Disclaimer: As I sit at my desk, quietly tending to my portable Zen garden
and watching the blue ooze from my lava lamp drip up and down, I ponder the
world. In a few days, we could be going to war. The hole in the ozone is
getting bigger daily. AIDS is rampant, and people die every minute from
some form of cancer. But these travesties aren't the main thing on my mind.
No, dear reader, I am worried about the fate of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I
fell in love with the show exactly one year ago, and it will end before I
have given it enough time to grow fully in my heart. But, no matter what
happens, if they cancel it altogether along with Angel, or create a new
spin-off, I personally vow to keep writing fan fiction based on this
wonderful television creation. Who's with me?!
By the way, I don't own anything 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer' or 'Angel' related. Joss Whedon does. I only own the many characters I've created, such as Gillian, President Fielding, and Dylan. That is, if I technically own them.
Rating: R- hurrah! Gratuitous casual swearing and suggested sex! Fun for all ages!
Summary: The truth may be expected, but lies are easier. What happens when lies and deception consume your life. Sequel to "Exit Stage Left".
Author's Notes: Life, after the continuous flow of shit, has calmed down, allowing me time to write. More chapters to follow, and more frequently (if that is an actual phrase). Please give me some reviews. Don't make me pimp you all for some. I want to know if you like what I'm doing! I'm a whore, who only knows how to please! Damn it! Sorry about that, I'm just a corporate shill and a review whore.
PS: The title of this chapter is derived from the song 'She Was My Girl' by Jerry Cantrell. It's off the Spiderman soundtrack, if some little part of you actually cares.
Chapter Eight- She Is My Girl?
Groaning loudly, Spike buried his face into his palms, the feeling of nausea growing in his belly.
"So," he whispered, "Peaches is back."
Avoiding eye contact, Buffy, clad only in a bathrobe, lowered her head and began to towel dry her wet hair.
"Yeah."
He peaked through his fingers, trying to gage the emotions on her face. She only stared at her toes.
They played this game of 'I Have A Secret' about once a month. Buffy would come home after patrolling, Spike would ask how it went, and she'd reply that nothing important happened. He'd check on Dylan and read the latest book for review while she took a shower. After she had washed the day off, she'd come out of the bathroom, a look of misery marring her features, and proceed to spill the events that caused her inner turmoil.
Spike had expected that when she quietly snuck through the back door, absently giving him a kiss and running up the stairs before he could ask any deep questions.
He just hadn't expected this.
Angel was back. Angel, the love of Buffy's life, the one person she had wanted and the one person she couldn't have, was back. And apparently, his feelings for her had not changed over the past years.
Removing his head from his hands, he tried to say something else, but began to study the comforter on the bed. Warm, plushy, black cloth folded up on the foot of the bed due to the warm weather. Red silk sheets, nicely tucked and straightened each morning, flowed over the mattress.
Buffy made sure their bedroom looked exactly like the bedroom of his crypt. Either it was a way to make his adjustment to humanity smooth, or she liked the way his sheets felt when they . . .
Many of the room's contents may have been his, but the room was theirs'. This house was theirs'. They had made a life together. And he would be damned if some brooding, sulking, vamp-with-a-soul prick was going to ruin it.
"What'd he say?"
"Say?" She kept focus on her toes, as if they'd get a mind of their own and run off.
He groaned again. "What'd Angel say when you told him about us?"
"Well . . ."
"Buffy," he said firmly, "Look at me." She shyly looked up, the guilt back on her face. *Great.* "You didn't tell him."
"Not exactly. I mean, it didn't come up."
"So, your ex-boyfriend comes into town an' you two have a chat. But the fact that you and me are living together, plus the little bit of us having a daughter, doesn't pop up. Yeah, I could see how that'd happen."
Her towel, a lighter shade of red, was set on her vanity, and she proceeded to run a comb through her hair.
"Spike, I couldn't."
