He's the light in her fridge, (8/10) by dutchbuffy2305
Pairing: Faith/Spike
Rating: R
Author's note: Sequel to His voice is like a Mars-bar
Author's website:
Feedback: Yes, please, to dutchbuffy2305@yahoo.co.uk
Faith wakes up in the middle of the night because someone is crying. It can only be Dawn. Spikes sighs a soft breeze against her neck hairs and gets up stealthily. Faith falls asleep again. Not her concern.
She wakes up again when the door opens softly and a very silent Spike comes in the bedroom again. She has no idea how much time has passed. He walks around the bed and slides in. Faith is almost asleep again when she realizes the body nestling against her is warm. Her body careens into overdrive and she is immediately chilled to the bone, heart banging against the door of alarm central to wake her up. She doesn't move a muscle, but she knows that Spike will have noticed all these little signs of agitation. Dawn. Her fingers drill into her pillow in a rage so hot that she's surprised that her cover doesn't catch flame. What the fuck does that little bitch think she's doing with her guy?
She turns on her back. Spike is motionless. Vague illumination from the streetlights show a light spot in the bed where his bleached hair is. That means he's not looking at her.
"Spike?"
White flashes from eyes opening. He doesn't speak. Faith puts a hand on his still warm stomach. Her hand twitches.
"Spike? What happened?"
Spike doesn't answer, just lies there clenching his fingers. Now Faith has to believe the worst.
Something on his face is catching a glimmer of light. Faith reaches for it. It's wet. She doesn't need any more clarification. She yanks the covers away from Spike and gives him savage kick.
"Out!" she says. "Out now!"
Spike bends his head and she almost dies when she sees how humble and boyish his neck is, ghostly pale in the dark room. He gathers his clothes silently and leaves the bedroom. She can hear him dress and use the front door.
She lies staring at the ceiling for the rest of the night, eyes dry and painful from not crying. Her heart keeps hammering away and her stomach churns and spasms. So this is how it feels like. Having your heart broken is like when you drank too much coffee or ate something bad. She's so stupid. If she hadn't acted like a love-sick idiot, pretending to be all normal girl with a guy and friends this wouldn't have happened. She's gonna go back to lone wolf Faith right now. No more lovey dovey stuff. Ditch the gang. Disappear into the wilds of un-Watched America, doing good anonymously, driving off into the sunset on her trusty bike. This picture of the new lonely Faith finally makes her break out into silent sobs, silent because Dawn doesn't need to know she's crying. And why the hell is she lying here waiting for the sun to come up? She has nothing to fear from the night.
She dresses, stomping around and banging closet doors, hopefully depriving the little bitch in the guest room of some sleep. She doesn't feel like eating anything; drinks from the tap and explodes from the front door, suddenly really worried if the bike will still be there. She's halfway across the yard when she realizes there's a dark form sitting on the porch steps, his head in his hands. Well, she's not gonna look back. An image of a guilt-ridden Spike, sitting on the porch until he bursts into flame niggles at her. She just can't make herself think of something else, but there is the little victory of not looking into her rear mirrors until she's sure she can't see him anymore. Too late she realizes he never shows up in any mirror.
So, where to go? She didn't bring any of her stuff. Huh. Since when has she needed things to slow her down? She's bad, she's mad and she's back. America, here she comes. She's gonna ride until she drops. For no good reason Kennedy's hotel suddenly appears on her right, and before she can decide to ride on past it, she's parking her bike and hurrying through the lobby. At this hour, nobody is alert enough to stop her and she's pounding on Ken's door with her sight gone strangely blurry.
Ken, sleepy and disheveled, needs only one look to open up her arms. Faith has an out of body experience right then and there, looking down on the girl sobbing on Kennedy's shoulder. Kennedy pats her back and murmurs soothing things. Mad bad Faith is not in charge, wet soppy Faith is.
It's strangely peaceful to lie on Kennedy's bed with a wet cloth over her face and listen to her call room service and putter around, probably dressing. She's amazed at Ken, who seems to know exactly what to do. She has another heaving, tearing crying jag, and then Ken feeds her a giant breakfast, which seem to settle at least half of her floaty detached feeling.
When Faith is done with her third cup of coffee she starts shredding a croissant so she won't have to look at Ken's eyes, which have gone dark and serious.
She grabs Faiths hands. "What happened, Faith? You two have a fight?"
Faith doesn't want to say something out loud, because that might make things even worse, but then, could they be?
