The Best in Me – Chapter Four
Sometime between "Intervention" and "Tough Love"
Spike opened the door to his crypt for Buffy and waited until she'd gone in before following. He turned on several lamps, one at a time, then turned to take her coat.
Buffy was staring, dazed, around at the crypt. After a beat, she closed her mouth, which had been hanging open. She had never seen Spike's crypt look so inviting before. She was actually pleasantly surprised. Distracted by her surroundings, she let Spike take her jacket. While he did so, Mr. Pointy slid out and clattered onto the stone floor.
Spike looked down at the stake and back up at Buffy.
"I invite you to dinner and you bring a stake into my crypt?" he questioned.
Buffy bent down onto one knee and pulled the leg of her jeans up around her calf, then picked up the stake and slid it into her boot. She pulled the leg of her jeans back down and straightened up again. "I always bring a stake with me to the cemetery after dark," she remarked a little defensively, then added, "Slayer. Duh."
Spike shook his head and smiled. "Always the Slayer." That was one of the things he loved about Buffy. She was a hunter, like him.
"Place looks homey," she commented casually. "Gay decorator drop in lately?"
Spike almost tripped on a luxurious, red rug on the floor. Did she know? No, he dismissed it. She was just making one of her usual wry comments; a lucky guess.
"Do you like it?" he asked.
Buffy shrugged. She was wondering who he must have robbed to make the place look this good.
Spike shrugged off his duster. Laying it aside, he headed towards the fridge on the other side of the crypt. There was a bottle of wine and two wine glasses on a red cloth beside the fridge. Beside it were bottles of bourbon and whisky, standing neatly in a row.
"Wot would you like to drink, Buffy?" asked Spike, conversationally, picking up the wine bottle and reading its label. "I've got a muscat here, but I can find you something else if you prefer." He looked up at her and saw her quickly avert her gaze.
Buffy realized she'd been staring at Spike since he'd removed his duster. He was wearing clothes she'd never seen him in before. He was wearing a color for once: blue. And it suited him. The soft, knitted fabric clung to his chest and pecs in a way that Buffy found strangely hypnotic. And now that she thought of it, his hair was different to the way he usually wore it as well. It looked softer than usual. For the first time, she realized that Spike was actually...she pushed the word "gorgeous" back into the nether recesses of her mind and grudgingly settled for "good-looking".
Back in the SUV, Hugh and Eric exchanged and knowing look and gave each other a high five.
Buffy cleared her throat and tried to sound casual. "Is your sweater cashmere?"
"I dunno. Some kind o' wool," Spike lied, knowing full well that the sweater had caused Eric to expound, ad infinitum, on the merits of cashmere.
"I have a blue cashmere sweater," said Buffy. "That is, I think I still have it. I can't seem to find it."
"So, what's your poison?" Spike nonchalantly changed the subject. Buffy's blue sweater had lain among the contents of his Buffy shrine earlier that day. For the first time, he was grateful for Hugh's discretion in disposing of it and the countless photos and even undergarments he had collected.
"Poison?" asked Buffy.
"Drink," clarified Spike, holding up the bottle of wine and the wine glasses.
"Oh...I'll have water." She didn't want any alcohol blunting her senses if she saw any slaying action that night.
Hugh and Eric twittered over their crystal ball.
"Good, her offered her a drink. Snaps for Spike," enthused Eric.
"But she's not going for the wine," said Hugh, with disappointment. "And it's a very good wine."
"She's a little up tight, isn't she?" suggested Eric.
"I'd say, a lot uptight," said Hugh. "If I were in her place, I'd be a lot more excited."
"Lemme know if you change yer mind," said Spike. He opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of Evian, poured some of its contents into one of the wine glasses and handed it to Buffy. To Spike's disappointment, their hands didn't touch during the exchange.
