Leaving Amici, the couple was confronted with the cold winter air, making
them both miss California even more. "My apartment's just a coupla blocks
away," Buffy said, gesturing with her glove-covered hand, "it's not that
far of a walk." Spike shrugged his shoulders, "lead the way." He was less
concerned with the walk and more with her laissez-faire reaction to his
sudden appearance in New York. They walked in silence towards Buffy's
apartment, their bodies close but not touching. Spike's hands were tight
fists in his pockets and Buffy's arms wrapped around her body, fighting off
a chill that was deeper then the wind. She turned left with no warning,
almost running into Spike. "it's up this block," she said with an
apologetic smile.
The vampire followed silently, stopping behind her when Buffy paused in front of a tall brick building. She let out a deep breath, "this is it," she said. Smiling at the doorman, Buffy fairly dragged Spike to the bank of elevators. They rode up to her floor in silence; Spike was still trying to figure out why she hadn't threatened his life, and Buffy was trying to decide whether she was doing the right thing by bringing him back to her apartment.
Stepping off the elevator, Buffy led the way towards her door, searching for her keys. Unlocking the door, she stepped into the doorway before taking a step back towards Spike. "If you don't want to come in, I understand," she said, ready to pretend that she wouldn't be crushed if he refused. Spike narrowed his eyes, not ready to leave without telling her what he come to New York to say. She shook her head; dismissing the insecure worries, "Scratch that. Come in Spike." They walked inside, Buffy crossing the room to turn on more lights. Spike knew that he had to follow her lead; this was her territory, her terms applied here.
Buffy stood in the center of the living room, rubbing her hands together, stuffing her gloves deep in the pockets of her coat. Pulling off the black leather, she tipped her head quizzically at Spike. "Are you going to stand there all night," she asked, her voice tired. Her green eyes were red- rimmed from being out in the bitter cold but were devoid of tears. Buffy was exhausted; she wanted nothing more then to sleep for twenty hours. Instead she found herself staring at Spike as he stood in her foyer like a lost puppy dog.
A crushing sense of déjà vu passed over Spike, for an instant he was standing in her old house on Revello Drive. He was watching her descend the stairs, her blonde hair like spun gold against the white of her tee-shirt. Then she was standing in front of him, looking so lost and confused. He hadn't wanted to believe that she was real but she was; her friends had brought her back, given her a second chance at life. Long moments were spent just staring at each other, trying to gauge what their next move should be. Now he was in the same position, again an outsider in her life, consumed by his love and broken by their separation.
Shaking his head, Spike looked around the living room, savoring the subtle hints of Buffy throughout. "This is nice," he said at the same time Buffy asked, "do you want a drink?" They stared blankly at each other, not sure what to say or do next. Spike broke the uncomfortable silence, "yeah, that'd be great." Buffy didn't answer; she made her way into the kitchen, dropping her coat on an armchair as she passed. "Sit down, make yourself comfortable," her voice ordered from behind the wall that separated the kitchen from the rest of the apartment.
"Sure thing," Spike muttered under his breath, tossing his duster carelessly on the arm of the sofa. Icy darts of trepidation stabbed at the vampire and he sat stiffly on the edge of the seat cushion, a jungle cat poised to spring back at the first sign of hostility. Grateful for the few moments of solitude, Spike began to rack his brain for possible things to talk about. Unable to stay still, he began to pace the apartment, looking at the pictures that adorned every inch of empty space. The large pile of albums on the glass coffee table caught his eye and Spike settled back on the couch, carefully turning the wrinkled pages as he pretended to look involved in the pictures.
Buffy crossed the den, balancing two tumblers and a dark bottle of whiskey in her arms. She ignored Spike's raised eyebrow, setting the tumblers down on the coffee table with a thud. Twisting the bottle cap, she poured a generous amount of liquor in each before offering one to Spike. He accepted, swirling the amber liquid around in the bottom of the glass before taking a long swallow. The alcohol burned a familiar path down his throat; he knew that getting drunk wasn't going to fix things with Buffy but anything was better then the awkward silence. Buffy shook her head quickly, her nose wrinkled in disgust as she gulped down the whiskey. She hated the taste, someone had given it to her as a gift and she had never opened it. For some reason tonight seemed like the right opportunity, she needed something to bridge the barrier between uncomfortable pauses and penetrating stares.