"He came back to bed all warm," she says. Her voice is as broken as her illusions. "Means he mustá been pretty close to the little bitch."
She sees Ken swallow and tear up a bit. It's sort of awesome to see someone cry on your behalf, like you're important and loved. It sets her off again as well.
When they're both calmer, Ken says, "And when you asked him what happened? What did he say?"
"He wouldn't say, and I just kicked him out of the house! What do you think?"
Kennedy bends her head and strokes her arm. "So you're not sure he actually slept with her?" she says slowly.
Faith is scornful. "What does it matter? He looked all sorry and sad, so he thinks he did something bad. And anyway, I should have done it before. You know what the last weeks have been like, all big puppy eyes and panting, close on little Miss Summers' heels."
"Yeah. Like watching him trail after Buffy herself," Kennedy says. "Barf-worthy. You two were fun together, like partners, not like mistress and lap dog."
Faith giggles. It's a very small, sad giggle, but it's a start. She devours some more breakfasty things.
"So, you gonna go back and kick her out, too?"
This makes Faith pause. Ken is right. Why should she leave? She's got a cool job here, and friends. Let them fuck off and be unhappy somewhere else.
The phone rings. It's Morgan. She tried Faith's house and got no answer. They decide to go to Morgan's place. Faith gets a warm kind of feeling in her stomach. It's like she's Buffy. People care about her, they rally for her.
They find Morgan in a sea of pastel colored maps of Cleveland. Her printer is spitting out sheet after sheet of something. Her face is smudged with ink and tiredness, but her cheeks are pink and her hands dance while she's talking.
"See, I found these transactions, all by the same person. Someone's buying land around here, big chunks of arable land, under different names, but if you track them through records it's all the same company. Guess who owns it?" she says triumphantly.
Ken and Faith have no idea, but she's too sweet in her zeal for them not to try.
"The mayor?"
"Arnold Schwarzenegger?"
Morgan looks at them in scorn. "Have you been paying any attention to my research? It's Clem and Willy. Don't you get it? They're buying land! They're starting up the family business again."
Faith shoves a map off the couch and sits down. She's not feeling too bothered by all this.
"And this is evil how?" Kennedy says.
Morgan brandishes Clem's cookbook. She needs two hands for it. "A recipe for baby liver pâté? What does that tell you?"
Kennedy goes up to Morgan and whispers. Morgan colors. "Sorry, Faith, you're in no mood to hear this now, I know. You can go grill them later. It's not as if I expect you to do it today, okay?"
A flash of shocking pink in the corner of Faith's eye grabs her attention. Tara materializes. Morgan must have contacted her. Tara blows her a kiss and mimics stroking her hair. It's like she's really being touched, and of course she starts dribbling snot and tears again, but she's past shame by now. They know the score anyway, so there's no need to hold up a cool front. She's not cool, she's lukewarm and sodden with crying, but she doesn't care. They have a nice crying foursome and it feels surprisingly good.
"I thought you loved Dawn," Faith says to Tara.
"I do," Tara says, but she looks stern. "But I don't think she's doing the right thing. I understand that they're both sad about Buffy, but that's no reason for Dawn to come between you and Spike. And Spike's still mourning Buffy, I get that too, but it's wrong to use Dawn as a substitute."
Tara explains it all so simply. And yeah, it's more sad than evil, and not about Faith at all. Her eyes get all clear and she just has to hug these girls to show that she loves them. She even forgets about Tara and her arm goes right through her. She knows exactly what to do now. It's her name on the lease, she's gonna go back to the house and tell them to clear out. The sadness won't go away that easily, of course, but she'll deal.
The girls come with her, all piled into Kennedy's car. Tara rides along in a show of solidarity, although she could just wink out and materialize at her destination. Faith really appreciates it. The house is empty. Dawn's stuff is gone and her bed is stripped. That's cool, because who needs painful confrontations anyway? They order pizza. After the gorge-fest they go out again to the mall and pick out some clothes for Faith. Morgan has great taste, which you would never guess looking at her moth eaten pastel shapelessness. Morgan claims it's her disguise. Whatever. Faith is not inclined to feel critical of them at all today.
Kennedy wants to go to Willy's Bar & Grill to question Willy, but Faith doesn't feel like kicking ass today. After drinking champagne and watching a very soppy British movie at Kennedy's room Faith decides to go home, alone. They all offer to sleep over, but Faith really wants to do this. They've been awesome, but Faith just wants to be by herself for a minute, rehash all those feelings and decisions she made today, see if they hold up when she's on her own.