Buffy cradled the glass in her hands and watched Spike pop the cork from the wine bottle. He poured himself a glass, swished it around and tasted it. "This vino's not bad," he remarked. "Don't know wot yer missin'." He chugalugged the contents of his glass then set it down, empty, on the red cloth by the wine bottle. "Make yourself comfortable," he said, striding over to a corner of the crypt. He crouched down and appeared to start rifling through a collection of vinyl records.
How like a vampire, thought Buffy, leaning herself against the sarcophagus at the back of the crypt. Vinyl records. So retro.
She sniffed the air. Something smelled like soap.
Setting her glass on the floor, she turned and lifted the lid of the sarcophagus. It was wet inside. The scents of sandalwood and vanilla drifted up and filled her nostrils.
"Did you have a bath in this coffin?" she wondered out loud.
Spike looked over his shoulder at Buffy. "Wot?" he asked, defensively. "Not like it's used for anything else."
He paused as he searched through his records. Someone, probably Hugh, had been screwing with them. The Ramones and the Sex Pistols had yellow Post-It notes stuck to them, reading "No". He also found a Barry White record Hugh must have left there. It also had a note stuck to it, but that note read "Yes". Surrendering himself to the gay demons' process, he lay Barry on the turn-table of his record player and set the needle carefully on the track called "I'll Do for You Anything You Want Me To." Soon the mellow sound of Barry's baritone permeated the crypt...
Nothin' and nobody
Baby, could ever take or stop
The love that I have for you
It's very simple, you see it's
Baby, it's real
It's so, so real
What I feel
Spike returned to the fridge and rummaged around inside it. "It must be hard," he said, "getting used to your mum being gone and all."
"It is," acknowledged Buffy, sliding the lid of the sarcophagus back into place and leaning against it again.
"Prefer not to talk about it?" he asked, gingerly, pulling his head out for a moment to gauge her expression.
Buffy bent down to pick up her glass from the floor and straightened up again. "I don't mind talking about her. It's good to talk. Means there's a part of her still around. Most of the time when I'm home, I still expect to see her."
"You and your mum seemed close. I was close to my mum, too. But that changed after I became a vampire," said Spike. He took a plate of sushi out of the fridge and carried it out to the red rug in the middle of the floor.
Buffy decided not to ask him about specifics. Chances were he had killed his mother. She sipped her water and felt the chill of it run through her.
"Don't get me wrong or anything. I still loved my mum, but..." He searched for a way to finish. "It wasn't the same," he said, finally. He went to the bed and picked up some cushions then placed them around the sushi on the floor.
Buffy watched the rueful expression on his face. For a demon without a soul, Spike sure did seem to love a lot of people. Or at least he thought he did, thought Buffy.
"Don't have a table, luv, so we're going to have to make the best of it," Spike explained as he made himself comfortable on some of the cushions.
Buffy's stomach growled and she realize how hungry she was. "Down, boy," she told it and curled up on the cushions opposite Spike. "Yummy sushi," she said. She picked up a portion with her fingers, took a bite out of it and chewed it up hungrily.
Spike realized he'd forgotten to put out a set of plates and chop sticks for them to eat with but he decided not to worry about it. He liked the idea of the two of them eating from the same plate and it didn't seem to bother Buffy that she needed to use her fingers. He'd get her some napkins later.
He let her have most of the sushi. It wouldn't provide him with any nourishment anyway. He preferred to watch her enjoyment of the food he'd prepared.
Uh, ah, can't you see I want it
Ooh, uh, girl, I've been lon-lonely
Ooh, ooh, got to, got to hold you
Ooh, ooh, got to make love to you
sang Barry.
Buffy looked up from the plate of sushi that she'd almost polished off by herself and realize she was probably making a pig of herself. She saw Spike watching her and wiped the corner of her mouth with her little finger.
"What? Do I have seaweed stuck in my teeth?" she wondered.
Spike smiled, stood up and brought her the napkins, then sat down again.
"I hope your going to feel like something sweet after," he said.
Can't you feel the fire
I'm burnin' up from one desire
The thrill from loving you
I can't help myself, I swear it's true
"Uh..." Little cogs shifted in Buffy's head. He does just mean dessert, doesn't he? she thought.
