Chapter 5 - Peaches and Pudding
The silence was the thick icky kind that stuck to the back of your mouth like molasses. You'd try to swallow it, but it just slid slowly down your throat, leaving a bitter trail. Buffy was desperate to cough it up, spit it out. Spit something out. This silence had to end.
"Tapioca?" she asked, peering from behind the door of the industrial-sized, stainless steel refrigerator. After spending the last few hours searching Emily's mansion for clues, she'd declared it snack time. Dinnertime had long come and gone with no takers. Her stomach was now turned inside out with hunger.
Foraging through Emily's kitchen, she'd found a large supply of blood, but little in terms of food. There was some caviar, a hunk of Brie, a bottle of wine, and a big bowl of homemade tapioca pudding.
A vampire and a man who used to be one sat at opposite sides of a large, rectangular stainless steel table. Both looked at her with blank stares.
"No thanks, pet," the former vampire replied, a tired edge to his voice. "Tapioca was always Em's favorite. Couldn't stand the stuff myself." He turned to the vampire across from him. "Maybe Peaches, here. He looks likes the lumpy pudding type if you ask me."
Angel glanced at Buffy, not meeting her gaze. He hadn't looked her in the eye once since he'd arrived at the house.
"None for me, thanks." His voice was stiff and quiet, and Buffy noted that her ex-boyfriend appeared even more tortured than usual.
Well, what did she expect? This was the first time he'd seen her since she and Spike.
She blew several untamed wisps of hair away from her eyes. Bad idea. Bad. She should never have called Angel. He looked forlorn, like a young boy who'd just found out that there was no Santa. She wanted to give him a bear-sized hug and lay a neat little peck on his forehead.
"Don't worry," she'd say. "Everything's going to be all right." Caring, nurturing Buffy to the rescue.
And then there was Spike. Her gaze went to the man who was now her watcher, her boyfriend and possibly even her soul mate. He looked tired, uneasy-and jealous. His eyes continually shifted from Angel to her and back as if he were looking for something, a connection of some sort that still tied them together.
Of course there wasn't any. Angel had been her first love, true. But it was over. Way over. She'd stopped pining long ago. Sure, she cared about him-loved him even.
But as a friend.
She'd realized a while ago that she was over Angel when, upon mention of his name, she hadn't gotten that awful constricted feeling in her chest she'd always had in the past.
It wasn't meant to be. She'd told herself this so many times, over and over. After a while, she'd finally realized it was true.
* * *
So, Spike thought, trying desperately to maintain the appearance of calm, of casual-of not caring. His eyes moved from Buffy to Angel in a quick, covert motion, he hoped no one noticed. So she'd called Angel. So what?
Did he feel threatened by the overgrown poofter?
Hell no!
He glanced from Buffy to Angel again.
Well.
More eye darting.
Maybe a little.
It was just that. The way the sodding peach boy looked at her-all glazed over with tortured wanting. Mr. Could've Been.
At least Buffy didn't have that look. He was pretty sure, anyway. His eyes rested on the Slayer, who was sitting across from him at the kitchen table eating a bowl of tapioca. She glanced up at him, creamy goo covering her top lip, and held his gaze. She looked uncomfortable, like she was sitting on a pile of pine needles.
Well, it was her fault-for calling Angel. They were doing just fine on their own, before detective boy showed. Spike picked up a napkin from the table and handed it to her, tapping his upper lip with his finger when she shot him a puzzled look.
"You've got some."
The tip of her tongue darted upward, sweeping away nearly all traces of pudding, then she patted the area dry with the napkin.
Angel cleared his throat and two sets of eyes turned to him in unison: one wide and brown, and the other narrowed and blue.
The dark-haired vampire looked at Spike then Buffy, never raising his gaze above cheek level. "I'm going back up to the master bedroom-to make sure we haven't missed anything," he said, his tone business-like.
Spike scowled. "I've already spent well over an hour in that room. Went over it with a fine-toothed comb. There's nothing there."
"Yeah well, it doesn't hurt to be thorough," Angel said, rising from his chair.
"Suit yourself," Spike muttered as the tall vampire disappeared through the kitchen door. "But your wasting you time."
* * *
Now that they were alone again, Spike felt like a mute. He could think of the words to say. Lots of them, really. But when he opened his mouth. Nothing.
He stared at the Slayer, feeling helpless. She glanced at him between tentative spoonfuls of tapioca. Her eyes were large and doe-like, filled with apprehension. The silence was an invisible barrier, separating them like a wall of soundproof plexi-glass.
