Buffy woke frowning from troubled dreams. She looked over the chasm between the pillows at the back of his head. He was… gorgeous. I mean, wow. His body was perfect. His face looked like it had been carved out of marble, and those lips…
Yeah, it annoyed her a little.
She quietly pulled the sheets aside, got up, and walked to the bathroom. Her face in the mirror looked the worst she'd ever seen it. She started to fix her hair automatically, then stopped. Vindictively, she began to mess it up again. Angrily, she smeared off the remains of her makeup. She looked at palms, greasy with charcoal mascara. Back to her reflection, cheeks a mess of black. Defeated, she sat on the lid of the toilet.
What the hell am I doing?
Andrew told her she was moving on when he found her depressed about it. She appreciated that, but she couldn't really believe it was true. This didn't feel like moving on. This felt like… Parker. She made a face. God, there was a lesson she'd thought she'd learned. Apparently not.
Not that The Immortal was like Parker. He stayed with her; he was willing to stay with her for as long as she would have him. He was kind, compassionate, tender, and very very sexy. The other night, he'd mentioned in passing his "familiarity" with Darla and Drusilla, and made it seem like not such a big thing.
Of course, Buffy had still wanted to throw up.
She hadn't shown any sign of her repugnance, though. She'd smiled, and laughed about how silly it all was, what a small world, and he'd smiled that muscle-weakening smile and poor-sad-baby'd her and she'd snuggled deep into him and desperately pretended she felt safe and happy.
She chuckled quietly at herself. This wasn't Parker-stupid, this was soulless-Spike-stupid. This was like repeat-domestic-violence-victim stupid. If there was one thing being a slayer was about, it was not having to put up with crap like this.
His arm fell across her as she slid back into bed. Her pillow was damp. She realized she'd been crying silently, and blinked a few times. Her jaw clenched, and she stared unseeingly straight ahead into darkness.
"God, Spike," the phrase that had become her mantra slipped once again into her head, repeating over and over again. "I miss you. I miss you."