"Couldn't what?"
"I couldn't tell him."
The sick feeling in his gut began to grow.
Buffy continued. "He asked me. About everyone, Dawn. But he kept asking about me, how I was, if I had anyone in my life. And I couldn't do it. I couldn't tell him about us, about Dylan."
His gaze locked with hers, and he saw her wince slightly at the anger in his face.
"So he did ask you."
"Spike!" she exclaimed, though not as low so she wouldn't wake Dylan up, "I didn't tell him anything! He doesn't know about Dawn, or my Phoenix-days, or anything like that! He asked and I didn't tell him."
He huffed in aggravation. "You didn't tell him anything. Well, that makes up for everythin'." The sarcasm dripped from his words.
"You expect me to tell my ex that I fell in love with his Grandchilde who, by-the-way, is now human? Everything to you is just so simple, isn't it? Well, Smarty-Fuck, what if you had to tell your lovely Drusilla about us?"
Standing slowly from the bed, desperately trying to wrangle his anger. "I DID tell Drusilla! You were there, Buffy! An' if I remember, you were the one who had the fucking problem with it!"
"This is sooo much more different! Angel and I had a SANE relationship, unlike you and Miss 'Crazy Farm'. She didn't give a flying pig in shit about us. If I had to tell Angel, it would kill him."
Internally, he knew he was winning the argument. "Angel's already dead, luv."
She was caught, the next point she was going to shove up his ass lost. "Well . . . I . . ."
"Damn it Buffy," he moaned, sitting back on the bed, "We're practically married, and Angel, who's still in love with you, has no clue. This is just bloody wonderful."
There was a pause, until she spoke up. "But we're not married, are we Spike?" It was a whisper, but he could hear the anger and hurt in her voice.
It hit him like a punch in the face. "What?"
"We're not married. No, we live the suburban life. White picket fence, two car garage, soccer games, and parent-teacher meetings! But we're not married. We're simply a couple who got knocked up and moved in together."
"No, you're not taking the argument there!" The accusation was as equal in his words.
"Damn EVERYTHING to hell!" she screamed, sitting on the bed next to him.
Neither spoke, and minutes passed as the two sat there, trying to get their emotions under control.
Buffy found her voice first. "Are you worried that I might go back to Angel?"
The silence settled back in as he pondered the question. He could answer it like the Whelp would, all bravado and bullshit, or he could be truthful.
"Yea'. I guess so."
A tiny smile peaked out on the corners of her mouth. "Do you know how old I was when I met Angel?"
"How old?" He played along, not sure where she was going.
"Sixteen. Remember being sixteen? You always seem to want the hard-to-reach person. Angel was mine. What I had with him was dark and passionate and depressing."
He began to smile, although it was subtle. "Not makin' me feel better, luv."
She took his hand, and began to softly kiss his index finger. "You and I are completely different. I can be happy with you. You make me feel happy. Real love isn't supposed to make you miserable. And, unlike Angel, you can go with me into the light. I like being with you in the light."
Watching her kiss his hand, that simple sign of affection, released the nerves built up over the 'Angel Conversation'.
"You better be careful, pet. You almost went someplace deep with that relationship analysis."
A light giggle erupted from her, and he joined the laughter as the two embraced.
"Oh, that can't happen! That might make me the calm one!"
"An' I embrace my role as the normal one." Spike leaned in, pulling her into a deep kiss.
"Now," he asked as they broke breathlessly, "Wha' was all that talk about yours and Angel's passionate relationship? You don't get enough from yours truly?"
She giggled again. "I don't think anyone could match . . . Peaches!" she teased, her nose scrunching up.
He growled, an evil smirk growing on his face, as he threw Buffy onto her back. "You," he mumbled through kisses, "Are gonna get it!"
"Thank God, finally!" she half-teased, half-moaned, throwing her head back as he trailed kisses down her neck. But, as she began to pull at fabric of his shirt, she sat up. "Did you say you were the normal one in this relationship?"
