Chapter 9
Spike watched with a deep frown over his eyebrows as Buffy, with her head tilted backwards, vigorously gargled before spitting into the kitchen sink. She turned to face the bleached teen with a disgusted look still plastered all over her face.
“God, I can’t-“ spit “get that horrible” spit “taste out of my mouth.” She whinged, moving towards the refrigerator.
She quickly picked up the first available bottle, tilted its content into her mouth, gulping loudly as the liquid passed her throat. Setting the glass on the table she waited for a second, smacking her lips together and cringing as she realised the awful taste was still in her mouth. It was no use and with a resounding sigh she plopped down on a nearby stool.
Spike remained at the doorway, leaning slightly into the wooden frame there. After a few moments, Buffy looked upwards throwing him a murderess glance.
“I hate you.” She grumbled as she smacked her lips together once more.
“Same here, Betty.” He answered, crossing his arms over his chest.
She opened her mouth to protest, but gave up half way. She was too tired. It was Friday afternoon and she’d had a full week, she just didn’t have the energy to spar with the annoying Brit. So she chose to remain there, perfectly still, occasionally letting out a sigh or two in the feeble hope that he might take a hint and simply leave. To her misfortune he did no such thing. On the contrary, in a sluggish pace, with the same exasperating grin plastered on his face, he made his way to the counter and took a stool opposite to hers.
“What do you want, bleach boy?” She grumbled as she held her head between her hands, her fingers buried in her blonde strands, her eyes staring down at the whiter counter. Before he had a chance to answer, she let out a heavy a sigh and looked up to stare at him under hooded eyes. “Why do you insist in torturing me? Just go. Go. Away. Be free.” She waved a tired hand at him, but he paid no attention to it.
“You know it’ll work. That’s why you helped me out today.”
“No, I helped you out because the spectacle was just so painfully pathetic, that it just wasn’t fun to watch anymore.” She replied, standing up, taking the bottle into her hand and placing it back in the refrigerator. She turned and leaned on its door as she continued: “Are you a masochist or something? Is that it? Cause I can’t understand why in God’s name you would put yourself through that embarrassing public humiliation just for her. What do you see in that skanky vapid-“
She wasn’t able to finish her sentence as the bleached teen was on his feet and towering over her small form in an instant.
“You hold your tongue when you talk about her.” He growled between clenched teeth.
A hint of fear sent a chill down her spine as she looked up at him, but her facial _expression never testified to it. Her strong, obstinate look was still on and it didn’t falter for a second, even though she couldn’t help letting out a small sigh of relief when he backed away moments after:
“Look, I’m sorry… I- Just don’t talk about Dru that way.” He finally managed to say as he moved back to the counter to lean on it.
With her hands held up in the air in a sign of surrender she moved away from him and replied:
“Fine.”
They stayed in an awkward silence for a few desperate minutes, both trying hard to find a topic that would put an end to their torment. Spike was the first to try:
“So…”
“So…” she replied.
“What about the plan? Is it back… on?” He dared to ask.
She couldn’t help but smile slightly.
“You really like her that much, huh?”
He simply nodded. It wasn’t necessary for him to say anything. Sighing once more, she shook her head as she couldn’t believe what she was about to say:
“Ok. Fine. I’ll do it.” She grumbled in a low voice.
An instant spark flashed in his eyes.
“What?” He asked incredulous.
“Are you deaf or something?”
He shook his head.
“I said I’ll do it, ok?”
In a flash he was off the counter and had his arms wrapped around her, smashing her small form against his chest in the process. Buffy froze, her paralyzed arms were glued to her sides, her blonde head popping out just over his elbows. She didn’t know what to say. She was in shock. Eventually, when she realised he wasn’t going to let go of her any time soon, she dared to pipe up:
“Hum… Spike? What are you doing?”
The simple question was enough to bring the teen down from his heightened emotions and in an instant he let her go, took a step backwards and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his duster in an awkward motion.
“Sorry. Wasn’t thinking.” He apologized.
“Next time you have an euphoria-induced brain spam, let me know, ok?” She said with a deep frown on her forehead.
He simply nodded and slumped back onto the stool.
“Why are you sitting down?” she asked, giving him a discontent glance, a perfectly shaped eyebrow cocking up.
“Hum…” He mumbled confused. “We have to plan.”
“Plan what?”
“What we are going to do tomorrow. You know. How we are supposed to act.” He tilted his head to emphasize that he was stating the obvious.
“Oh…” She frowned for a moment, pondering which would be the limits and finally answered: “We’ll walk together and hold hands.” And with that she turned around and concentrated on washing the two dirty dishes that her mom had left in the sink.
“Hold hands? That’s it?” He asked incredulous, coming to stand next to her.
Buffy’s eyes were fixed on the plate she held in her hands. Scrubbing it incessantly as the nervousness took over.
“Y-Yes.” She replied in a faltering tone.
“Oh, come on! Dru and Angel are never going to believe it if they don’t see some snogging.” He protested.
“Hey! I’m not going to-“ She struggled with the strange word as the jitteriness seemed to affect her ability to speak coherently. Finally, she managed to yelp as she shook her head emphatically: “There will definitely be no snogging. And there will be no one watching me and… you and… I- NO SNOGGING!” Her eyes dropped to the sink. ‘Damn it! No more dishes! What do I do now?’
Spike smiled as he realised what she was thinking.
“Snogging, luv. It means making out, french kissing. Nothing else.”
“Oh…” She sighed in relief when suddenly realisation came. “Wait! You want me and you to kiss? French kiss?!”
Spike nodded.
“Oooooh no! No way! I wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot pole, let alone let you stick your slimy tongue down my throat. Yuck.” Her face contorted and cringed in all sorts of ways as she walked about the room, nervously searching for something to ocuppy herself with.
“We’re just supposed to hold hands?! They’ll never believe it and you know it!” He insisted.
“I. Am. Not. Kissing. You.” She said flatly.
“But-“
“Take it or leave it!” She stood tall, her chin held high in a sign of resolve and he couldn’t help but sigh, shaking his head as he mumbled.
“Fine… We’ll hold hands…”