Disclaimer: I don't own Billie Letts' "Where the Heart Is", or Joss
Whedon's "Buffy the Vampire Slayer. What, I can't always have a funny
disclaimer, can I? Am I just here as a clown for your amusement? Let's just
see who's the clown when you're wearing the funny nose and multicolored
wig! Yeah, Bozo, what the fuck are you going to do then?
Rating: This will be rated R! Sorry kiddies, but I like using inappropriate language.
Author's Notes: I got a note on Monday (?) from some avid reader wanting me to update quickly. Now, I'm not saying that sending me emails repeatedly will get a chapter posted, but for that day it was enough to force me. I'll try to be better with the whole updating thing. Is everyone ready for UST? God, I love those parts in the story. It wasn't like Buffy season seven wasn't full of that between our Spuffy heroes. So, little summary of this chapter: Buffy has more good luck. Yeah, that's about it. Hope you enjoy. Have a great weekend.
PS: Death to the WB for canceling Angel.
____________________________________________________________________________
*
*
*
Chapter Twenty-Two- City of . . .
Since he had been released from prison, Angel hadn't visited Los Angeles. But, in a way, Liam Sloane had never been to the fair City of Angels.
Glory's record label was having their annual United States tour, and with the success of "A Place Called Home", Angel had been put on the bill at the last moment. With ten other country headliners, Angel finally understood what it meant to be a star.
He now understood the perks of the job title. Girls of all ages were simply flocking to him, and the alcohol and narcotics were flowing in just as quickly. But it wasn't enough. "Place" had been on the country charts for a few months, and it was now beginning to drop. The record was selling fine, but Glory refused to push another Liam Sloane-penned track as a single, choosing instead his cover of a Johnny Cash song. Angel realized that, in order to stay successful, he might have to look for new representation.
Standing in the lobby of Los Angeles Hilton hotel, he pushed the elevator button, waiting for the doors to finally open. He gazed around, watching the people dash in and out, trying to find some special lady who would relieve the boredom before the concert later tonight.
A few elevators down, he saw a candidate pop out. Wearing a nice, but simple, business suit, she was reading the contents of letter, her head down. She was small, blonde, and although he only saw the back of her (and a nice back it was), he knew she'd be fun to play with. Smiling smugly to himself, he adjusted the jacket of the suit Glory picked out, and prepared to go introduce himself. There was something about her, something that felt-
Angel stopped dead in his tracks when a guy also left the open elevator. He ran up behind the blonde girl, and tried to steal the letter she was reading, but she managed to avoid it, and with her back turned to Angel, began scolding the man with the bleached hair. The two bantered, and the guy grabbed at his heart in fake pain. Finally, she pulled him into a hug.
The guy saw Angel staring, and the look that crossed his face was clear:
'Back the fuck away'.
In any other case, Angel could have beaten the living shit out of someone that size, but this didn't look like any normal guy.
A chime sounded when the elevator Angel had been waiting for finally opened, and after hesitating for a moment, he stepped in, and immediately forgot the blonde girl and her friend.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Buffy laughed as Spike tried to steal the note she was reading. She found it on the pillow of her bed the moment she had walked into her hotel room, a message from Aurora and Tara (who was playing babysitter), wishing her luck.
"No," she giggled, holding the note to her chest; "You can read it when I'm done!"
"It takes you a bloody half-hour to read a sentence! How much longer do I have to wait?" he teased.
"Until the day you are allowed into heaven."
"Oh, you crush me with your words," he moaned, pressing his hand against his heart in some overly dramatic gesture.
"So sorry," she groaned, reaching up to hug him. He rolled his eyes, but complied in the hug.
They held onto each other for a moment before pulling away, and when Buffy looked back at him, there was a change. His face twisted into some sort of dark frown, his eyes glaring at something behind her.
"What's wrong," she asked, looking over her shoulder and finding nothing.
"Huh?" he shook it off, the usual smirk replacing the frown. "Nothing."
She shook her head, starting to walk to the main exit. "Weirdo."
He was right behind her. "You're one to talk."
Once outside, the doorman hailed a taxi, and the two headed off towards the publishing house that had asked for a meeting with Buffy.
After everything had settled in, and Buffy reluctantly quit her job at the Wal-Mart to take over Joyce's gallery, Spike had pestered her to send in the essays and short stories she had written. He had gotten every one of their friends to read them, and they joined in the "Publish Buffy" campaign.