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Sometime between "Intervention" and "Tough Love"
Spike opened the door to his crypt for Buffy and waited until she'd gone in before following. He turned on several lamps, one at a time, then turned to take her coat.
Buffy was staring, dazed, around at the crypt. After a beat, she closed her mouth, which had been hanging open. She had never seen Spike's crypt look so inviting before. She was actually pleasantly surprised. Distracted by her surroundings, she let Spike take her jacket. While he did so, Mr. Pointy slid out and clattered onto the stone floor.
Spike looked down at the stake and back up at Buffy.
"I invite you to dinner and you bring a stake into my crypt?" he questioned.
Buffy bent down onto one knee and pulled the leg of her jeans up around her calf, then picked up the stake and slid it into her boot. She pulled the leg of her jeans back down and straightened up again. "I always bring a stake with me to the cemetery after dark," she remarked a little defensively, then added, "Slayer. Duh."
Spike shook his head and smiled. "Always the Slayer." That was one of the things he loved about Buffy. She was a hunter, like him.
"Place looks homey," she commented casually. "Gay decorator drop in lately?"
Spike almost tripped on a luxurious, red rug on the floor. Did she know? No, he dismissed it. She was just making one of her usual wry comments; a lucky guess.
"Do you like it?" he asked.
Buffy shrugged. She was wondering who he must have robbed to make the place look this good.
Spike shrugged off his duster. Laying it aside, he headed towards the fridge on the other side of the crypt. There was a bottle of wine and two wine glasses on a red cloth beside the fridge. Beside it were bottles of bourbon and whisky, standing neatly in a row.
"Wot would you like to drink, Buffy?" asked Spike, conversationally, picking up the wine bottle and reading its label. "I've got a muscat here, but I can find you something else if you prefer." He looked up at her and saw her quickly avert her gaze.
Buffy realized she'd been staring at Spike since he'd removed his duster. He was wearing clothes she'd never seen him in before. He was wearing a color for once: blue. And it suited him. The soft, knitted fabric clung to his chest and pecs in a way that Buffy found strangely hypnotic. And now that she thought of it, his hair was different to the way he usually wore it as well. It looked softer than usual. For the first time, she realized that Spike was actually...she pushed the word "gorgeous" back into the nether recesses of her mind and grudgingly settled for "good-looking".
Back in the SUV, Hugh and Eric exchanged and knowing look and gave each other a high five.
Buffy cleared her throat and tried to sound casual. "Is your sweater cashmere?"
"I dunno. Some kind o' wool," Spike lied, knowing full well that the sweater had caused Eric to expound, ad infinitum, on the merits of cashmere.
"I have a blue cashmere sweater," said Buffy. "That is, I think I still have it. I can't seem to find it."
"So, what's your poison?" Spike nonchalantly changed the subject. Buffy's blue sweater had lain among the contents of his Buffy shrine earlier that day. For the first time, he was grateful for Hugh's discretion in disposing of it and the countless photos and even undergarments he had collected.
"Poison?" asked Buffy.
"Drink," clarified Spike, holding up the bottle of wine and the wine glasses.
"Oh...I'll have water." She didn't want any alcohol blunting her senses if she saw any slaying action that night.
Hugh and Eric twittered over their crystal ball.
"Good, her offered her a drink. Snaps for Spike," enthused Eric.
"But she's not going for the wine," said Hugh, with disappointment. "And it's a very good wine."
"She's a little up tight, isn't she?" suggested Eric.
"I'd say, a lot uptight," said Hugh. "If I were in her place, I'd be a lot more excited."
"Lemme know if you change yer mind," said Spike. He opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of Evian, poured some of its contents into one of the wine glasses and handed it to Buffy. To Spike's disappointment, their hands didn't touch during the exchange.
Buffy cradled the glass in her hands and watched Spike pop the cork from the wine bottle. He poured himself a glass, swished it around and tasted it. "This vino's not bad," he remarked. "Don't know wot yer missin'." He chugalugged the contents of his glass then set it down, empty, on the red cloth by the wine bottle. "Make yourself comfortable," he said, striding over to a corner of the crypt. He crouched down and appeared to start rifling through a collection of vinyl records.
