Chapter Eighteen
The couple sat tensely in the living room, one on the couch, and one on the chair. They eyed each other suspiciously, like two prize fighters waiting for the bell to ring. Dawn sat with her legs and arms crossed, a look of seething hatred on her face. Spike sat across from her, his bottle recovered, blue eyes full of anger.
“I don’t see why you had to call Buffy.”
“What in the bloody hell has gotten into you?” they said at the same time, their tones an exact match of angry spite. They fell into silence once more, continuing to eyeball each other as if they had never seen the other before.
“Nothing has gotten into me,” she finally snapped, shifting in her seat, causing her near non-existent skirt to ride up even further. Spike scowled at the action.
“Really? That why you’re walking around in clothes hookers wouldn’t be caught dead in?” he asked, his words dripping with sarcasm. He cursed inwardly when he saw her bottom lip start to tremble, and the tears filling her eyes. *Good job, Spikey boy. Made the girl cry,* he growled at himself. “Look,” he started, leaning forward to see her better in the dark room. “I’m sorry about the hooker thing. But, Nibblet, I don’t understand,” he told her, his tone gentle. The situation had been ended, now was the time to get to the bottom of it.
“You don’t understand? Geez, you are thick,” Dawn snapped, sliding further into the cushions. “I’ve loved you since I was eleven years old Spike,” she admitted, feeling her cheeks flame as she said it. She almost threw the heavy, glass paper weight Giles had on the coffee table at him when his face filled with sympathy.
“Dawn. I’m flattered. . .” he started, only to be cut off.
“Don’t say it,” she ground out. Her jaw was clenched tight, and her nostrils were flaring as she tried to keep the hurt at bay. She should have known better. He’d only ever had eyes for Buffy. “She’s engaged you know,” Dawn blurted out, hoping to hurt him just a fraction. She at least succeeded in wiping the sympathetic look off his face, and that was something.
“I know,” he growled, slumping back into the chair and taking a long pull off the bottle. He eyed her for a second, sighing heavily. “I’m sorry I don’t feel the way about you that you want me to, pet. I’m way too old for you. There are plenty of boys out there that will just be chomping at the bit to date you. And if any of them get out of line, I’ll kill them,” he finished, glad to see the slight twitch of her lips as she fought a smile. She then turned her large, expressive eyes on him, the adultness of the look almost scaring him.
“They won’t be you,” she said, echoing the words she had spoken to her sister, so many years ago. He smiled, a deeply sad smile at that.
“You don’t want me, luv. I’m not the man I used to be.” He snorted a bit, bitterness slamming back into him. Her wide, azure eyes stared at him, her anguish returning, but this time for a different reason. She hadn’t really looked at him when she came in here, looking to seduce. Now, she did. The man sitting across from her was barely a shadow of the man she had loved with all of her adolescent heart. She felt that love start to crack, as it often does when the object of young girl’s affections prove themselves to be human, and felt a fresh wave of tears flood her eyes. She realized that it was time to let go, see him for the man he was, and not the one she wanted him to be. She found herself grateful that she had come here, even though her humiliation was now complete.
“You’re still my hero,” she whispered, smiling through the tears. His eyes met hers, and an ever so faint smile curled his lips. They stayed like that, for a long moment, finally seeing the other without the blinders on, until the knock on the door ended it. Dawn immediately flounced back on the cushions, a look that only seventeen year olds seemed to know how to do on her young face. Spike smirked at her sudden change in attitude and got up to answer the door. His hand gripped the knob, and he sighed heavily before twisting it, and pulling it open. His heart tripped in his chest when he saw her, and he scowled darkly, turning away to let her follow.
“Dawn, get in the car,” she said as she moved into the apartment. Dawn looked at the smaller woman, the need to argue welling up inside of her. But, when she looked over at Spike, and saw the slight shake of his head, she rolled her eyes, and pushed up from the couch. “I’ll be there in a minute,” Buffy told the teen as she stormed passed.
