Chapter 16
With Buffy’s insistence that she helped him out, Spike managed to tie up all his loose ends before the show that evening. She’d been so persistent that she could handle the varnishing and practically pushed him out the door to meet with Mike and finish the installation. He realized, begrudgingly, that she was actually really helpful, and had a way about doing things that was incredibly efficient. He’d never tell her that, though. He’d been doing just fine on his own before her, thank you very much! But he cursed silently that she was usually right.
However, Buffy helping him out left him with plenty of time before the show with nothing to do. She’d gone back to her flat to find something nice to wear and Spike spent the better half of an hour pacing his loft, smoking like a chimney and conjuring up scenarios that were only adding more stress to his already frazzled nerves. First of all, Oz would be there and he didn’t know how he was going to handle that. He hadn’t even told Buffy that Oz knew and hoped the bastard had tact enough not to mention anything to her. Then there was the little matter of the Chenowiths. Of course they’d be there, they went to everything. And while they weren’t directly responsible for what happened to Buffy, and were actually decent blokes when you got to the core of them, he still wanted to blame someone. They’d surely talk to her at the show, more than likely mention Anthony since they were the ones to set up the project for her and he didn’t want Buffy to have to answer to them or make something up on the sly, or…break down in front of all those people. She’d be humiliated, exposed and the last thing he wanted was for her to have to relive her experience. So he made a decision that he’d keep her next to him at all times and if someone even mentioned the name ‘Hill’, he’d be Dudley Do Right and come to the rescue.
When Buffy called him a few moments later and told him she was having serious issues with her hair and that she’d just meet him at the gallery, Spike sighed in relief. Not that he would have minded waiting for her, but if he got to the gallery early, he could distract himself much easier and get a drink to calm his nerves. He double checked his appearance in his mirror before heading out and if he didn’t say so himself, he looked damn good. Thanks to Buffy on that front for suggesting the outfit. He usually wore black trousers and a button up, having no real idea how to dress up unless it was really stuffy, like a tux or a suit. Because clearly, that’s all he’d ever cared to learn in all his 29 years of life. When a man had an event, he wore a suit. And Spike fucking hated it. But Buffy insisted that Spike wasn’t that type of guy, that he should look more like himself with flair. So he donned his favorite tight dark wash blue jeans, cuffed them over his boots, wore a black long sleeve button up, rolled the sleeves just below the elbows, slapped on his studded belt and caked on the eyeliner. He didn’t even know it was acceptable to wear jeans and a button up but Buffy rolled her eyes and told him he knew nothing about fashion. He didn’t argue. He hated trousers. But then he panicked because she said nothing about whether or not he should tuck in his shirt! Should he leave his shirt tails hanging out? Why didn’t she tell him every sodding detail? He tucked it in and went to the bedroom to see it in his full length mirror.
Placing his hands on his hips, he turned to the side and tilted his head. “Fuck that.” He pulled the shirt out of his jeans and kicked out one leg in his ‘badass’ stance. He nodded appreciatively. “Not bad. Not bad at all.” He unbuttoned the bottom button of his shirt to show off the awesome belt buckle he’d purchased a few weeks ago. It had a mother fucking Zippo inside the belt buckle! Buffy didn’t understand why he was so excited about it but once he’d shown her how it worked by flipping it over, popping out the Zippo and lighting a smoke with it and then slammed it back into place, she giggled and shook her head.
“That’s bloody awesome,” he’d said. “You have to admit, that’s bad ass.”
She had just kissed him on the cheek and walked into the living room, shaking her head.
Pleased with the final result and one last spray of hair lacquer, he walked out the door.