Finishing his glass, Spike replaced it on the coffee table, careful to avoid the open photo album. Buffy tilted back her head, draining the last swallow with a grimace. "You want another one," she asked, her hand already wrapped around the neck of the bottle. Spike just watched her for a minute before resigning himself to it, "yeah, fill 'er up." He cocked his scarred eyebrow, fixing Buffy with one of the stares she hated so much, "are you drunk?" Her forehead furrowed in confusion, "not yet," she mumbled, enunciating each word carefully. Spike nodded, "uh-huh, right then, let's have another one." At this point in his undead life, he didn't care how drunk she was; if alcohol was what it was going to take to get her to talk to him, then Spike was prepared to drain the bottle.
An hour later Buffy was laying half on the couch and half on the floor, her feet propped up against the thick pillar-like legs of the coffee table. Spike was relaxing on the sofa, his back pressed firmly against the thick cushions as he savored the last bit of his drink. The bottle was almost empty and they still hadn't said anything to each other. "Spike," Buffy asked, her eyes fluttering open to study the pale vampire. Her words were slurring together, there was no doubt in Spike's mind that Buffy was completely drunk off her ass. "What the hell are you doing here," Buffy asked, her voice level but filled with anger. She had a confused frown on her face, in her drunken state Buffy was trying to figure out why her ex- boyfriend was sitting on her sofa.
Spike weighed his options, he could tell her the truth or he could fall back into the familiar routine of caustic barbs and sarcastic quips. He didn't get the chance to reply because Buffy sat up, her eyes blazing with fury. "Why are you here Spike," she asked again, her voice louder this time. Spike shook his head, he had forgotten that Buffy held nothing back when she was drunk; he had a great collection of funny things she had said or done after a few glasses of wine. Alcohol channeled the petite blonde's inner Anya, throwing all her subtly and tact to the wind. Under normal circumstances Spike wouldn't have minded, but given their messy history he didn't really want to hear her unbridled opinions.
Deciding that honesty would be his best defense, Spike answered, "came to see you." Her eyes narrowed, "really," she snapped, her voice dripping with sarcasm. He nodded, not trusting himself to keep his voice calm if Buffy kept shooting murderous glares at him. Digging her hands into the cushions, Buffy hoisted her body up, swaying for a few seconds before steadying herself. She stalked away from the sofa, walking sideways rather then forward. It was too much effort for her to stay still, her mind was drowning in alcohol-induced sensations and the entire room felt like it was spinning. Buffy didn't realize how off-balance she was, until she whirled angrily to face Spike; the smug smile on his face was too much for her to deal with, it was like he was taunting her, reminding her of how pathetic she was. Spike saw her start to fall before she actually hit the ground, in an instant he was on his feet with his arms around her waist.
"Get off me, you jackass," Buffy snapped, pushing his arms away as she sank to the carpeted floor. Letting go of her, Spike lifted his arms up in a gesture of innocence, "just trying to make sure you didn't smash your head open. Forgive me for caring." In her present state, Buffy didn't notice the pain that flickered in his eyes when she shrugged off his help. "I don't get it," Buffy began, not really wanting to talk to Spike but needing to ramble endlessly. "I mean it's been what, like three years? Three fucking years without so much as a phone call and then you just show up out of the blue."
She spat out the words, her face twisted in a bitter grimace. "Like nothing ever happened.like you're still a part of my life." Spike swallowed hard; he deserved that, hell he deserved every hateful word she flung at him. Somehow he never thought that she was hurting, it was always easier to think that Buffy was living a perfect life without him. She was still rambling, it was more ranting then lamenting and her voice was filled with hatred, not vulnerability. "You are the most arrogant, self-centered, egotistical, pigheaded.vampire.man.that I have ever met! Most people get the hint but not you.no, that's not your style." Leaning heavily on the sofa, she raised herself slowly from the floor, testing her balance gingerly. "Everything has to be done on your time! When you're ready!"