Evading the pushing as long as she could, Buffy grudgingly sent a collection of her top five stories to publishing companies and magazines across the country. There were a lot of rejection letters sent back, and a few didn't even bother to reply, so Buffy felt that it had all been for nothing.
Until, one week later, Buffy received a letter from the Los Angeles-based women's magazine, "Female Council", inviting her to meet with the submissions editor, Ms. Charlotte. Because he had been so intent on getting her published, Buffy asked Spike to tag along to the scary city.
Ten minutes later, the taxi pulled up in front of a large building, all glass and steel, and very intimidating. At every checkpoint, Buffy had to show the guards and receptionists the invitation, and they immediately let her through.
Floor twenty-nine was the final destination; a swankly decorated office styled in exposed stone and glass. While the snotty receptionist told Buffy that she would have to wait, Spike claimed a leather couch in the waiting area as his.
Buffy joined him, nervously wringing her hands as the minutes passed.
"What if they don't want to offer me anything?" she questioned, her voice high in pitch. "What if they just want me here to yell at me? Like, they think I suck so badly they wanted to tell me in person?"
"They wouldn't put you and me up in a swank hotel if they were just going to tell you off," Spike muttered, glaring at the copy of "Female Council" on the coffee table he just knew he'd be reading when Buffy went into her meeting.
"You think so?" Her eyes were wide.
Smiling, he placed a chaste peck on her forehead. "You're bloody brilliant, and if they don't know it yet, they'll figure it out soon."
Then, he nodded in the direction of the receptionist. Buffy turned, and saw the woman waving her in.
Gathering her thoughts, and trying hard to calm and collected, Buffy allowed herself to spare a nervous smile for her friend as she walked into Ms. Charlotte's office.
Ms. Charlotte didn't turn out to be the clean and poised woman Buffy assumed she would be. Not even twenty-five, Ms. Charlotte sat on top of her messy desk, watching TV while eating out of a greasy box of Chinese take out. She was barefoot, wearing a black tank top and gray shorts, her curly brown hair held back in a ponytail.
"Hey, Buffy," she greeted, slurping down the rest of the noodles before turning off the TV. "Just finishing lunch. How you doin'? Need anything? Coffee? Sandwich? Booze?"
"I'm fine, Ms. Charlotte," Buffy responded quietly, sitting in a nearby chair.
"Nah, it's Faith. Not a teacher here, B."
"'K . . . I'm fine, Faith."
Faith let out a loud, rich laugh. "You're quite a character, B! Don't be nervous. LA's such a stuck-up tight ass town that we don't need more!"
Chuckling softly, Buffy watched Faith jump off her desk, and pull a file Buffy recognized as her submission out from underneath a pile of clothing.
"From what I hear from the people who read the shit people send in," Faith began, indicating the file in her hand, "Yours' has got a lot of potential. So, they send it up, and I read. And I like." She hesitated a moment. "But what you sent in doesn't seem to fit with the style of 'Female Council'."
Buffy felt her eyes well up with tears, but tried to look unaffected as she stood. "Well, thank you very much for your time," she muttered, reaching for the file in Faith's hand.
"Whoa!" Faith yelled, pulling the file to her chest. "No need to be all jumpy. I'm not finished, B. I'd like to hire you on as a freelance writer."
"Excuse me?"
Rolling her eyes, Faith sat down back on her desk. "You won't be a full timer. All you do is send in a few submissions at the beginning of each month. If I like, I'll put it in the magazine. It can be anything you want. After a while, we'll see about putting you on staff. Doesn't pay much, but you can get good exposure."
Shocking the two women equally, Buffy jumped up and pulled Faith into a bear hug. Although Faith did grimace some, she didn't say anything.
"OH GOD!" Buffy shrieked the smile on her face a mile wide. "This is so fucking awesome!"
"Whatever," Faith said, trying hard not to get caught up in Buffy's enthusiasm. "Now get the fuck outta my office so I can watch 'Jerry Springer'. Take the stud you brought here out to dinner and celebrate, or whatever freaky shit you like to do."
"Thank you so much again!" Buffy said once more, refraining from hugging her new boss once more.
"Yeah, yeah, get out!"
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Buffy didn't like to get drunk. Yeah, she'd have a beer when hanging out, or a few of those fruity drinks when she went out with her friends, but never enough to make her spend the next day with a major hangover.