~*~*~*~
Buffy wasn’t having a hair issue. Her issue was with finding something to wear. After she’d selected a cute strappy dress and put it on, she almost started crying when she saw the bruises that still marred her neck and arms. No amount of makeup would cover it up and it was still incredibly hot outside, so she couldn’t go with the long sleeve turtleneck unless she wanted to sweat all night. So she tore apart her closet looking for something, anything, which would work in her favor. She finally settled on a low cut, ¾ sleeve slim-fit dress that came just above her knees and a long silk scarf to tie around her neck. It was still too hot to wear, but it was her only option. She’d spent so long fussing over her outfit that she hadn’t realized how late she was. The show had started fifteen minutes ago and she’d yet to leave her apartment.
Once she arrived and gave the doorman her invitation, she weaved her way through the crowd in the gallery in search for Spike. She spotted Emilio and he waved kindly at her as he talked to a busty redhead who was bidding on a painting and pointed over his shoulder to a far corner of the gallery. She stood on her toes and smiled as she finally saw a flash of white hair. Nerves settled that she’d arrived and seemingly nothing had happened in her absence, she slowly walked around the front of the gallery taking it all in. There were tons of people there, all of them to see Spike’s artwork. She knew he’d had quite a reputation but she hadn’t anticipated this much of a turn out. She’d seen all of his paintings when they were in his loft, but she took some time to appreciate them on display in this setting. She noticed that a few pieces already had a bright red sticker over the price, notating that someone had made a bid. Buffy couldn’t wrap her mind around that, if she had ever had this sort of following for her photography, and that someone would actually want to purchase it.
As she made her way through the various walls of art, she stopped short when she saw a very familiar piece. Nancy’s torso. And it was marked ‘$5’. She giggled with a triumphant grin and turned to accept a glass of champagne from one of the caterers as he walked by with a tray. As she sipped on her glass and observed the crowd, she smiled proudly at Spike who was surrounded by people, all of them speaking animatedly about something. His eyes kept darting around the room and she realized he must have been looking for her. When his dark rimmed cerulean eyes met hers, he smiled at her from across the room. She raised her glass in the air slightly and tilted her head to the side with a smile. She was content just watching him, but he had other ideas. He kept trying to say something to her but she couldn’t understand what he was saying from so far away. He glared at her and tried again.
She shrugged her shoulders, having no idea what he was mouthing to her.
And then he did the most embarrassing thing. He placed his hands on either side of his mouth and shouted, “Buffy! Get your ass over here!”
A few people looked in her direction and, embarrassed, she ducked her head and wove through the mass of bodies, mumbling apologies under her breath. When she was at his side she gave him an angry sideways glance, ignoring his grin. He wrapped his arm around her waist and whispered in her ear, “Not my fault you can’t read lips.” He kissed her on the forehead and continued speaking with some avid fan of his, keeping his hand on the small of her back. She just smiled around the rim of her glass as he started schmoozing with potential buyers. He was damn good. In fact, he’d almost convinced her that he’d always wanted to go to the South of France to go parasailing as he spoke to one gentleman. But when he squeezed her side, she knew he hated every minute of it.
What was really interesting was that she saw Oz several times and every time she’d open her mouth to speak to him, Spike would turn them both around and walk to another part of the gallery, right before he could make his way over. She didn’t know what that was about, but it was painfully obvious that Spike was ignoring him. Making a lame excuse to go to the bathroom, she left Spike in search of Oz. He was heading towards the door and she grabbed him gently by the arm, smiling warmly when he turned around.
“Hey, leaving already?”
Oz scratched the back of his neck and furrowed his brow. He hadn’t looked her in the eyes yet and it was unsettling. “Yeah, got a lot to take care of in the morning.” His clipped tones gave her pause. Something was definitely up.
“That’s too bad,” she said sincerely. “It’s nice to see a familiar face in here.”
Oz sighed painfully and shoved his hands in his pockets, offering her a tiny smile. “How are you, Buffy?”
“I’m good,” she smiled. “Kinda…” she shrugged her shoulders and darted her eyes around the room, “weirded out about all this, but…otherwise peachy. You?”
Oz worried his bottom lip with his teeth. Buffy didn’t know and somehow, that made him feel worse. “Been better.”