Sighing, he untied the cloth belt from her bathrobe and threw it across the room. "Buffy?"
"Yeah," she responded, succeeding in removing his shirt.
He leaned in, lightly pushing her back onto her back, and nibbled on her lower lip while wrestling with the robe.
"Shut up."
By the way, I don't own anything 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer' or 'Angel' related. Joss Whedon does. I only own the many characters I've created, such as Gillian, President Fielding, and Dylan. That is, if I technically own them.
Rating: R- hurrah! Gratuitous casual swearing and suggested sex! Fun for all ages!
Summary: The truth may be expected, but lies are easier. What happens when lies and deception consume your life. Sequel to "Exit Stage Left".
Author's Notes: Life, after the continuous flow of shit, has calmed down, allowing me time to write. More chapters to follow, and more frequently (if that is an actual phrase). Please give me some reviews. Don't make me pimp you all for some. I want to know if you like what I'm doing! I'm a whore, who only knows how to please! Damn it! Sorry about that, I'm just a corporate shill and a review whore.
PS: The title of this chapter is derived from the song 'She Was My Girl' by Jerry Cantrell. It's off the Spiderman soundtrack, if some little part of you actually cares.
Chapter Eight- She Is My Girl?
Groaning loudly, Spike buried his face into his palms, the feeling of nausea growing in his belly.
"So," he whispered, "Peaches is back."
Avoiding eye contact, Buffy, clad only in a bathrobe, lowered her head and began to towel dry her wet hair.
"Yeah."
He peaked through his fingers, trying to gage the emotions on her face. She only stared at her toes.
They played this game of 'I Have A Secret' about once a month. Buffy would come home after patrolling, Spike would ask how it went, and she'd reply that nothing important happened. He'd check on Dylan and read the latest book for review while she took a shower. After she had washed the day off, she'd come out of the bathroom, a look of misery marring her features, and proceed to spill the events that caused her inner turmoil.
Spike had expected that when she quietly snuck through the back door, absently giving him a kiss and running up the stairs before he could ask any deep questions.
He just hadn't expected this.
Angel was back. Angel, the love of Buffy's life, the one person she had wanted and the one person she couldn't have, was back. And apparently, his feelings for her had not changed over the past years.
Removing his head from his hands, he tried to say something else, but began to study the comforter on the bed. Warm, plushy, black cloth folded up on the foot of the bed due to the warm weather. Red silk sheets, nicely tucked and straightened each morning, flowed over the mattress.
Buffy made sure their bedroom looked exactly like the bedroom of his crypt. Either it was a way to make his adjustment to humanity smooth, or she liked the way his sheets felt when they . . .
Many of the room's contents may have been his, but the room was theirs'. This house was theirs'. They had made a life together. And he would be damned if some brooding, sulking, vamp-with-a-soul prick was going to ruin it.
"What'd he say?"
"Say?" She kept focus on her toes, as if they'd get a mind of their own and run off.
He groaned again. "What'd Angel say when you told him about us?"
"Well . . ."
"Buffy," he said firmly, "Look at me." She shyly looked up, the guilt back on her face. *Great.* "You didn't tell him."
"Not exactly. I mean, it didn't come up."
"So, your ex-boyfriend comes into town an' you two have a chat. But the fact that you and me are living together, plus the little bit of us having a daughter, doesn't pop up. Yeah, I could see how that'd happen."
Her towel, a lighter shade of red, was set on her vanity, and she proceeded to run a comb through her hair.
"Spike, I couldn't."
"Couldn't what?"
"I couldn't tell him."
The sick feeling in his gut began to grow.
Buffy continued. "He asked me. About everyone, Dawn. But he kept asking about me, how I was, if I had anyone in my life. And I couldn't do it. I couldn't tell him about us, about Dylan."
His gaze locked with hers, and he saw her wince slightly at the anger in his face.