She said, "Fuck that!" as soon as she and Spike got back to the hotel after having dinner, and ordered two bottles of champagne to be sent up to her room. Already slightly tipsy from the wine at the restaurant, she was ready to get shit-faced.
Taking a gulp straight out of the just-opened bottle, Buffy, now dressed in her Yummy Sushi pajamas, pounded on the door of Spike's room, which was adjoined to hers.
"Who is it?" he mockingly asked, grinning as he opened the door, wearing a Sex Pistols shirt and drawstring pants.
Ignoring him, Buffy shoved the other bottle in his hand and flung herself on his bed.
"Wow," she exclaimed, staring up, "Your ceiling's a lot bigger than mine!"
"For such a cutie, Goldilocks," Spike muttered as he tore the foil off the bottle, watching her roll around on his bed, "You're a lightweight drinker."
"Nah-huh. I'm not a lightweight."
"Um, yah-huh."
"Nah-huh!"
"Yah . . . bloody fuck, I'm not having this argument with you!"
An evil grin split his face as he finally got to the cork of the champagne bottle. With two quick shakes, the cork was off, and Buffy was covered in champagne fizz.
She bolted up, drunken fury surging through her body.
"You bastard!" she screamed, her own bottle suddenly forgotten as it dropped to the floor. Spike grabbed it before it spilled all over the floor, while Buffy stumbled to the bathroom to dry off.
When she came back in the room, Spike had taken her place on the bed, swigging off his own bottle while he watched TV. She sat beside him, arms crossed, absently watching him channel surf.
After a while of her angry silence, he rolled his eyes and turned to her. "You're not mad at me, are you?"
Shaking her head, Buffy kept watching, intent on staying angry.
"It was only a joke," he reasoned.
"Funny."
He held back a smile as he rolled over to her, and trapped her two arms above her head.
"You're going to be mad at me all night, aren't you?" he asked, that stupid smile of his tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"Yesh." Buffy may have been drunk and slurring, but she could still be stubborn.
Looking very defeated, Spike began to back away, only to bury his face in her stomach. Muttering "I'm sorry" in between blowing raspberries on her skin, Buffy was shaking from laughing so hard. When Spike finally pulled away, she was in such a state that she ended up falling off the bed.
He jumped over to her suddenly, afraid that she was hurt. But, the fall only caused her to laugh harder.
"You're . . . a . . . asshole," she spewed out, tears pouring down her face.
Sighing, Spike wrapped his arms around her. "And you're still a lightweight."
Buffy tried hard to pout, but found herself unable. He was so close that she could feel his breath on her face, but it wasn't close enough. All she had to do was lean up . . .
*God, how drunk am I?*
The mirth dancing in his eyes was quickly replaced by something darker, deeper. She nearly forgot how to breathe when he reached up, pulling a strand of hair out of her eyes and cupping her face with his hands. He leaned in, his lips closing the distance with hers . . .
RING!
Buffy pulled away, startled by the sound.
RING!
There it was again.
*Ring? Ring? Phone? Phone. My phone!*
"My phone!" she blurted, jolting up and feeling very sober all of the sudden.
Buffy ran to the door, leaving Spike on the floor, the expression on his face cloudy.
Turning the handle, she spared one last look at her friend (*Yes, Buffy, your very good FRIEND!*).
"I'm just gonna . . ." she trailed off, not waiting for a response as she went through to her room.
Her cell phone was nearby on the nightstand, and as Buffy sank down she picked it up, her back against the door separating her from a big mistake. It was Tara.
"Hey, Tara," she began, closing her eyes.
*
*
*
Celestria16- Totally thank you so much for reading!
Ghettogirlofreno- I am so super funny, so of course it was good! Do you have any doubt in my talent as a writer or super human being? Do you obviously think that I am not able to write a coherent sentence? Well, I'm so creative that I'm going to write a sentence no one has ever seen: Blood under the couch, five six seven, and a hop to the moon, buy cheese aliens and tennis. HA! That's how awesome I am! Oh, and I can so go Reno on your ass. That just means pretending to pull a slot machine. Ca-ching!
Imzadi- Why wouldn't Joyce make sure that her Buffy and Aurora weren't taken care of? She's not Hank Summers, mind you. Hope the little mention of Lindsey was enough to sate you. Oh, yeah, he was really hot on Las Vegas, except for the whole dancing thing. That was a little scary. He dances like a pimp. Hope the UST was good enough for you, too.