"Dammit Spike, look at me! That's the least you can do!" Spike lifted his head slowly, a predatory yellow tint to his icy eyes. He hadn't heard her talk that way in years and it brought forth the worse parts of his temper. Buffy's voice was bitter and demanding, bringing back less then pleasant memories for Spike; he hadn't come to New York for another patented Buffy Summers verbal abuse session. Instead of letting her fall back into her bitter diatribe, Spike drew himself up to his full height. Buffy didn't even notice that he had stood up before he was in front of her, his face inches away from hers. "Now let's get something straight," Spike growled, "I am not the one who kept secrets! It wasn't my self-involved worldview that got us here! I'm not the one who moved across the bloody country!"
"No, you're the one who left," she screamed. Buffy's words stunned him, they stung worse then any punch she could have aimed at his nose. "You left me," she repeated quietly, sinking onto the sofa cushions as she curled up in a tight ball, her mood no longer angry but morose. Tears gleamed in her eyes; she tucked her chin down refusing to look at Spike. "I needed you and you left. You didn't even listen to me when I tried to explain.you just left. I just wanted you to be happy for me.but you didn't even care.. you didn't let me explain." A sob broke her voice, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she tried to control herself.
Her quivering voice broke apart the last bits of Spike's anger; he sighed deeply as he sat beside her on the sofa. Hesitantly he brushed his hand over her blonde hair, his hand hovering in mid-air when her muffled voice ordered him to stop. "Don't make this any harder," she pleaded, her head still resting against her bent knees, "I can't deal with this anymore." Spike's face softened, this wasn't the time to rehash the problems of their relationship or to assign blame. Buffy wouldn't remember anything they said tonight, there was no sense in getting thrown out of her apartment over a few drunken words, no matter how much they hurt. "I'm sorry," he murmured, gently pulling her into his lap. Buffy didn't know whether she was awake or dreaming anymore, the entire world was fading to a fuzzy mess of bright colors. "I missed you," she whispered before she drifted off to sleep, completely unaware of what she had just said. Spike smoothed her hair off her forehead, "missed you too, luv. I missed you too."
The vampire followed silently, stopping behind her when Buffy paused in front of a tall brick building. She let out a deep breath, "this is it," she said. Smiling at the doorman, Buffy fairly dragged Spike to the bank of elevators. They rode up to her floor in silence; Spike was still trying to figure out why she hadn't threatened his life, and Buffy was trying to decide whether she was doing the right thing by bringing him back to her apartment.
Stepping off the elevator, Buffy led the way towards her door, searching for her keys. Unlocking the door, she stepped into the doorway before taking a step back towards Spike. "If you don't want to come in, I understand," she said, ready to pretend that she wouldn't be crushed if he refused. Spike narrowed his eyes, not ready to leave without telling her what he come to New York to say. She shook her head; dismissing the insecure worries, "Scratch that. Come in Spike." They walked inside, Buffy crossing the room to turn on more lights. Spike knew that he had to follow her lead; this was her territory, her terms applied here.
Buffy stood in the center of the living room, rubbing her hands together, stuffing her gloves deep in the pockets of her coat. Pulling off the black leather, she tipped her head quizzically at Spike. "Are you going to stand there all night," she asked, her voice tired. Her green eyes were red- rimmed from being out in the bitter cold but were devoid of tears. Buffy was exhausted; she wanted nothing more then to sleep for twenty hours. Instead she found herself staring at Spike as he stood in her foyer like a lost puppy dog.
A crushing sense of déjà vu passed over Spike, for an instant he was standing in her old house on Revello Drive. He was watching her descend the stairs, her blonde hair like spun gold against the white of her tee-shirt. Then she was standing in front of him, looking so lost and confused. He hadn't wanted to believe that she was real but she was; her friends had brought her back, given her a second chance at life. Long moments were spent just staring at each other, trying to gauge what their next move should be. Now he was in the same position, again an outsider in her life, consumed by his love and broken by their separation.
