Buffy had asked everyone to leave. She wanted to have some time alone with
Spike, whenever he decided to make an entrance. And she knew he hated
having an audience, especially the Scoobies. Giles had left to do some
more research, and when Xander offered, he agreed to stay with him and Anya
for the night. William had been around ever since Buffy had forced Spike
away. And she had, she couldn't see it any other way. He didn't seem very
interested in conversation, so she busied herself with cleaning and
eventually cooking lunch. She had to chuckle at the way William drank his
mug of blood with disgust, though unable to deny that it satiated his
hunger. She was making him some human food when she heard him cry out.
She ran into the living room.
"What? What's wrong?"
William was standing by the couch, pointing at Summer. "This.....animal attacked me! I merely tried to pet it, and it scratched me. I thought you said this was Spike's cat."
Buffy smiled. "It is, and she has scratched him before....but I think she just doesn't like you. Maybe she can tell that you're.....different? Weird.....Ah well, back to the basement for you, Summer." Buffy picked up the cat and opened the basement door. After she had set her gently on the steps and closed the door, Buffy turned back to William. He was busy looking at a Cosmo magazine, his eyes wide.
When he noticed her looking at him, he commented, "These women.....do not have much respect for themselves, do they?" He held up the magazine, open to a clothing ad.
Buffy shrugged. "Not quite like the girls of your day, huh?"
William shook his head, but remained engrossed in the pictures. Buffy chuckled as she returned to the kitchen.
About ten minutes later, she had prepared a reasonably edible lunch of chicken strips and fries. She took the plates into the living room. "Well, probably also not like what you're used to, or what you remember being used to, but it's all we have in the freezer. Time to go shopping again, I th--" His icy glare halted her. She actually found herself momentarily flustered. "Spike," was all she could say.
"Slayer," he hissed. He stood up, his whole body tense. The only thing soft about him were the tears that slowly filled his eyes. He clenched his jaw, refusing to blink lest one of the drops fall and start a torrent. "I. Trusted. You. You. Little. Bitch."
Buffy couldn't be angry at him, not even at his harsh words. She knew she deserved it. She expected it. But seeing him and hearing the hurt that crept into his voice.....it was more than she thought she could take. She slowly put down the plates on the coffee table and readied herself for the onslaught. She didn't try to defend or explain, she just stood there waiting, not bothering to hold back her own tears.
They just looked at each other for a long moment. Him glaring, her trying to convey an unspoken apology. Because she was sorry. But then again, she wasn't. It had to be done. Maybe, eventually, he would understand that. But right now she was sorry for hurting him. For breaking the trust they had built so tenuously.
"Are you going to say anything, or are you just going to stand there and cry?" he spat.
"I don't have anything to say that you want to hear right now. My justifications won't matter to you, 'sorry' will probably only make it worse. So I'm just going to listen."
Spike's eyebrows shot up. "Oh, you think I have *any*thing to say to you? Well, you're right there, but it's nothing *you* want to hear, I'm sure. I just.....I need to leave."
Buffy frowned. "Spike, it's daylight out. And you're not really in a state to be out and about anyway."
"Fine, then *you* leave. But I swear, Buffy, if one of us doesn't go soon, we're both going to wish my chip still worked." His fists clenched, and he hung his head to avoid looking at her.
Buffy bristled. "Are you threatening me? You actually want to hurt me? So much for loving me." Buffy couldn't believe what he was implying.
"Yes. I want to hurt you. I want to hurt you badly. I want to make you hurt like I do. And yes, I love you so much that I'm asking you to get out of my sight. Because I know myself, and this won't go away until I can release it somewhere. I think the punching bag downstairs is a smarter outlet at this point, but if you're around I can't promise you anything. And not just because I know you can take it. But because I hate you. Right now, I hate you, Buffy. And I hate me for hating you. And I hate the whole fucking world, so *please* just go so I can do something about it."
Buffy considered arguing, but his body language made her decide against it. She just nodded her head and asked quietly, "How long do you need?"
Spike relaxed a little and shrugged. "Dunno. Hour or two. But if I'm still down there when you come home, just leave me alone."
"Ok." Buffy went into the foyer and grabbed her coat and purse.
As she opened the door, she heard him say gruffly, "Buffy?"
She stopped and turned to him. "Yeah?"
He wanted to say something, but it seemed the words wouldn't come. After a moment of trying, he just shook his head and looked away.
She left him there, desperately wanting to know what he would have said if he could have. 'I love you'? 'Don't come back'? 'Stay so I can pound your face in'? 'I'm sorry'? 'I'll never trust you again'? 'How could you?' She shook her head as she thought of all the possibilities, deciding it was probably a combination of all those things that he felt.
**
Staying on the safe side, Buffy gave Spike two hours to vent his anger. She was sure he would have plenty left for her, but he might be less homicidal. Maybe. As she gingerly opened the front door, she was confronted with silence. She didn't hear anything that would indicate someone else was in the house. She hung up her coat and purse and quickly scanned the kitchen and living room for him. She dashed upstairs to see if he was there. He wasn't, and that left only one place. The place she wasn't supposed to go. She would respect that.
She spent the rest of the afternoon alternating between staring blankly at the television and tiptoeing to press her ear to the basement door. She never heard anything. She was beginning to wonder if he had left after all. But it was daytime and even though he had gone out before when he had to, she was pretty sure he just wanted to be alone, somewhere dark and dank. No better place than her basement for that.