Comedia- Yeah, everything was wrapped up. You know what? Maybe if you weren't such a bitch, I'd be able to write better. But, no! You gotta come in my room and criticize whatever I type out. "Oh, well that's not how it happened in the story! Your chapters are too short!" By the way, should you be taking about length when you barely come up to my boobs? "We welcome you to Munchkin Land!" Huh, Titty-girl? What you gonna say now? Oh, I better stop, or you're going to go Reno on my white ass, aren't you?
Mita spufette- Whenever I'm yelling at someone in my reviews, they are usually my friends or readers who won't take offence to me making fun of them. It goes both ways. I'm glad other people find it funny. So, yeah, I had to kill Joyce. Sad, but necessary for the whole "I'm a grownup" Buffy thing. Oh, and about the whole "super" thing, I actually found myself saying "groovy" today. I wasn't even alive during the 70's!
Mita427- I actually have no idea about the bears. I was smoking a lot of crack and just had to type. Actually, what was originally going to happen in this chapter was Angel was going to take a pass at Buffy, and Spike would go all caveman and beat the living shit outta the prick. Then, Angel would wake up in some deserted factory, duct-taped to a chair, the baby rattle in his mouth (thank you very much), where soon after Buffy and Spike would perform hideous and disfiguring experiments on him. After they would remove his "special man part", Buffy and Spike would have sex. But, I thought about it, and realized that it was what YOU wanted, so I decided against it. Tough luck, slut! Kisses!
Iselyn- I really liked it when I wrote that quote, and I'm happy that other people liked it too. Was this chapter any more evidence that Buffy needed to know that Spike loves her? Our girl is too blind to see it. But just you wait until . . . oh, nevermind. That would be spoiling. And that's bad. Tee hee hee.
Harm Marie- Cool name! Glad you liked the little note. I don't know how to write in lawyer talk, so a letter was the best I could do. At least we got to know how everything was spilt up, and I hope everyone noticed the little part about the ring? Joyce wasn't blind.
Lurking-in-the-shadows- I've always been partial to Tara and Willow-ness. No matter how cute Oz and Willow were together, Tara made me completely forget about the redhead drummer. Buffy is so in denial land, she has no idea where to get out. I've just written an Angel-centric chapter that won't be posted for a few days, but let me tell you, he gets what he deserves, and much more! AAAHHH! No more spoilers!
Rating: This will be rated R! Sorry kiddies, but I like using inappropriate language.
Author's Notes: I got a note on Monday (?) from some avid reader wanting me to update quickly. Now, I'm not saying that sending me emails repeatedly will get a chapter posted, but for that day it was enough to force me. I'll try to be better with the whole updating thing. Is everyone ready for UST? God, I love those parts in the story. It wasn't like Buffy season seven wasn't full of that between our Spuffy heroes. So, little summary of this chapter: Buffy has more good luck. Yeah, that's about it. Hope you enjoy. Have a great weekend.
PS: Death to the WB for canceling Angel.
____________________________________________________________________________
*
*
*
Chapter Twenty-Two- City of . . .
Since he had been released from prison, Angel hadn't visited Los Angeles. But, in a way, Liam Sloane had never been to the fair City of Angels.
Glory's record label was having their annual United States tour, and with the success of "A Place Called Home", Angel had been put on the bill at the last moment. With ten other country headliners, Angel finally understood what it meant to be a star.
He now understood the perks of the job title. Girls of all ages were simply flocking to him, and the alcohol and narcotics were flowing in just as quickly. But it wasn't enough. "Place" had been on the country charts for a few months, and it was now beginning to drop. The record was selling fine, but Glory refused to push another Liam Sloane-penned track as a single, choosing instead his cover of a Johnny Cash song. Angel realized that, in order to stay successful, he might have to look for new representation.
Standing in the lobby of Los Angeles Hilton hotel, he pushed the elevator button, waiting for the doors to finally open. He gazed around, watching the people dash in and out, trying to find some special lady who would relieve the boredom before the concert later tonight.
A few elevators down, he saw a candidate pop out. Wearing a nice, but simple, business suit, she was reading the contents of letter, her head down. She was small, blonde, and although he only saw the back of her (and a nice back it was), he knew she'd be fun to play with. Smiling smugly to himself, he adjusted the jacket of the suit Glory picked out, and prepared to go introduce himself. There was something about her, something that felt-
Angel stopped dead in his tracks when a guy also left the open elevator. He ran up behind the blonde girl, and tried to steal the letter she was reading, but she managed to avoid it, and with her back turned to Angel, began scolding the man with the bleached hair. The two bantered, and the guy grabbed at his heart in fake pain. Finally, she pulled him into a hug.
