The rain started about ten minutes before they made it home. It was late afternoon, but the closer they got to the Chase-Giles house, the darker the sky became. Forboding. That was the word that came to Buffy's mind as the puffs of white swirled into dove greys and then to midnight hues. The promise of Mother Nature's wrath filled her with a mixture of fear and excitement. Thunder scared her to death. Sure, she knew it was the lightning that should scare her, but the deep rumble before the crackling flash always thrilled her.
The rain remained fairly light and uneven for several minutes, but broke out into a steady pelt against the DeSoto's windshield as Spike pulled into the Sunnydale city limits. She prayed he didn't take her home. She didn't want to sit in that big house all alone during a storm. Besides, their game of To Tell The Truth was far from over. A winner still hadn't been declared. And she intended to win.
Spike glanced over at her as the neared the house. What should he do? Can't let her sit at home by herself in this storm. She was already gripping the edge of her seat.
"Buffy," he said, deciding to chance it. "Why don't you stay with me tonight. This thing could get pretty ugly, and I really don't fancy you being all alone... especially if the power or phone lines go out. Wouldn't be able to reach me if anything happened." He knew he was rattling on... giving too many excuses. But he really didn't want to think about her sitting alone and not being able to contact him. She'd be safer with him.
She let out a grateful breath. She so did not want to be the one to beg to stay with him. She was glad he saved her the humilation.
"Yeah, that's probably for the best, Will," she smiled as she nodded. "Thanks."
He pulled into the drive in front of the house and turned to her.
"Ready to make a run for it?" he asked, curling his tongue behind his teeth.
"Ready as I'll ever be," she agreed.
He reached into the back seat to grab their bags and turned back to her with a boyish smirk.
"Count of three?"
She couldn't help but giggle and began counting with him.
"One... two..." Their hands were on the door handles.
"Three!" she yelled and swung open the door, trying not to let it slam shut as she dashed for the front door of the house. He was right behind her fumbling for the right key as the rain began to pour all around them. He unlocked the two bolts on the door and opened it, pushing her through the doorway first.
He slammed the door shut and locked it, dropping their bags on the floor of the tiled entryway in the process. She stood looking at him, breathless. He looked amazing as the water droplets clung to his chin, his nose and his rumpled curls. She coudn't help but reach out and wipe away some of the rain drops from his face. He narrowed his eyes on hers, leaning into her touch just a bit.
"How about you fetch us some towels so that we can dry off before we catch pneumonia?" he told her.
She nodded and took off for the linen closet in the hall. What was that all about, she thought. That was just too weird. Too... couple-y. I probably freaked him out, she thought as she pulled a couple of thick towels down from the top shelf.
She returned to the living room and handed him a towel.
"Looks like Cordy's been here," he told her as he began drying his hair. "She left a note in the kitchen that Max went out and that she'd be home late tomorrow."
Buffy nodded, glad that the little dog hadn't been neglected. She didn't see him wanting to go out in the torrential downpour to do his business.
"I'm going to go put on some dry clothes," she announced.
"Make sure it's something warm," he called after her. She looked at him, puzzled. "I'm going to turn down the air just in case the power decides to go out. Get it chilly enough in here to last awhile."
"Right," she nodded. "Good idea."
She grabbed her bag and let herself into Cordelia's room, shutting the door behind her. She leaned against the closed door and sighed. It was going to be a long night.
She dumped her bag out on Cordy's bed and dug through the pile until she found a pair of light grey drawstring sweatpants with "NYU" silkscreened in an arch across the ass and a light grey tank top. She dug a little more and found one of the bra and panty sets made from a little less material than her bathing suit in a deep shade of red. She went into the small bathroom attached to Cordy's room to run a washcloth over her body before changing clothes. She didn't know what posessed her to break out the skimpy underwear, but she couldn't stop the wicked grin from spreading across her lips as she got dressed. She grabbed her comb and a little vial of cherry-vanilla scented oil and dabbed a bit on her pulse points before going back out into the living room.
Spike had already changed. He was stretched out on the couch wearing a pair of dark grey sweatpants and a black Misfits t-shirt. There was a bottle of brandy and two snifters sitting on the coffee table. He looked her over as she approached him and raised his eyebrow.
"I take it you just don't own any clothes that actually cover your body, yeah?" he teased.
"Very funny," she scowled, pulling the comb through her damp hair. "I'm not cold yet." She looked at the glasses on the table and back to him.
"Since you're not cold, guess you won't be needing a nip of brandy," he said, pouring himself a glass. "More for me."
She sat down beside him, set her comb on the table, picked up a glass and held it out. He stared for a second, as if he was deciding whether or not to corrupt her.
"You ever drink anything, Summers?" he asked, skeptically.
"Sure, I have. I'm not a baby, you know." She was getting defensive again. But she wasn't lying. She'd had a glass of champagne at her father's wedding. And she'd had half a beer on New Years' Eve at Angel's big bash.