There were two ways he could approach the situation. He could be the understanding, supportive boyfriend. The perfect gentleman. She was all torn up here. Any idiot could see that. He could be selfless, sacrificing.bleeding stupid.
Or he could take the other road: the one less traveled-except, of course, by him. He often found himself on this route. The one filled with bumps and cracks and large boulders blocking his way. You needed an all-terrain vehicle to travel that road. It was suicide, really.
Spike opened his mouth, pausing for a split-second before speaking.
"Bloody Angel hasn't changed a bit now has he?"
The doe-like eyes narrowed, becoming wolf-like.
"What do you mean?"
Spike leaned back in his chair and smirked ever so slightly.
"I mean, Luv, that he's still the big poof carrying a sappy high school crush on the prom queen."
"What are you talking about?" Her voice was clipped, cold. Spike could almost hear the rumblings of the impending avalanche. 'Okay, now you've done it.'
The smirk wavered a little. "I.uh." The mute was taking over again. "I." His voice sounded tiny.
"Well?" The wolf stared at him, menacing, baring her teeth.
He sat straighter and inhaled deeply through his nostrils. 'Don't back down now,' he told himself. 'Don't forget who's the alpha here.'
There was a chilled silence, giving the former vampire goose bumps. A cold arctic breeze passed between them.
'Alpha male, remember?'
The smirk returned, a little over-exaggerated.
"Oh c'mon, Slayer," the idiot using his voice said, "you can't be that stupid-"
'Balls! Bad choice of words there.'
The she-wolf's eyes flared, causing Spike's mental tail to tuck between his legs.
'Bloody bad choice of words.'
She opened her mouth, ready to attack. He cringed in his seat.
'Bloody, bloody stupid!'
She paused, and her mouth hung open. The angry look left her face, replaced with a new expression. Shock? Surprise? Spike wasn't sure.
"What is it, luv?" His voice was low and apprehensive.
"You're." Her eyes widened and she caught her breath.
"What is it?" He sounded urgent now.
"You're." She reached across the table for his hand. He looked down and saw the cause of her concern. He lifted his hand in front of him, staring straight through it, at the Slayer.
"Oh my god, Buffy," he said, sounding strangely fuzzy and unclear. "What's happening to me?"
The silence was the thick icky kind that stuck to the back of your mouth like molasses. You'd try to swallow it, but it just slid slowly down your throat, leaving a bitter trail. Buffy was desperate to cough it up, spit it out. Spit something out. This silence had to end.
"Tapioca?" she asked, peering from behind the door of the industrial-sized, stainless steel refrigerator. After spending the last few hours searching Emily's mansion for clues, she'd declared it snack time. Dinnertime had long come and gone with no takers. Her stomach was now turned inside out with hunger.
Foraging through Emily's kitchen, she'd found a large supply of blood, but little in terms of food. There was some caviar, a hunk of Brie, a bottle of wine, and a big bowl of homemade tapioca pudding.
A vampire and a man who used to be one sat at opposite sides of a large, rectangular stainless steel table. Both looked at her with blank stares.
"No thanks, pet," the former vampire replied, a tired edge to his voice. "Tapioca was always Em's favorite. Couldn't stand the stuff myself." He turned to the vampire across from him. "Maybe Peaches, here. He looks likes the lumpy pudding type if you ask me."
Angel glanced at Buffy, not meeting her gaze. He hadn't looked her in the eye once since he'd arrived at the house.
"None for me, thanks." His voice was stiff and quiet, and Buffy noted that her ex-boyfriend appeared even more tortured than usual.
Well, what did she expect? This was the first time he'd seen her since she and Spike.
She blew several untamed wisps of hair away from her eyes. Bad idea. Bad. She should never have called Angel. He looked forlorn, like a young boy who'd just found out that there was no Santa. She wanted to give him a bear-sized hug and lay a neat little peck on his forehead.
"Don't worry," she'd say. "Everything's going to be all right." Caring, nurturing Buffy to the rescue.
And then there was Spike. Her gaze went to the man who was now her watcher, her boyfriend and possibly even her soul mate. He looked tired, uneasy-and jealous. His eyes continually shifted from Angel to her and back as if he were looking for something, a connection of some sort that still tied them together.
Of course there wasn't any. Angel had been her first love, true. But it was over. Way over. She'd stopped pining long ago. Sure, she cared about him-loved him even.
But as a friend.
She'd realized a while ago that she was over Angel when, upon mention of his name, she hadn't gotten that awful constricted feeling in her chest she'd always had in the past.