The guy saw Angel staring, and the look that crossed his face was clear:
'Back the fuck away'.
In any other case, Angel could have beaten the living shit out of someone that size, but this didn't look like any normal guy.
A chime sounded when the elevator Angel had been waiting for finally opened, and after hesitating for a moment, he stepped in, and immediately forgot the blonde girl and her friend.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Buffy laughed as Spike tried to steal the note she was reading. She found it on the pillow of her bed the moment she had walked into her hotel room, a message from Aurora and Tara (who was playing babysitter), wishing her luck.
"No," she giggled, holding the note to her chest; "You can read it when I'm done!"
"It takes you a bloody half-hour to read a sentence! How much longer do I have to wait?" he teased.
"Until the day you are allowed into heaven."
"Oh, you crush me with your words," he moaned, pressing his hand against his heart in some overly dramatic gesture.
"So sorry," she groaned, reaching up to hug him. He rolled his eyes, but complied in the hug.
They held onto each other for a moment before pulling away, and when Buffy looked back at him, there was a change. His face twisted into some sort of dark frown, his eyes glaring at something behind her.
"What's wrong," she asked, looking over her shoulder and finding nothing.
"Huh?" he shook it off, the usual smirk replacing the frown. "Nothing."
She shook her head, starting to walk to the main exit. "Weirdo."
He was right behind her. "You're one to talk."
Once outside, the doorman hailed a taxi, and the two headed off towards the publishing house that had asked for a meeting with Buffy.
After everything had settled in, and Buffy reluctantly quit her job at the Wal-Mart to take over Joyce's gallery, Spike had pestered her to send in the essays and short stories she had written. He had gotten every one of their friends to read them, and they joined in the "Publish Buffy" campaign.
Evading the pushing as long as she could, Buffy grudgingly sent a collection of her top five stories to publishing companies and magazines across the country. There were a lot of rejection letters sent back, and a few didn't even bother to reply, so Buffy felt that it had all been for nothing.
Until, one week later, Buffy received a letter from the Los Angeles-based women's magazine, "Female Council", inviting her to meet with the submissions editor, Ms. Charlotte. Because he had been so intent on getting her published, Buffy asked Spike to tag along to the scary city.
Ten minutes later, the taxi pulled up in front of a large building, all glass and steel, and very intimidating. At every checkpoint, Buffy had to show the guards and receptionists the invitation, and they immediately let her through.
Floor twenty-nine was the final destination; a swankly decorated office styled in exposed stone and glass. While the snotty receptionist told Buffy that she would have to wait, Spike claimed a leather couch in the waiting area as his.
Buffy joined him, nervously wringing her hands as the minutes passed.
"What if they don't want to offer me anything?" she questioned, her voice high in pitch. "What if they just want me here to yell at me? Like, they think I suck so badly they wanted to tell me in person?"
"They wouldn't put you and me up in a swank hotel if they were just going to tell you off," Spike muttered, glaring at the copy of "Female Council" on the coffee table he just knew he'd be reading when Buffy went into her meeting.
"You think so?" Her eyes were wide.
Smiling, he placed a chaste peck on her forehead. "You're bloody brilliant, and if they don't know it yet, they'll figure it out soon."
Then, he nodded in the direction of the receptionist. Buffy turned, and saw the woman waving her in.
Gathering her thoughts, and trying hard to calm and collected, Buffy allowed herself to spare a nervous smile for her friend as she walked into Ms. Charlotte's office.
Ms. Charlotte didn't turn out to be the clean and poised woman Buffy assumed she would be. Not even twenty-five, Ms. Charlotte sat on top of her messy desk, watching TV while eating out of a greasy box of Chinese take out. She was barefoot, wearing a black tank top and gray shorts, her curly brown hair held back in a ponytail.
"Hey, Buffy," she greeted, slurping down the rest of the noodles before turning off the TV. "Just finishing lunch. How you doin'? Need anything? Coffee? Sandwich? Booze?"
"I'm fine, Ms. Charlotte," Buffy responded quietly, sitting in a nearby chair.
"Nah, it's Faith. Not a teacher here, B."