"So he did ask you."
"Spike!" she exclaimed, though not as low so she wouldn't wake Dylan up, "I didn't tell him anything! He doesn't know about Dawn, or my Phoenix-days, or anything like that! He asked and I didn't tell him."
He huffed in aggravation. "You didn't tell him anything. Well, that makes up for everythin'." The sarcasm dripped from his words.
"You expect me to tell my ex that I fell in love with his Grandchilde who, by-the-way, is now human? Everything to you is just so simple, isn't it? Well, Smarty-Fuck, what if you had to tell your lovely Drusilla about us?"
Standing slowly from the bed, desperately trying to wrangle his anger. "I DID tell Drusilla! You were there, Buffy! An' if I remember, you were the one who had the fucking problem with it!"
"This is sooo much more different! Angel and I had a SANE relationship, unlike you and Miss 'Crazy Farm'. She didn't give a flying pig in shit about us. If I had to tell Angel, it would kill him."
Internally, he knew he was winning the argument. "Angel's already dead, luv."
She was caught, the next point she was going to shove up his ass lost. "Well . . . I . . ."
"Damn it Buffy," he moaned, sitting back on the bed, "We're practically married, and Angel, who's still in love with you, has no clue. This is just bloody wonderful."
There was a pause, until she spoke up. "But we're not married, are we Spike?" It was a whisper, but he could hear the anger and hurt in her voice.
It hit him like a punch in the face. "What?"
"We're not married. No, we live the suburban life. White picket fence, two car garage, soccer games, and parent-teacher meetings! But we're not married. We're simply a couple who got knocked up and moved in together."
"No, you're not taking the argument there!" The accusation was as equal in his words.
"Damn EVERYTHING to hell!" she screamed, sitting on the bed next to him.
Neither spoke, and minutes passed as the two sat there, trying to get their emotions under control.
Buffy found her voice first. "Are you worried that I might go back to Angel?"
The silence settled back in as he pondered the question. He could answer it like the Whelp would, all bravado and bullshit, or he could be truthful.
"Yea'. I guess so."
A tiny smile peaked out on the corners of her mouth. "Do you know how old I was when I met Angel?"
"How old?" He played along, not sure where she was going.
"Sixteen. Remember being sixteen? You always seem to want the hard-to-reach person. Angel was mine. What I had with him was dark and passionate and depressing."
He began to smile, although it was subtle. "Not makin' me feel better, luv."
She took his hand, and began to softly kiss his index finger. "You and I are completely different. I can be happy with you. You make me feel happy. Real love isn't supposed to make you miserable. And, unlike Angel, you can go with me into the light. I like being with you in the light."
Watching her kiss his hand, that simple sign of affection, released the nerves built up over the 'Angel Conversation'.
"You better be careful, pet. You almost went someplace deep with that relationship analysis."
A light giggle erupted from her, and he joined the laughter as the two embraced.
"Oh, that can't happen! That might make me the calm one!"
"An' I embrace my role as the normal one." Spike leaned in, pulling her into a deep kiss.
"Now," he asked as they broke breathlessly, "Wha' was all that talk about yours and Angel's passionate relationship? You don't get enough from yours truly?"
She giggled again. "I don't think anyone could match . . . Peaches!" she teased, her nose scrunching up.
He growled, an evil smirk growing on his face, as he threw Buffy onto her back. "You," he mumbled through kisses, "Are gonna get it!"
"Thank God, finally!" she half-teased, half-moaned, throwing her head back as he trailed kisses down her neck. But, as she began to pull at fabric of his shirt, she sat up. "Did you say you were the normal one in this relationship?"
Sighing, he untied the cloth belt from her bathrobe and threw it across the room. "Buffy?"
"Yeah," she responded, succeeding in removing his shirt.
He leaned in, lightly pushing her back onto her back, and nibbled on her lower lip while wrestling with the robe.
"Shut up."