“Whatever,” came the response a second before the door slammed behind her. Spike looked over at the blonde woman that still haunted his dreams, a dark look passing over his face.
“Something you wanted?” he asked, snatching the bottle up from the coffee table. He had placed it there when he went to answer the door. Large, worried hazel eyes studied him as he drained a good portion of the bottle in one swallow.
“You’re going to kill yourself.” She tilted her head to the side while she looked at him, her soft, golden hair spilling over her shoulder. His harsh laugh had her flinching, the hard eyes he leveled on her made her take a step back.
“What do you want?” he asked again, running a hand through his tangled curls.
“I’m sorry about Dawn. I don’t know what got into her,” Buffy started, taking another step back when he moved towards her. A slight twinge of fear lanced through her, the look on his face screaming DANGER.
“S’alright,” he said, making his way slowly to her. He didn’t know what he would do once he reached her, but that wasn’t important right now. He just knew that like always, he was drawn to her, like a bee to honey. And god, did he want another taste.
“No, it’s not. She shouldn’t have come over here, bothering you. I know you probably just want to be alone right now, and don’t want to deal with a hormonal teenager who’s been harboring a crush,” Buffy stammered, grateful that she didn’t stutter. He was inching towards her, barely moving really. But he was coming, and his gait was predatory.
“What do you want, Buffy?” Her brows drew together in confusion. Hadn’t she just answered that question. Then, it occurred to her that that might not be what he was talking about.
“Uhm, I. . .I wanna help you,” she blurt out, feeling unnerved by his slow advancement to her. He was barely half a foot away now, the scent of liquor and the faint aroma of his aftershave drifting towards her, making her dizzy. He snorted at her comment, and raised the bottle once more. Buffy found herself entranced by the movement of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed. *This was a bad idea,* she thought. The two of them, alone, in the same room was not a good thing. Too many emotions ran rampant, not to mention the desire that always simmered just beneath the surface.
“You,” Spike huffed, drawing his tongue over his lip to collect the stray scotch. “You wanna help me?” A cynical smile curved his lip, and he shook his head. “How does the fiancé feel about that?” Good God, the way he said that word, turning it into something dirty. Buffy felt her temper rise, pushing away the arousal she had started to feel.
“He doesn’t mind,” she told him shortly. “He’s very understanding.”
“Is he?” The way it rolled off his tongue had those BAD thoughts slamming into her brain, making it difficult for her to breathe. *Not again,* her mind screamed, trying to get her to move, to say something to get that look out of his eyes. But all she could do was stand there, as he came to a stop within an inch of her, effectively trapping her between him and the door. The bottle was set down on the table next to the door, that hand raised to rest on the door, crowding her even further. Buffy tried to conjure the image of Riley into her head, tried to remind herself that she was engaged. Nothing worked as her eyes were drawn to the soft curve of Spike’s mouth, memory flashing bright and vivid. She felt a strong, sudden sense of deja vu, like they had been here before. She realized that they had. When she was with Angel.
“Spike. . .” she breathed, struggling for words.
“Do you think,” he lowered his head, agonizingly slowly, stopping within a breath of her mouth. “That he would understand this?”
“Wha. . .” Her words were cut off when he closed the distance between them, his deliciously soft expert mouth playing against hers in the way he knew she liked. She whimpered softly when she felt his tongue slide gently across her lip, seeking entrance. Her eyes drifted closed while her mouth opened for him, a feeling of utter completeness coming over her. Nobody kissed her the way he did, like she was the sweetest treasure, just waiting to be tasted. The kiss was slow, and deep, his tongue reacquainting itself with the secrets of her mouth before engaging her tongue in a lazy dance. He tasted like scotch, and cigarettes, and that distinct wild flavor that was all his. God, she’d missed him, she admitted to herself , her hands coming up to fist in his hair, her head angling to deepen it even further.