"'K . . . I'm fine, Faith."
Faith let out a loud, rich laugh. "You're quite a character, B! Don't be nervous. LA's such a stuck-up tight ass town that we don't need more!"
Chuckling softly, Buffy watched Faith jump off her desk, and pull a file Buffy recognized as her submission out from underneath a pile of clothing.
"From what I hear from the people who read the shit people send in," Faith began, indicating the file in her hand, "Yours' has got a lot of potential. So, they send it up, and I read. And I like." She hesitated a moment. "But what you sent in doesn't seem to fit with the style of 'Female Council'."
Buffy felt her eyes well up with tears, but tried to look unaffected as she stood. "Well, thank you very much for your time," she muttered, reaching for the file in Faith's hand.
"Whoa!" Faith yelled, pulling the file to her chest. "No need to be all jumpy. I'm not finished, B. I'd like to hire you on as a freelance writer."
"Excuse me?"
Rolling her eyes, Faith sat down back on her desk. "You won't be a full timer. All you do is send in a few submissions at the beginning of each month. If I like, I'll put it in the magazine. It can be anything you want. After a while, we'll see about putting you on staff. Doesn't pay much, but you can get good exposure."
Shocking the two women equally, Buffy jumped up and pulled Faith into a bear hug. Although Faith did grimace some, she didn't say anything.
"OH GOD!" Buffy shrieked the smile on her face a mile wide. "This is so fucking awesome!"
"Whatever," Faith said, trying hard not to get caught up in Buffy's enthusiasm. "Now get the fuck outta my office so I can watch 'Jerry Springer'. Take the stud you brought here out to dinner and celebrate, or whatever freaky shit you like to do."
"Thank you so much again!" Buffy said once more, refraining from hugging her new boss once more.
"Yeah, yeah, get out!"
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Buffy didn't like to get drunk. Yeah, she'd have a beer when hanging out, or a few of those fruity drinks when she went out with her friends, but never enough to make her spend the next day with a major hangover.
She said, "Fuck that!" as soon as she and Spike got back to the hotel after having dinner, and ordered two bottles of champagne to be sent up to her room. Already slightly tipsy from the wine at the restaurant, she was ready to get shit-faced.
Taking a gulp straight out of the just-opened bottle, Buffy, now dressed in her Yummy Sushi pajamas, pounded on the door of Spike's room, which was adjoined to hers.
"Who is it?" he mockingly asked, grinning as he opened the door, wearing a Sex Pistols shirt and drawstring pants.
Ignoring him, Buffy shoved the other bottle in his hand and flung herself on his bed.
"Wow," she exclaimed, staring up, "Your ceiling's a lot bigger than mine!"
"For such a cutie, Goldilocks," Spike muttered as he tore the foil off the bottle, watching her roll around on his bed, "You're a lightweight drinker."
"Nah-huh. I'm not a lightweight."
"Um, yah-huh."
"Nah-huh!"
"Yah . . . bloody fuck, I'm not having this argument with you!"
An evil grin split his face as he finally got to the cork of the champagne bottle. With two quick shakes, the cork was off, and Buffy was covered in champagne fizz.
She bolted up, drunken fury surging through her body.
"You bastard!" she screamed, her own bottle suddenly forgotten as it dropped to the floor. Spike grabbed it before it spilled all over the floor, while Buffy stumbled to the bathroom to dry off.
When she came back in the room, Spike had taken her place on the bed, swigging off his own bottle while he watched TV. She sat beside him, arms crossed, absently watching him channel surf.
After a while of her angry silence, he rolled his eyes and turned to her. "You're not mad at me, are you?"
Shaking her head, Buffy kept watching, intent on staying angry.
"It was only a joke," he reasoned.
"Funny."
He held back a smile as he rolled over to her, and trapped her two arms above her head.
"You're going to be mad at me all night, aren't you?" he asked, that stupid smile of his tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"Yesh." Buffy may have been drunk and slurring, but she could still be stubborn.
Looking very defeated, Spike began to back away, only to bury his face in her stomach. Muttering "I'm sorry" in between blowing raspberries on her skin, Buffy was shaking from laughing so hard. When Spike finally pulled away, she was in such a state that she ended up falling off the bed.
He jumped over to her suddenly, afraid that she was hurt. But, the fall only caused her to laugh harder.
"You're . . . a . . . asshole," she spewed out, tears pouring down her face.