Buffy gave him a sympathetic smile. “What’s going on with you and Spike? He hasn’t said anything to me and it’s obvious he’s being avoidy.”
“Uh,” he laughed humorlessly, “I fucked up. Basically.”
“Want me to talk to him for you? I can be very convincing,” she said with mock seriousness, trying to lighten his gloomy mood.
Oz smiled and lowered his head. “Nah…won’t do any good. But thanks.”
“Ok,” she pouted. “Well, I guess I’ll see you around then?”
She looked at him so hopefully and he felt horrible for ever thinking anything bad about her. She’d been nothing but nice to him, nothing but sincere, and by the way Spike had been acting lately, it was obvious his best friend had fallen for her. And here she was, trying to patch things up between her lover and his best friend, having no idea she was the reason for the falling out. He’d never forgive himself. “I hope so, Buffy,” he said truthfully. “I’m glad Spike has you.”
She smiled then. “Me too.”
He squeezed her shoulder and said, “See ya, Buffy,” and turned around and left. Buffy wished she knew what had happened, but Oz was obviously beating himself up over it. She was mad at Spike for not even talking to him and had half a mind to tell him how childish he was being when they arrived home. Now was definitely not the time. As she made her way to the bathroom, she saw Max and Mark making a bee-line towards her. She tried to duck away but they were on her in an instant.
“Buffy,” Max said with a pout. “How are you, darling?”
Mark was rubbing her back sympathetically and she blinked, opening her mouth to speak but Mark cut her off. “I was just beside myself when I heard the news.”
Max put a hand on his chest and closed his eyes, shaking his head. “Buffy, if there is anything, anything we can do, please…don’t hesitate. I can’t help but feel responsible for this awful experience.”
Buffy felt her chest tighten and her throat grow drier and drier with every breath. “What are you…what are you talking about?”
Max and Mark shared a sad look between one another and turned to her. Max leaned closer to her and whispered, “It’s all right, sweetie. We won’t tell anyone. I just couldn’t believe it when I heard the news.”
She felt her world closing in on her as they continued to offer their condolences, feeling as if the room was spinning out of control and she closed her eyes, focusing on her breathing. This was not good. If Max and Mark knew, who else knew? Who else at this showing knew?
Not really addressing either one of them, she murmured, “I have to go to the bathroom,” turning in a daze away from them, missing their concerned glances towards her as she walked away. She aimlessly searched for Spike but he was on the other side of the gallery, too far away and she already felt the sting in her eyes. Since the bathroom was closer, she walked inside and splashed water on her face as she tried to calm down. She heard two girls walk into the bathroom and stand near her at the mirror as they touched up their makeup.
“God, can you imagine?”
“I know,” one girl said as she squirted on some perfume. “Well, I always knew he was a creep but…rape? Jesus.”
“I just feel so bad for that girl.”
“You remember when Maya worked with him last November? Hell, maybe she isn’t a drama queen after all.”
“You’re evil! You think she’d make something like that up? I saw the bruises.”
“Well, whoever this girl is, she kicked his ass. Chuck said he was a bloody mess when the cops arrived at the studio.”
“Prick,” the other retorted. “God, I wish I had some coke right now.”
Buffy closed her eyes and tried to ignore them. At least they didn’t know it was her, but to hear it talked about so casually made her stomach churn. She sighed with relief when she heard them make their way to the door only to flinch when she felt a hand on her arm.
“Are you ok?” It was one of the girls who had apparently decided to be a Good Samaritan before she went in search of illegal substances.
“Yeah,” Buffy smiled weakly, “I just didn’t eat and I’m paying for it now.”
“I say keep it up. I’d kill for your figure.” She winked at her before turning towards the door.
Buffy couldn’t go back out there, not with the buzz of Anthony Hill circulating among the crowd. It was Spike’s night and she wouldn’t ruin it for him. So she locked herself in a stall, beating herself up for crying and willed the night to end.