How like a vampire, thought Buffy, leaning herself against the sarcophagus at the back of the crypt. Vinyl records. So retro.
She sniffed the air. Something smelled like soap.
Setting her glass on the floor, she turned and lifted the lid of the sarcophagus. It was wet inside. The scents of sandalwood and vanilla drifted up and filled her nostrils.
"Did you have a bath in this coffin?" she wondered out loud.
Spike looked over his shoulder at Buffy. "Wot?" he asked, defensively. "Not like it's used for anything else."
He paused as he searched through his records. Someone, probably Hugh, had been screwing with them. The Ramones and the Sex Pistols had yellow Post-It notes stuck to them, reading "No". He also found a Barry White record Hugh must have left there. It also had a note stuck to it, but that note read "Yes". Surrendering himself to the gay demons' process, he lay Barry on the turn-table of his record player and set the needle carefully on the track called "I'll Do for You Anything You Want Me To." Soon the mellow sound of Barry's baritone permeated the crypt...
Nothin' and nobody
Baby, could ever take or stop
The love that I have for you
It's very simple, you see it's
Baby, it's real
It's so, so real
What I feel
Spike returned to the fridge and rummaged around inside it. "It must be hard," he said, "getting used to your mum being gone and all."
"It is," acknowledged Buffy, sliding the lid of the sarcophagus back into place and leaning against it again.
"Prefer not to talk about it?" he asked, gingerly, pulling his head out for a moment to gauge her expression.
Buffy bent down to pick up her glass from the floor and straightened up again. "I don't mind talking about her. It's good to talk. Means there's a part of her still around. Most of the time when I'm home, I still expect to see her."
"You and your mum seemed close. I was close to my mum, too. But that changed after I became a vampire," said Spike. He took a plate of sushi out of the fridge and carried it out to the red rug in the middle of the floor.
Buffy decided not to ask him about specifics. Chances were he had killed his mother. She sipped her water and felt the chill of it run through her.
"Don't get me wrong or anything. I still loved my mum, but..." He searched for a way to finish. "It wasn't the same," he said, finally. He went to the bed and picked up some cushions then placed them around the sushi on the floor.
Buffy watched the rueful expression on his face. For a demon without a soul, Spike sure did seem to love a lot of people. Or at least he thought he did, thought Buffy.
"Don't have a table, luv, so we're going to have to make the best of it," Spike explained as he made himself comfortable on some of the cushions.
Buffy's stomach growled and she realize how hungry she was. "Down, boy," she told it and curled up on the cushions opposite Spike. "Yummy sushi," she said. She picked up a portion with her fingers, took a bite out of it and chewed it up hungrily.
Spike realized he'd forgotten to put out a set of plates and chop sticks for them to eat with but he decided not to worry about it. He liked the idea of the two of them eating from the same plate and it didn't seem to bother Buffy that she needed to use her fingers. He'd get her some napkins later.
He let her have most of the sushi. It wouldn't provide him with any nourishment anyway. He preferred to watch her enjoyment of the food he'd prepared.
Uh, ah, can't you see I want it
Ooh, uh, girl, I've been lon-lonely
Ooh, ooh, got to, got to hold you
Ooh, ooh, got to make love to you
sang Barry.
Buffy looked up from the plate of sushi that she'd almost polished off by herself and realize she was probably making a pig of herself. She saw Spike watching her and wiped the corner of her mouth with her little finger.
"What? Do I have seaweed stuck in my teeth?" she wondered.
Spike smiled, stood up and brought her the napkins, then sat down again.
"I hope your going to feel like something sweet after," he said.
Can't you feel the fire
I'm burnin' up from one desire
The thrill from loving you
I can't help myself, I swear it's true
"Uh..." Little cogs shifted in Buffy's head. He does just mean dessert, doesn't he? she thought.
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