And then there was the tome or two she got drunk on whiskey out of sheer boredom when she was stuck in the house alone for a weekend while her mother was off globetrotting without her. That was not of the good. Lots of morning-after pukage and headaches. But this was brandy. Not whiskey. Not like she was going to be doing hefty man-shots or anything. It was a sipping drink.
He snickered and poured the amber liquid into her glass.
"Now don't go belting it down now, Kitten. Don't need to be accused of contributing to the delinquency of a minor," he joked.
And there. He did it again. Pissed her off. She knocked back the brandy that was in her glass without even wincing and held out her glass for a refill. He looked appropriately apologetic as he refilled her glass. This time she sipped at it as he continued to watch her. She looked right back at him, practically daring him to say something.
Kitten certainly does have a dark side, he thought. And it made his spine tingle in anticipation of finding out what other dark little secrets she was hiding behind that bright smile and angelic face.
He suddenly grabbed her hand and stood up.
"Come with me," he told her, pulling her to her feet, "I want to show you something."
She followed him, one hand on her glass of brandy, the other wrapped in his. We're going to his bedroom, she thought as her heart started thudding a little harder in her chest. Oh shit. Oh fuck. Oh damn...
"Go ahead and sit down," he instructed, nodding toward his bed. She did as she was told and turned to watch the storm through the bay window. His bed was tucked into a cubby with the window above it. It was more than cozy. He lit a couple of candles and an incense stick and then opened his closet door.
What am I supposed to do, she thought. She had no idea what he was doing. She sipped at her drink and stared out the window as he rifled through his closet for... for what? Most guys keep them in their dresser drawers... go figure, he'd be the oddball who kept his...
"Got a new acoustic guitar," he smiled proudly, pulling his new acquisition out of its hard-shell case.
He handed it to her as she gave him her brandy glass and he watched her face for any signs of recognition. He couldn't help but grin when the look of awe washed over her delicate features in the candlelight.
"Oh my God," she whispered, running her fingers over the neck of the guitar. She looked up at him, slack-jawed. Her eyes were shining with excitement. "Do you have any idea what this is?"
"Would like to think so," he teased. "But why don't you tell me, Kitten."
He sat across from her on the bed and watched as her fingers formed chords along the neck and she began to strum.
"This is a 1969 Martin D41," she said, still strumming lightly. "Did you know that there were only 39 of these ever made? You own a piece of history! Oh my God, this must have cost a fortune."
He was beyond impressed. The girl had nailed it right on the head. Not only did she know what a gem she was holding, she knew how to play it. God, could I love her any more than I do at this moment, his subconscious screamed. Where the Hell had that come from, he thought.
"Don't know. Da sent it for my birthday a few months back. I've been meaning to bring it home to show you," he told her. "Knew you'd be the only one to appreciate it."
"Appreciate it?" she asked, wide-eyed. "This is... incredible, Will. It's mint! Just look at it! Not a scratch on it. The neck is perfect, no bowing at all! And the action is awesome! This is one Hell of a birthday present. Sure it wasn't birthday bribery to get you to move to England?"
"Maybe a little," he admitted. "But you don't see me leaving, do you?"
She smiled. Nope. He wasn't leaving. And that was definately of the good.
"Play me something," he suddenly told her.
"Huh?" She was still dazed by the beautiful instrument she was holding and the soundtrack being played out by the steady drum of rain, claps of thunder and cracks of lightning.
"Just a little music between friends," he told her. "We'll save the real audition for Xander and Oz. Play me something you like. Something that tells me..." He thought for a second. "Something that tells me who Buffy Summers really is."
She was taken off-guard by his request. She thought for a moment, staring at her hand where it rested on the top of the guitar's rosewood body.
"There was an acoustic group I went to see for the first time about six months ago... up by UC Sunnydale at the Bronze?"
He nodded. He knew exactly where it was.
"Yeah... I've seen them a few times now. They were at the Covered Dish last month. They're supposed to be back there next month. You should go check them out... they're called House of Dreams," she told him. "Anyhow, they did this song I just loved... well, I'll just play it for you."
She began picking at the strings, trying to ignore the fact that he was watching her in fascination.
"Eyes wide open, the first day
A fallen star has found its way
The part's been cast, begin the play.
A pebble into a pond makes ripples
It makes its way 'cross little by little
The power to change the world
There's nothing like Life's First Breath..."
He continued to watch as she played. Her eyes were closed and he imagined that she was off in her own world now, as it should be. There was nothing but her and the music. That's what it was all about. And he realized, in that moment, that Buffy was the only one who understood that.
"What religion will he choose?
A winner, yes? Or will he lose?
Or will he lose?
A pebble into a pond makes ripples
It makes its way 'cross little by little
The power to change the world
There's nothing like Life's First Breath..."
She opened her eyes when she was done to see him still watching her, his eyes glazed over a bit with emotion.
"That probably didn't sound half as good as when Britton and Jack sing it, but you get the idea," she said softly. "It was just a song that really stood out to me when I heard it. I think... I think I fell in love with it right on the spot."
I think I've just fallen in love with you right on the spot, he thought.