~*~*~*~
Spike had been looking for Buffy all night. She’d been gone well over an hour and he managed to piss off a few people as he abruptly cut them off in search for her. When he spotted the Chenowiths, he pursed his lips and confronted them.
“Seen Buffy around?”
“Y-yes,” Mark said as he looked at his boyfriend. “We saw her earlier.”
“She went to the bathroom,” Max offered, “and we haven’t seen her since. I didn’t know you knew Buffy! She has so much potential.”
Spike left halfway through that sentence, and made his way towards the bathroom. A girl walked out and Spike touched her arm to grab her attention.
“Excuse me,” he said with a smile. “I was wondering if you saw a pretty blonde girl in there? About…yay tall,” he held up his hand at the appropriate height, “wearin’ a black dress with a green scarf?”
“No, haven’t seen her,” she said shrugging her shoulders. “Unless you mean the chick that’s been crying in one of the stalls…”
Spike closed his eyes. This was exactly what he was afraid would happen, which was why he was so adamant that she stay next to him for the duration of the evening. But when she didn’t return from the bathroom, he was continually interrupted and had to play the grateful artist, all the while searching the crowd for her. “Thanks.”
He brushed past her and walked into the ladies room, glad there didn’t seem to be anyone else in sight. But he heard her instantly. “Buffy?”
He heard her sniffle. “Spike?”
He walked to the stall door and leaned against it. “Buffy, what happened?”
“Everyone knows,” she sobbed. “And I didn’t want to ruin your night and…then this girl tried to convince me that bulimia was ok and I couldn’t stop crying and these floors are really gross and apparently everyone does coke at these things and also half the town thinks you’re hot which I agree but they don’t have to talk about it and I just want the night to be over.” She was rambling through her tears and Spike couldn’t help the tiny smile that appeared before he realized the first thing she’d said.
“Wait, what do you mean everybody knows?”
Buffy pulled off a square of toilet paper and folded it in half. “I mean…they know. About…about Tony.”
Spike sighed and screwed his eyes shut. “We’re going home.”
“Absolutely not!” Buffy stood up and opened the door and tried her hardest to look authoritative but failed miserably when he looked at her. His brow furrowed with concern and he gasped.
“Oh, baby…come here,” he held out his hands for her and gathered her in his arms, unable to stop himself when he saw her red, tear streaked cheeks, her puffy eyes and her splotchy nose. He stroked the back of her head and held her against him, feeling his heart clench with every whimper she emitted. “Have you been crying this whole time?”
“Not the whole time.”
Her voice was so frail that he squeezed her a little tighter. “Will you please let me take you home? I don’t want you sitting in the bathroom all night.”
“But…your show and…I’ve already made you postpone it once,” she pulled away to look at him with her sad green eyes. “I can just wait here until it’s all over and then we can go home, ok?”
“No, not ok. You’re not holing up in the bloody toilet all night. I don’ care about these idiots. Hell, ‘ve already sold most of my paintings and Emilio’s on cloud nine. I won’t miss a thing. Me leaving early makes me look edgy,” he tried to joke.
She looked at him for a moment and started crying again. “I’m sorry I ruined your night.”
“Shh,” he murmured against her lips before he kissed her. “This isn’ any fun without you with me. So I’d rather be at home, curled up on my sofa with you than alone out there, knowin’ you’re in here an’ feelin’ this way. You haven’ ruined anythin’, pet.”
She nodded against his chest, just wanting to stay there for a minute longer but he grabbed her hands and pulled her to the door. “Let’s go home, kitten.”
Buffy really liked the way he said that, as if it was their home. So she smiled at him and said, “Ok. But first, let me clean up and then we can go home.”
He kissed her on the cheek as he squeezed her hands. “I’ll be waiting just outside the door. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
When he closed the door behind him, she sighed and looked up at the ceiling. She wondered just how many times she could screw things up for him.