hours. She picked the phone up before it had the chance to ring again, cradling the receiver between her shoulder and ear.
"Hello?"
"Buffy, it's Giles. I need you to come down to my house immediately for a meeting. From my research, I've gathered that something big is coming. Something evil."
She sighed, rubbing her tired eyes.
'Just what I need.'
"Couldn't I just -"
"Buffy," he interrupted, "it's of the utmost importance. Willow and Xander are already . . ." he trailed off, and she could hear a voice pipe up in the background. He sighed, and resumed speaking, "Yes, Anya, I was just about to tell her that you were here. Buffy, it's of the utmost importance that you -"
"Save the spiel for someone that hasn't heard it fifty million times. Slayer equals keen responsibility and no fun. I'll be right over."
She slammed the phone back onto it's cradle, feeling very much in a sour mood. Buffy wanted to stamp her feet in frustration, but knew that it wasn't the time to throw a tantrum. She had to be the adult and go see what Big Bad was stirring up in Sunnydale.
'Why can't someone else be the 'chosen one' for a change? Can't a girl sulk in peace?'
Grabbing her coat, she left the dorm, but not before making sure to slam the door extra hard on the way out.
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An old black and white horror picture was playing on the television; the actor's mouths moving wordlessly, as if in a silent movie. Spike sat on the dusty bed, tracing his index finger around a spring that was protruding from the thin mattress material. He sighed; taking a sip from the mug of pig's blood, finding that he had already drank it all. Glancing down at the empty cup, he dipped one finger onto the cup's edge, collecting some of the liquid that had gathered there. He took his finger out and placed it in his mouth, sucking on it until it was clean, and then repeated the action.
'Pathetic,' he told himself, 'Sitting here waiting for Buffy to show up, although you damn well know that she's not gonna come. You've been waiting for two weeks, get out and kill something already!'
"I can't," he whined to himself, "I've got this chip in my head, and I can't hurt anything. Not a bloody thing. Might as well be a vegetable."
'At least vegetables don't sit around and mope all day,' he chastised himself, 'that's all you do anymore . . . scourge of Europe, reduced to a simpering little git. Sad.'
"Look, I did what's best, tellin' her to find her own way . . . it was the right thing to do. The right thing," he repeated, in hopes of convincing himself, "And I won't have you, err, me, telling me otherwise."
'But didn't you want her to stay? Don't you enjoy being with her?'
He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts.
"Course I do, but that's not the point. It's healthier for both of us if we just . . . go our separate ways 'till she can figure herself out. 'Sides," he said, narrowing his eyes and nothing, "why are you pushing me? What are you, the devil on my shoulder? Where's the angel?"
'You haven't got an angel; you're a vampire.'
"Why am I talkin' to myself?" he said to no one in particular, "Maybe bein' holed up in this crypt is drivin' me round the bend. That'd be great," he scoffed, "Buffy comes to see me and I'm a soddin' looney toon."
'So go out and get some fresh air,' he urged himself, 'Go to the Bronze or to Willy's. Just do something!'
"Alright," he said, his voice filled with false confidence, "I'll do it. Tonight, I'll do it."
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The car pulled up to the drive and Buffy stepped out onto the curb. Sighing, she walked up to the front steps of the house and rang the doorbell. She listened to the ringing echo throughout the house and waited patiently for the door to open. And waited. She knocked on the door, a knot of worry forming in the pit of her stomach. A few minutes later she knocked again, only to find the door creak open at her touch.
'It's unlocked? Why would Giles . . .' She stepped into the house to find it dark, empty.
'What the hell?'
"Guys, where are you?" she called nervously. "Giles? Willow? Xander? Anya?"
Her fingers fumbled for the light switch but she stopped once she heard it. Shallow breathing, accompanied by shuffling noises.
'Someone's in the house . . . and they've done something to my friends.'
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
To be continued . . .
Feedback: Yes, please.
Author's Note: So sorry that this chapter took so friggin' long, and that's it's so SHORT! I've been rehearsing for Oliver! every day until 8:30 and I really am not in the writing mood. Anyway . . . I'd like to thank everyone for their wonderful comments; it really makes me feel good about my writing and truly does help me write faster. If I don't get any reviews, I sob for hours on end. Okay, just kidding there. Anyway, this chapter will have more Buffy, as well as Spike . . . I wouldn't keep you Spike deprived for too long. So, (hopefully) enjoy!
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
It had been two weeks since she had last seen him, the two longest weeks of her entire existence. At least it felt that way to Buffy. There had been times when she had been tempted to run to Spike's crypt, say that she loved him, and give him a hug. But she realized that she couldn't; life is never that simple, as she said so herself. Buffy thought (and after two weeks of mulling it over, it started to sound normal) that she really did care for Spike. Was it love? She sure as hell didn't know, but whatever she it was, it was strong. The feelings she had, at times, threatened to overwhelm her, and she had to sit down and take a breather. The 'talk' that she had had with her mother had been an eye-opener, to both herself and Joyce, but still hadn't solved her problem.
'Is it love?'