His free hand skimmed lightly over her body, teasing the spots that made her moan. His lean, hard body pressed into hers, keeping her upright when her knees went weak. Her skin was on fire, and he hadn’t even touched her under her clothes yet. He’d stayed, very specifically on top of the barrier, teasing her to the point of begging. When his hand closed possessively over her breast, his palm rubbing over the hard tip, she ripped her mouth away from his to groan, long and loud. His breath was ragged in her ear, his teeth nipping the lobe ever so lightly, causing her to shiver. Her hips thrust forward when she felt the evidence of his arousal pressing against her thigh. His moan, low and deep in her ear, caused goose flesh to break out on her skin.
“Do you think he’d understand, that with just a touch, I can make you burn?” he hissed in her ear, his other hand joining the first in it’s exploration of her body. The question barely registered through her foggy mind, the only reaction she could conjure was the arching of her back towards him.
Spike grinned against her neck, his tongue drawing lazy circles on her skin, tasting the saltiness there. His whole body was strung as tight as a bow with the control he was forcing. He wanted nothing more than to rip her clothes off and bury himself inside her sweet, tight body and never come out. For the first time in months, he felt healed, her touch all he needed to be soothed. How could she marry that git, knowing what they could be together?
Buffy was lost in the taste, and the feel of him. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she knew what she was doing was wrong. But she couldn’t seem to bring herself to care. That was until she felt those long, clever fingers gliding up her thigh, to push under her shorts, their destination clear. Suddenly, the memory of just what she had been doing with Riley earlier slammed into her, causing her to crash, very effectively back into reality.
“Spike, no,” she gasped, gripping his wrist and stopping that hand’s progress. His head came up, his dark, sapphire eyes searching her flushed face.
“Why? he asked. “It’s what we both want,” he said, leaning in to kiss her again. She brought her hand up to cover his mouth, shaking her head slightly. He looked at her a moment more, seeing how serious she was. With a scowl, he pushed away from her, grabbing his bottle as he did so.
“I’m sorry Spike. I’m engaged,” Buffy said, trying hard to collect herself.
“How can you marry him?” he ground out, draining the bottle to ease the fresh pain that stabbed his heart.
“I love him,” she answered, wondering why it sounded hollow to her ears. It must have to Spike too, because he laughed. A hard, long, unmirthful laugh. The eyes he leveled on her told her just what he thought of that.
“No you don’t. Not when I can reduce you to a quivering mass of nerves with just a kiss,” he challenged, smirking. Buffy latched onto the anger that flared up and went with it.
“There’s more to life than quivering,” she spat, pushing away from the door.
“Yeah. You keep telling yourself that, if helps you sleep at night,” he sneered, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. “You’ll never get as good as me.” Her eyes narrowed and glittered dangerously at that. She realized, in the back of her mind, that his words were just the hurt and anger talking. The main part of her brain didn’t care.
“You think so?” Buffy snapped, crossing her arms over her chest. “You. A broken down shell of a man?” His eyes darted to hers, rage burning deep within. “You’re so hung up on what you’ve lost, that you’ve lost sight of what you still have.”
“What the hell do you know about it? You, the princess of ‘safe’,” he sneered, derision dripping off every word. “You walked away from me. All that left was racing. Now, I don’t even have that!” he yelled, stalking towards her.
“Yeah, I do like things safe. It ripped my fucking heart out having to break up with you. I still haven’t healed from it.” She stopped, taking a deep breath, calming herself before she continued. This wasn’t the point. “You’re not even twenty five yet, Spike. It’s a little early in life to call it a day,” she finished softly. He looked up at her, his jaw clenched, his eyes a quagmire of grief, strain and defeat. She found that she really hated that look on him.