Shaking his head, Spike looked around the living room, savoring the subtle hints of Buffy throughout. "This is nice," he said at the same time Buffy asked, "do you want a drink?" They stared blankly at each other, not sure what to say or do next. Spike broke the uncomfortable silence, "yeah, that'd be great." Buffy didn't answer; she made her way into the kitchen, dropping her coat on an armchair as she passed. "Sit down, make yourself comfortable," her voice ordered from behind the wall that separated the kitchen from the rest of the apartment.
"Sure thing," Spike muttered under his breath, tossing his duster carelessly on the arm of the sofa. Icy darts of trepidation stabbed at the vampire and he sat stiffly on the edge of the seat cushion, a jungle cat poised to spring back at the first sign of hostility. Grateful for the few moments of solitude, Spike began to rack his brain for possible things to talk about. Unable to stay still, he began to pace the apartment, looking at the pictures that adorned every inch of empty space. The large pile of albums on the glass coffee table caught his eye and Spike settled back on the couch, carefully turning the wrinkled pages as he pretended to look involved in the pictures.
Buffy crossed the den, balancing two tumblers and a dark bottle of whiskey in her arms. She ignored Spike's raised eyebrow, setting the tumblers down on the coffee table with a thud. Twisting the bottle cap, she poured a generous amount of liquor in each before offering one to Spike. He accepted, swirling the amber liquid around in the bottom of the glass before taking a long swallow. The alcohol burned a familiar path down his throat; he knew that getting drunk wasn't going to fix things with Buffy but anything was better then the awkward silence. Buffy shook her head quickly, her nose wrinkled in disgust as she gulped down the whiskey. She hated the taste, someone had given it to her as a gift and she had never opened it. For some reason tonight seemed like the right opportunity, she needed something to bridge the barrier between uncomfortable pauses and penetrating stares.
Finishing his glass, Spike replaced it on the coffee table, careful to avoid the open photo album. Buffy tilted back her head, draining the last swallow with a grimace. "You want another one," she asked, her hand already wrapped around the neck of the bottle. Spike just watched her for a minute before resigning himself to it, "yeah, fill 'er up." He cocked his scarred eyebrow, fixing Buffy with one of the stares she hated so much, "are you drunk?" Her forehead furrowed in confusion, "not yet," she mumbled, enunciating each word carefully. Spike nodded, "uh-huh, right then, let's have another one." At this point in his undead life, he didn't care how drunk she was; if alcohol was what it was going to take to get her to talk to him, then Spike was prepared to drain the bottle.
An hour later Buffy was laying half on the couch and half on the floor, her feet propped up against the thick pillar-like legs of the coffee table. Spike was relaxing on the sofa, his back pressed firmly against the thick cushions as he savored the last bit of his drink. The bottle was almost empty and they still hadn't said anything to each other. "Spike," Buffy asked, her eyes fluttering open to study the pale vampire. Her words were slurring together, there was no doubt in Spike's mind that Buffy was completely drunk off her ass. "What the hell are you doing here," Buffy asked, her voice level but filled with anger. She had a confused frown on her face, in her drunken state Buffy was trying to figure out why her ex- boyfriend was sitting on her sofa.
Spike weighed his options, he could tell her the truth or he could fall back into the familiar routine of caustic barbs and sarcastic quips. He didn't get the chance to reply because Buffy sat up, her eyes blazing with fury. "Why are you here Spike," she asked again, her voice louder this time. Spike shook his head, he had forgotten that Buffy held nothing back when she was drunk; he had a great collection of funny things she had said or done after a few glasses of wine. Alcohol channeled the petite blonde's inner Anya, throwing all her subtly and tact to the wind. Under normal circumstances Spike wouldn't have minded, but given their messy history he didn't really want to hear her unbridled opinions.