She didn't realize how late it was until her stomach growled, reminding her that she had neglected lunch. She certainly didn't feel like cooking and decided on ordering in. Chinese. Her and Spike's favorite. She briefly considered asking him if he wanted anything, but thought better of it. She'd order his favorite and if he came up, maybe they could eat together. 'Yeah, right,' Buffy thought. 'I'll be lucky if he doesn't want to make *me* his meal, as mad as he is.'
**
R&R please!
"What? What's wrong?"
William was standing by the couch, pointing at Summer. "This.....animal attacked me! I merely tried to pet it, and it scratched me. I thought you said this was Spike's cat."
Buffy smiled. "It is, and she has scratched him before....but I think she just doesn't like you. Maybe she can tell that you're.....different? Weird.....Ah well, back to the basement for you, Summer." Buffy picked up the cat and opened the basement door. After she had set her gently on the steps and closed the door, Buffy turned back to William. He was busy looking at a Cosmo magazine, his eyes wide.
When he noticed her looking at him, he commented, "These women.....do not have much respect for themselves, do they?" He held up the magazine, open to a clothing ad.
Buffy shrugged. "Not quite like the girls of your day, huh?"
William shook his head, but remained engrossed in the pictures. Buffy chuckled as she returned to the kitchen.
About ten minutes later, she had prepared a reasonably edible lunch of chicken strips and fries. She took the plates into the living room. "Well, probably also not like what you're used to, or what you remember being used to, but it's all we have in the freezer. Time to go shopping again, I th--" His icy glare halted her. She actually found herself momentarily flustered. "Spike," was all she could say.
"Slayer," he hissed. He stood up, his whole body tense. The only thing soft about him were the tears that slowly filled his eyes. He clenched his jaw, refusing to blink lest one of the drops fall and start a torrent. "I. Trusted. You. You. Little. Bitch."
Buffy couldn't be angry at him, not even at his harsh words. She knew she deserved it. She expected it. But seeing him and hearing the hurt that crept into his voice.....it was more than she thought she could take. She slowly put down the plates on the coffee table and readied herself for the onslaught. She didn't try to defend or explain, she just stood there waiting, not bothering to hold back her own tears.
They just looked at each other for a long moment. Him glaring, her trying to convey an unspoken apology. Because she was sorry. But then again, she wasn't. It had to be done. Maybe, eventually, he would understand that. But right now she was sorry for hurting him. For breaking the trust they had built so tenuously.
"Are you going to say anything, or are you just going to stand there and cry?" he spat.
"I don't have anything to say that you want to hear right now. My justifications won't matter to you, 'sorry' will probably only make it worse. So I'm just going to listen."
Spike's eyebrows shot up. "Oh, you think I have *any*thing to say to you? Well, you're right there, but it's nothing *you* want to hear, I'm sure. I just.....I need to leave."
Buffy frowned. "Spike, it's daylight out. And you're not really in a state to be out and about anyway."
"Fine, then *you* leave. But I swear, Buffy, if one of us doesn't go soon, we're both going to wish my chip still worked." His fists clenched, and he hung his head to avoid looking at her.
Buffy bristled. "Are you threatening me? You actually want to hurt me? So much for loving me." Buffy couldn't believe what he was implying.
"Yes. I want to hurt you. I want to hurt you badly. I want to make you hurt like I do. And yes, I love you so much that I'm asking you to get out of my sight. Because I know myself, and this won't go away until I can release it somewhere. I think the punching bag downstairs is a smarter outlet at this point, but if you're around I can't promise you anything. And not just because I know you can take it. But because I hate you. Right now, I hate you, Buffy. And I hate me for hating you. And I hate the whole fucking world, so *please* just go so I can do something about it."
Buffy considered arguing, but his body language made her decide against it. She just nodded her head and asked quietly, "How long do you need?"
Spike relaxed a little and shrugged. "Dunno. Hour or two. But if I'm still down there when you come home, just leave me alone."
"Ok." Buffy went into the foyer and grabbed her coat and purse.
As she opened the door, she heard him say gruffly, "Buffy?"
She stopped and turned to him. "Yeah?"
He wanted to say something, but it seemed the words wouldn't come. After a moment of trying, he just shook his head and looked away.
She left him there, desperately wanting to know what he would have said if he could have. 'I love you'? 'Don't come back'? 'Stay so I can pound your face in'? 'I'm sorry'? 'I'll never trust you again'? 'How could you?' She shook her head as she thought of all the possibilities, deciding it was probably a combination of all those things that he felt.
**
Staying on the safe side, Buffy gave Spike two hours to vent his anger. She was sure he would have plenty left for her, but he might be less homicidal. Maybe. As she gingerly opened the front door, she was confronted with silence. She didn't hear anything that would indicate someone else was in the house. She hung up her coat and purse and quickly scanned the kitchen and living room for him. She dashed upstairs to see if he was there. He wasn't, and that left only one place. The place she wasn't supposed to go. She would respect that.
She spent the rest of the afternoon alternating between staring blankly at the television and tiptoeing to press her ear to the basement door. She never heard anything. She was beginning to wonder if he had left after all. But it was daytime and even though he had gone out before when he had to, she was pretty sure he just wanted to be alone, somewhere dark and dank. No better place than her basement for that.
She didn't realize how late it was until her stomach growled, reminding her that she had neglected lunch. She certainly didn't feel like cooking and decided on ordering in. Chinese. Her and Spike's favorite. She briefly considered asking him if he wanted anything, but thought better of it. She'd order his favorite and if he came up, maybe they could eat together. 'Yeah, right,' Buffy thought. 'I'll be lucky if he doesn't want to make *me* his meal, as mad as he is.'
**
R&R please!