“What do I have, Buffy?” His arms raised in a shrug, his voice thick and rough with emotion. His tone begged her to tell him. “I’ve lost my career, my girl.” A pointed look followed this. Buffy’s eyes widened. *He still thinks of me as his girl.* She was stunned. She didn’t expect that. “Hell, even my best friend hasn’t deemed it necessary to come over.” He snorted, raising his eyes towards the ceiling. “There were only ever two places I felt at home. The race track, and with you.” And with his mother, but he didn’t feel like opening that can of worms right now. “So, you’ll excuse me if my outlook right now is a little bleak.” He sank down into his chair, rubbing his temples. He wasn’t drunk anymore, and a headache was starting to set in. Buffy felt her heart pounding against her chest, and tears filling her eyes. What was she supposed to say to him? He looked so lost, sitting there, head resting in his hand, his too thin body practically swimming in his clothes. How was she supposed to help him?
“Spike. . .” she started, only to stutter to a stop when he looked up at her. His eyes were full of everything he felt, and the emotion was staggering. Spike stared at her for a long minute, his own insides twisted. Finally, he sighed, and looked down at the floor.
“You better go on, before Dawn steals the car, or something,” he told her with a wave of his hand, dismissing her. She opened her mouth as if to say something else, but quickly shut it. Without another word, she turned and left the apartment, leaving him to sit and curse her, his life, and his luck.
~*~*~
Riley had gotten up and was waiting for the Summers girls when they got home. Dawn stormed through first, flying up the stairs as if the devil was on her heels. Buffy walked through behind her, watching the girl flee as she closed the door. She considered briefly, going after her. However, the headache throbbing just behind her eyes and the heartache making it difficult to breathe, she decided to leave it until morning, when she would be less likely to kill her sister.
“Hi,” Riley said, walking over to her. She offered him a weak smile, evading his embrace. She was so confused right now, she didn’t need to get false comfort.
“Hi,” she said, throwing her purse on the couch when she moved into the living room. She sank down next to it with a deep breath, closing her eyes and leaning her head back. Riley sat next to her, laying a gentle hand on her thigh. She looked over at him, smiling again.
“You okay?”
“Yeah. Great. My sister just tried to play grown up and threw herself at Spike. To which I can say he is now thoroughly scarred for life.” She let out a genuine chuckle, wishing she would have been there to see his face. Riley joined her, thinking what his own reaction might have been. His hand started to rub small circles on her thigh, and Buffy had to suppress a groan. She so wasn’t in the mood for this right now. What was it with the men in her life wanting to bone her? she asked the floor. She reached up and placed her hand over his, offering him a hopefully apologetic smile.
“What’s wrong?” he asked immediately.
“Nothing. I’m just tired, and I really need to think about what to do about Dawn,” she partially lied. She DID need to think about Dawnie, but ‘nothing’ was definitely a something. Riley’s face flooded with understanding, and he turned his fingers to lightly squeeze hers.
“Do you want me to go?” he asked, hopeful that she would say no. The look in her eyes told him otherwise.
“I think it’s best. I really have a lot of thinking to do.” Buffy smiled again, wondering if it looked as false as it felt. Riley had a feeling that statement was a little double edged. Instead of voicing his fear, however, he nodded, and got up to go get dressed. Buffy watched him disappear up the stairs, blinking back the tears prickling behind her eyes. He came back down a few minutes later, pulling his shirt over his head. She leaned up to accept his kiss, allowing him to linger when she would have pulled back.
“I’ll call you tomorrow.” She nodded. He looked down at her, feeling his heart squeeze at the look of sadness she was trying to hide in her eyes. Forcing a smile, he ran a hand over her cheek, kissed her again, then left. Once the door clicked closed, Buffy laid down on the couch, gripping a throw pillow, and finally allowing the tears to fall.
After awhile, she calmed, slipping into sleep, her dreams filled with blonde hair and blue eyes.
~*~*~
Mark looked down at the sleeping Willow, a feeling of disappointment running through him. He had to leave again today, and he didn’t want to wake her to tell her. She looked so peaceful, a strand of her red hair clinging to her cheek, a soft smile playing on her lips. The smooth, pale curve of her arm was tucked under her head, the other laying gracefully along the sheet next to her.
*Get it over with, Lynch,* he told himself, sliding back into bed next to her. She shifted towards him immediately, snuggling into his chest, and wrapping an arm around his waist.