It wasn't meant to be. She'd told herself this so many times, over and over. After a while, she'd finally realized it was true.
* * *
So, Spike thought, trying desperately to maintain the appearance of calm, of casual-of not caring. His eyes moved from Buffy to Angel in a quick, covert motion, he hoped no one noticed. So she'd called Angel. So what?
Did he feel threatened by the overgrown poofter?
Hell no!
He glanced from Buffy to Angel again.
Well.
More eye darting.
Maybe a little.
It was just that. The way the sodding peach boy looked at her-all glazed over with tortured wanting. Mr. Could've Been.
At least Buffy didn't have that look. He was pretty sure, anyway. His eyes rested on the Slayer, who was sitting across from him at the kitchen table eating a bowl of tapioca. She glanced up at him, creamy goo covering her top lip, and held his gaze. She looked uncomfortable, like she was sitting on a pile of pine needles.
Well, it was her fault-for calling Angel. They were doing just fine on their own, before detective boy showed. Spike picked up a napkin from the table and handed it to her, tapping his upper lip with his finger when she shot him a puzzled look.
"You've got some."
The tip of her tongue darted upward, sweeping away nearly all traces of pudding, then she patted the area dry with the napkin.
Angel cleared his throat and two sets of eyes turned to him in unison: one wide and brown, and the other narrowed and blue.
The dark-haired vampire looked at Spike then Buffy, never raising his gaze above cheek level. "I'm going back up to the master bedroom-to make sure we haven't missed anything," he said, his tone business-like.
Spike scowled. "I've already spent well over an hour in that room. Went over it with a fine-toothed comb. There's nothing there."
"Yeah well, it doesn't hurt to be thorough," Angel said, rising from his chair.
"Suit yourself," Spike muttered as the tall vampire disappeared through the kitchen door. "But your wasting you time."
* * *
Now that they were alone again, Spike felt like a mute. He could think of the words to say. Lots of them, really. But when he opened his mouth. Nothing.
He stared at the Slayer, feeling helpless. She glanced at him between tentative spoonfuls of tapioca. Her eyes were large and doe-like, filled with apprehension. The silence was an invisible barrier, separating them like a wall of soundproof plexi-glass.
There were two ways he could approach the situation. He could be the understanding, supportive boyfriend. The perfect gentleman. She was all torn up here. Any idiot could see that. He could be selfless, sacrificing.bleeding stupid.
Or he could take the other road: the one less traveled-except, of course, by him. He often found himself on this route. The one filled with bumps and cracks and large boulders blocking his way. You needed an all-terrain vehicle to travel that road. It was suicide, really.
Spike opened his mouth, pausing for a split-second before speaking.
"Bloody Angel hasn't changed a bit now has he?"
The doe-like eyes narrowed, becoming wolf-like.
"What do you mean?"
Spike leaned back in his chair and smirked ever so slightly.
"I mean, Luv, that he's still the big poof carrying a sappy high school crush on the prom queen."
"What are you talking about?" Her voice was clipped, cold. Spike could almost hear the rumblings of the impending avalanche. 'Okay, now you've done it.'
The smirk wavered a little. "I.uh." The mute was taking over again. "I." His voice sounded tiny.
"Well?" The wolf stared at him, menacing, baring her teeth.
He sat straighter and inhaled deeply through his nostrils. 'Don't back down now,' he told himself. 'Don't forget who's the alpha here.'
There was a chilled silence, giving the former vampire goose bumps. A cold arctic breeze passed between them.
'Alpha male, remember?'
The smirk returned, a little over-exaggerated.
"Oh c'mon, Slayer," the idiot using his voice said, "you can't be that stupid-"
'Balls! Bad choice of words there.'
The she-wolf's eyes flared, causing Spike's mental tail to tuck between his legs.
'Bloody bad choice of words.'
She opened her mouth, ready to attack. He cringed in his seat.
'Bloody, bloody stupid!'
She paused, and her mouth hung open. The angry look left her face, replaced with a new expression. Shock? Surprise? Spike wasn't sure.
"What is it, luv?" His voice was low and apprehensive.
"You're." Her eyes widened and she caught her breath.
"What is it?" He sounded urgent now.
"You're." She reached across the table for his hand. He looked down and saw the cause of her concern. He lifted his hand in front of him, staring straight through it, at the Slayer.
"Oh my god, Buffy," he said, sounding strangely fuzzy and unclear. "What's happening to me?"