Deciding that honesty would be his best defense, Spike answered, "came to see you." Her eyes narrowed, "really," she snapped, her voice dripping with sarcasm. He nodded, not trusting himself to keep his voice calm if Buffy kept shooting murderous glares at him. Digging her hands into the cushions, Buffy hoisted her body up, swaying for a few seconds before steadying herself. She stalked away from the sofa, walking sideways rather then forward. It was too much effort for her to stay still, her mind was drowning in alcohol-induced sensations and the entire room felt like it was spinning. Buffy didn't realize how off-balance she was, until she whirled angrily to face Spike; the smug smile on his face was too much for her to deal with, it was like he was taunting her, reminding her of how pathetic she was. Spike saw her start to fall before she actually hit the ground, in an instant he was on his feet with his arms around her waist.
"Get off me, you jackass," Buffy snapped, pushing his arms away as she sank to the carpeted floor. Letting go of her, Spike lifted his arms up in a gesture of innocence, "just trying to make sure you didn't smash your head open. Forgive me for caring." In her present state, Buffy didn't notice the pain that flickered in his eyes when she shrugged off his help. "I don't get it," Buffy began, not really wanting to talk to Spike but needing to ramble endlessly. "I mean it's been what, like three years? Three fucking years without so much as a phone call and then you just show up out of the blue."
She spat out the words, her face twisted in a bitter grimace. "Like nothing ever happened.like you're still a part of my life." Spike swallowed hard; he deserved that, hell he deserved every hateful word she flung at him. Somehow he never thought that she was hurting, it was always easier to think that Buffy was living a perfect life without him. She was still rambling, it was more ranting then lamenting and her voice was filled with hatred, not vulnerability. "You are the most arrogant, self-centered, egotistical, pigheaded.vampire.man.that I have ever met! Most people get the hint but not you.no, that's not your style." Leaning heavily on the sofa, she raised herself slowly from the floor, testing her balance gingerly. "Everything has to be done on your time! When you're ready!"
"Dammit Spike, look at me! That's the least you can do!" Spike lifted his head slowly, a predatory yellow tint to his icy eyes. He hadn't heard her talk that way in years and it brought forth the worse parts of his temper. Buffy's voice was bitter and demanding, bringing back less then pleasant memories for Spike; he hadn't come to New York for another patented Buffy Summers verbal abuse session. Instead of letting her fall back into her bitter diatribe, Spike drew himself up to his full height. Buffy didn't even notice that he had stood up before he was in front of her, his face inches away from hers. "Now let's get something straight," Spike growled, "I am not the one who kept secrets! It wasn't my self-involved worldview that got us here! I'm not the one who moved across the bloody country!"
"No, you're the one who left," she screamed. Buffy's words stunned him, they stung worse then any punch she could have aimed at his nose. "You left me," she repeated quietly, sinking onto the sofa cushions as she curled up in a tight ball, her mood no longer angry but morose. Tears gleamed in her eyes; she tucked her chin down refusing to look at Spike. "I needed you and you left. You didn't even listen to me when I tried to explain.you just left. I just wanted you to be happy for me.but you didn't even care.. you didn't let me explain." A sob broke her voice, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she tried to control herself.
Her quivering voice broke apart the last bits of Spike's anger; he sighed deeply as he sat beside her on the sofa. Hesitantly he brushed his hand over her blonde hair, his hand hovering in mid-air when her muffled voice ordered him to stop. "Don't make this any harder," she pleaded, her head still resting against her bent knees, "I can't deal with this anymore." Spike's face softened, this wasn't the time to rehash the problems of their relationship or to assign blame. Buffy wouldn't remember anything they said tonight, there was no sense in getting thrown out of her apartment over a few drunken words, no matter how much they hurt. "I'm sorry," he murmured, gently pulling her into his lap. Buffy didn't know whether she was awake or dreaming anymore, the entire world was fading to a fuzzy mess of bright colors. "I missed you," she whispered before she drifted off to sleep, completely unaware of what she had just said. Spike smoothed her hair off her forehead, "missed you too, luv. I missed you too."