“Hey, beautiful,” he whispered, brushing his lips across her hair.
“Mmhm,” she mumbled, cracking one eye open. “Hi.”
“Hi, yourself,” Mark chuckled. Her brilliant green eye stared up at him, taking in the smooth, sharp planes of his face, and the blackness of his eyes.
“What time is it?” she yawned mid question, giggling a little.
“About ten thirty.” Unconcerned with the lateness of the day, she just nodded and shut her eyes again. “Baby, wake up.” She opened her eyes again, a frown creasing her brow.
“What’s the matter?” She leaned back to see him more clearly.
“Johnny just called. The studio lost three of the last tracks. They need us back to re-record them,” he told her, regret lacing his words. She pouted a little, and brought a hand up to cup his cheek.
“Okay. You’ll be back in time for your birthday, won’t you?” she asked, suddenly remembering all the plans she had yet to make. Willow, who was usually so organized, had procrastinated. Now it was less than two weeks away, and all of their friends’ lives were in turmoil. She was hoping the party might lighten things up a bit.
“I will be. Even if I just drive up for the night. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere but with you,” Mark assured her, kissing her gently, then sliding out of bed. Willow stretched, then followed him, heading straight for the kitchen and coffee. The phone rang just as she was pouring her first cup, and she snatched it before Mark could, sticking her tongue out at him with a smile. He just shook his head, and went to pack his guitar.
“Hello?”
“Willow.”
“Hi, Buffy, I was going to call you later.” Willow grabbed her mug and walked out of the kitchen, Mark’s T-shirt that she was wearing tapping her thigh as she moved.
“Can you come over today? I kinda need to talk.” Willow frowned at the sound of her friend’s voice, gingerly sipping her coffee.
“Sure. Mark’s getting ready to head back to LA. I’ll be over after. Is there anything wrong?”
“You have no idea. In about an hour?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. I’ll see you then. Bye.”
“Bye.” Willow stared at the phone for a minute after she hung up, before placing it on the couch next to her.
“Everything alright?” Mark asked, carrying his guitar over and setting it next to his duffle bag. He then sat next to her.
“That was Buffy. She says she needs to talk to me about something.” Willow shrugged a shoulder, confused.
“A Spike something?”
“Maybe.” Willow’s face brightened at the thought.
“You want them to get back together, don’t you?” he asked, smoothing a hand over her hair.
“Don’t you?” He shrugged.
“Not really my place to say. Spike’s my friend, so is Buffy. But there’s a lot of unresolved shit there. Don’t know if they can work through it. They’re both pretty stubborn.” Willow chuckled in agreement.
“Are you going to go see him before you leave?”
“I might. Thought about stopping and seeing Xander too. He still at the shop?” She nodded, silently drinking her coffee for a minute.
“Don’t you think it’s weird, how we’re the only ones still together, now. I mean, back then, we were all so in love. And it’s still so obvious that they still love each other. Why did we work, and they’re having so many problems?”
“I don’t know, sweets. Fear, I guess. I’m crazy about you, and my life would be empty without you. Maybe they just haven’t figured that out yet,” he answered, smiling. She returned it, leaning in for his kiss.
“I love you,” she said when he pulled back and got up.
“I love you, too. I’ll call you when I get there,” he told her, gathering up his stuff. He took a minute to look at her sleep tousled figure, sitting on the couch, a mug clutched in her hand. No, he couldn’t see his life without her, and he sure as hell didn’t want to try.
“Bye,” he said with a smile, then turned and left the apartment. Willow sat, looking at the closed door for a long time, her mind turning over the problems in her friend’s lives. Xander and Cordy were separated, not legally, but him living at the shop was separation enough. She still wasn’t sure what had brought that on, and neither were willing to share. Buffy was with the wrong man, and Spike was hurting, emotionally and physically.
Running a hand through her hair, Willow wondered just what it would take to bring them back together again, where they belonged.