Sighing, Spike wrapped his arms around her. "And you're still a lightweight."
Buffy tried hard to pout, but found herself unable. He was so close that she could feel his breath on her face, but it wasn't close enough. All she had to do was lean up . . .
*God, how drunk am I?*
The mirth dancing in his eyes was quickly replaced by something darker, deeper. She nearly forgot how to breathe when he reached up, pulling a strand of hair out of her eyes and cupping her face with his hands. He leaned in, his lips closing the distance with hers . . .
RING!
Buffy pulled away, startled by the sound.
RING!
There it was again.
*Ring? Ring? Phone? Phone. My phone!*
"My phone!" she blurted, jolting up and feeling very sober all of the sudden.
Buffy ran to the door, leaving Spike on the floor, the expression on his face cloudy.
Turning the handle, she spared one last look at her friend (*Yes, Buffy, your very good FRIEND!*).
"I'm just gonna . . ." she trailed off, not waiting for a response as she went through to her room.
Her cell phone was nearby on the nightstand, and as Buffy sank down she picked it up, her back against the door separating her from a big mistake. It was Tara.
"Hey, Tara," she began, closing her eyes.
*
*
*
Celestria16- Totally thank you so much for reading!
Ghettogirlofreno- I am so super funny, so of course it was good! Do you have any doubt in my talent as a writer or super human being? Do you obviously think that I am not able to write a coherent sentence? Well, I'm so creative that I'm going to write a sentence no one has ever seen: Blood under the couch, five six seven, and a hop to the moon, buy cheese aliens and tennis. HA! That's how awesome I am! Oh, and I can so go Reno on your ass. That just means pretending to pull a slot machine. Ca-ching!
Imzadi- Why wouldn't Joyce make sure that her Buffy and Aurora weren't taken care of? She's not Hank Summers, mind you. Hope the little mention of Lindsey was enough to sate you. Oh, yeah, he was really hot on Las Vegas, except for the whole dancing thing. That was a little scary. He dances like a pimp. Hope the UST was good enough for you, too.
Comedia- Yeah, everything was wrapped up. You know what? Maybe if you weren't such a bitch, I'd be able to write better. But, no! You gotta come in my room and criticize whatever I type out. "Oh, well that's not how it happened in the story! Your chapters are too short!" By the way, should you be taking about length when you barely come up to my boobs? "We welcome you to Munchkin Land!" Huh, Titty-girl? What you gonna say now? Oh, I better stop, or you're going to go Reno on my white ass, aren't you?
Mita spufette- Whenever I'm yelling at someone in my reviews, they are usually my friends or readers who won't take offence to me making fun of them. It goes both ways. I'm glad other people find it funny. So, yeah, I had to kill Joyce. Sad, but necessary for the whole "I'm a grownup" Buffy thing. Oh, and about the whole "super" thing, I actually found myself saying "groovy" today. I wasn't even alive during the 70's!
Mita427- I actually have no idea about the bears. I was smoking a lot of crack and just had to type. Actually, what was originally going to happen in this chapter was Angel was going to take a pass at Buffy, and Spike would go all caveman and beat the living shit outta the prick. Then, Angel would wake up in some deserted factory, duct-taped to a chair, the baby rattle in his mouth (thank you very much), where soon after Buffy and Spike would perform hideous and disfiguring experiments on him. After they would remove his "special man part", Buffy and Spike would have sex. But, I thought about it, and realized that it was what YOU wanted, so I decided against it. Tough luck, slut! Kisses!
Iselyn- I really liked it when I wrote that quote, and I'm happy that other people liked it too. Was this chapter any more evidence that Buffy needed to know that Spike loves her? Our girl is too blind to see it. But just you wait until . . . oh, nevermind. That would be spoiling. And that's bad. Tee hee hee.
Harm Marie- Cool name! Glad you liked the little note. I don't know how to write in lawyer talk, so a letter was the best I could do. At least we got to know how everything was spilt up, and I hope everyone noticed the little part about the ring? Joyce wasn't blind.
Lurking-in-the-shadows- I've always been partial to Tara and Willow-ness. No matter how cute Oz and Willow were together, Tara made me completely forget about the redhead drummer. Buffy is so in denial land, she has no idea where to get out. I've just written an Angel-centric chapter that won't be posted for a few days, but let me tell you, he gets what he deserves, and much more! AAAHHH! No more spoilers!