That was the question of the week (or weeks), the dire problem with only two solutions, as Buffy could see it. Either she did, in fact, love Spike and would tell him, resulting in romance and lots of smoochies, or she could say that she didn't, and in this scenario, he would leave Sunnydale, never to return. The thought of the latter gave Buffy the chills.
'But there are other possibilities,' she reminded herself, 'He doesn't have to leave. We could . . . stay friends, just good friends. Or . . . I could say that I don't love him and he's so distraught that he stakes himself.'
She groaned, burying her head in the palm of her hands, entwining strands of hair around her slim fingers. 'Don't be so melodramatic, Buffy,' she thought, 'he wouldn't -kill- himself. His whole life doesn't revolve around you; just . . . keep telling yourself that and you'll be fine. You need to make this decision by yourself, for yourself; mom said as much! I have to do what's right for me . . . even if it does crush Spike's heart.'
Buffy groaned again in frustration, pressing her fingertips against her temple in a hope to alleviate the pounding in her skull. No such luck. She craned her neck up as soon as the phone rang, her head throbbing harder in protest of the shrill noise. Buffy picked herself up off of her bed slowly, making her way to the phone across the room. It rang again and she wobbled over to it, her legs shaky from sitting for a number of hours. She picked the phone up before it had the chance to ring again, cradling the receiver between her shoulder and ear.
"Hello?"
"Buffy, it's Giles. I need you to come down to my house immediately for a meeting. From my research, I've gathered that something big is coming. Something evil."
She sighed, rubbing her tired eyes.
'Just what I need.'
"Couldn't I just -"
"Buffy," he interrupted, "it's of the utmost importance. Willow and Xander are already . . ." he trailed off, and she could hear a voice pipe up in the background. He sighed, and resumed speaking, "Yes, Anya, I was just about to tell her that you were here. Buffy, it's of the utmost importance that you -"
"Save the spiel for someone that hasn't heard it fifty million times. Slayer equals keen responsibility and no fun. I'll be right over."
She slammed the phone back onto it's cradle, feeling very much in a sour mood. Buffy wanted to stamp her feet in frustration, but knew that it wasn't the time to throw a tantrum. She had to be the adult and go see what Big Bad was stirring up in Sunnydale.
'Why can't someone else be the 'chosen one' for a change? Can't a girl sulk in peace?'
Grabbing her coat, she left the dorm, but not before making sure to slam the door extra hard on the way out.
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
An old black and white horror picture was playing on the television; the actor's mouths moving wordlessly, as if in a silent movie. Spike sat on the dusty bed, tracing his index finger around a spring that was protruding from the thin mattress material. He sighed; taking a sip from the mug of pig's blood, finding that he had already drank it all. Glancing down at the empty cup, he dipped one finger onto the cup's edge, collecting some of the liquid that had gathered there. He took his finger out and placed it in his mouth, sucking on it until it was clean, and then repeated the action.
'Pathetic,' he told himself, 'Sitting here waiting for Buffy to show up, although you damn well know that she's not gonna come. You've been waiting for two weeks, get out and kill something already!'
"I can't," he whined to himself, "I've got this chip in my head, and I can't hurt anything. Not a bloody thing. Might as well be a vegetable."
'At least vegetables don't sit around and mope all day,' he chastised himself, 'that's all you do anymore . . . scourge of Europe, reduced to a simpering little git. Sad.'
"Look, I did what's best, tellin' her to find her own way . . . it was the right thing to do. The right thing," he repeated, in hopes of convincing himself, "And I won't have you, err, me, telling me otherwise."
'But didn't you want her to stay? Don't you enjoy being with her?'
He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts.
"Course I do, but that's not the point. It's healthier for both of us if we just . . . go our separate ways 'till she can figure herself out. 'Sides," he said, narrowing his eyes and nothing, "why are you pushing me? What are you, the devil on my shoulder? Where's the angel?"
'You haven't got an angel; you're a vampire.'
"Why am I talkin' to myself?" he said to no one in particular, "Maybe bein' holed up in this crypt is drivin' me round the bend. That'd be great," he scoffed, "Buffy comes to see me and I'm a soddin' looney toon."
'So go out and get some fresh air,' he urged himself, 'Go to the Bronze or to Willy's. Just do something!'
"Alright," he said, his voice filled with false confidence, "I'll do it. Tonight, I'll do it."
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
The car pulled up to the drive and Buffy stepped out onto the curb. Sighing, she walked up to the front steps of the house and rang the doorbell. She listened to the ringing echo throughout the house and waited patiently for the door to open. And waited. She knocked on the door, a knot of worry forming in the pit of her stomach. A few minutes later she knocked again, only to find the door creak open at her touch.
'It's unlocked? Why would Giles . . .' She stepped into the house to find it dark, empty.
'What the hell?'
"Guys, where are you?" she called nervously. "Giles? Willow? Xander? Anya?"
Her fingers fumbled for the light switch but she stopped once she heard it. Shallow breathing, accompanied by shuffling noises.
'Someone's in the house . . . and they've done something to my friends.'
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
To be continued . . .