In her bedroom she finds that Spike's duster and clothes are still there. He must have forgotten them in his hurry to go away with his new love. She'll dump them tomorrow.
She makes a giant batch of popcorn and tries to watch another movie. For some reason the kid reminds of her Spike, with his sharp little face and the way he cares for his crazy mother, and she can't suppress a visual of him and Dawn holding hands on a plane, looking happy and beautiful. Stupid movie. She turns to another channel, a truly horrible movie she's seen before, but at least she's sure there is no Spike in there. But there is a jilted lover and Faith turns off the TV. She gets it already, she's not the only one to go through this. The point is, watching all those dumb movies doesn't make her feel better when she's the one starring in her own weepy story.
The popcorn is cold when she remembers it again. The fridge is almost empty, and to top it all the fridge light is dead. This makes Faith cry. She's lost count of the amount of times she has cried today, and she isn't even drunk. Hey, booze would be a good thing about now. The beer is gone, but she finds a bottle of JD in the cupboard. The living room looks utterly bleak without the TV and the vampire. In a surge of angry energy she wrestles the ugly dead Christmas tree out to the yard and sets it on fire. There, at least it's doing something useful now. The tree gives off a nice smoky smell, only slightly spoiled when a forgotten Cheetos package flames up and dies in a puff of black smoke. Ugh.
She stands in the yard watching the tree burn up and the last red ember glows out. Too bad her achy heart won't burn out that easily. She trudges back inside. The living room looks even worse now, so she takes the JD to bed. Hopefully she'll pass out soon. The first taste is bad, and the second no better. What do normal people, who can't slay away their frustrations, do when there is nothing on TV and there is no one in their bed? Drink and drugs, is the only answer she comes up with. Well, maybe tomorrow. Just plain old sleep will do for now.
Her brain won't fucking stop replaying of every Spike and Dawn picture it has stored, and she wishes she could switch it off like the broken jukebox it resembles. If Buffy had to go through this a coupla times, no wonder she preferred to be dead. Maybe she'll follow her example and jump off a bridge or something. She gets up, finds one of his unwashed T-shirts and puts it on her pillow. The scent fills her nose with musk under comforting pepper and powder and she can be weak this once.
She has fallen asleep, apparently, because she wakes up with a shock when someone starts tapping the front door. Who can that be? Finally, when she's shuffled up sleepily on her bare feet, the tentativeness of the knocking clues her in. Here comes repentant lover. She doesn't know what she's gonna do, or say, all her girlfriends admonitions have just flown out of her brain. She's just gonna take it as it comes, she guesses.
It is the repentant lover. He's standing there, hands jammed in his jeans pockets, eyes downcast, pale and small against the looming darkness. He left the duster, Faith remembers. Was that a signal that he would return? If so, she's been too numb to pick up on that. Subtlety not being her thing.
"Is she?" Faith jerks her head in the direction of the dark yard.
Spike shrugs almost imperceptibly and bites his lip. "I put her on a plane," he says. He still looks at his shoes, not at her. "Can I come in?"
She opens the door. He hesitates on the threshold, looking at her from under his brows. He thinks he might need to be invited in, Faith realizes. She could have thought of that, it's like changing the locks on a human lover, but she didn't. If it's about him she just doesn't think.
She waits until he takes a deep breath and slowly lifts one foot into the house space.
She wants to ask, if Buffy dropped out of Heaven right now, would you go with her? But she doesn't, because she knows the answer, always has. She lets go of the door and walks to the bedroom.
"I was sleeping," she says, and crawls into bed without looking back.
Faith waits for what must be at least a minute, and he's still not there. She can't do the waiting thing anymore, turns her head and lifts the comforter.
"Well?" she says impatiently.
He's standing there in the door opening, one hand in his hair, his other hand splayed against his dark shirt. He shrugs it off quickly, takes his shoes off with jerky movements – she hears a shoelace break – and slithers out of his jeans. The clothes drop where he stood and he gets in bed, slow again. Faith turns her head away again and hears him settle carefully a few inches away from her body. She sighs. Men. She wiggles backwards until her ass is in its usual position against his belly. He hesitates, she can feel his icy hand hovering over her hip, and finally decides to clasp her as he always does. His face comes to lie against the back of her head.
"Faith…" he says in a low rough voice.
"Shh. We'll talk tomorrow."
They shift around a bit and settle finally in the grooves they've worn against each other. He warms up quickly and Faith sleeps.
TBC