Chapter Twenty
“Hi, Buffy,” Willow said as the door swung open to reveal the tired, worn face of her friend. Buffy offered her a tight smile, and let her in.
“Hi, Will.” She closed the door and walked back towards the kitchen, Willow following.
“What’s the matter?” The redhead asked, sliding onto one of the stools and accepting the mug that Buffy handed her.
“What isn’t the matter?” was the answer she got.
“Honey, what happened? It must be something big. You’re not at work.” Buffy let out a harsh laugh, and sat across from her friend, idly stirring the spoon in her coffee.
“Needed a day off.” She stared down at the dark brew in her cup, hoping the answers she sought would surface.
“Buffy,” Willow prompted again, titling her head to the side. The lost look on the blonde’s face was enough to bring tears to her eyes.
“Sorry. Just, so much has happened in the last twenty four hours.”
“Spike?” The redhead asked hopefully. Buffy eyes shot to hers, the slightly panicked look letting Willow know she had hit home. The redhead bit back her smile and jumped into best friend mode. She’d been dying to have this conversation for months. “What happened?” This time it was asked with a firmness that let Buffy know that she would accept no more hedging. With a deep sigh, Buffy told her, quickly and quietly. Willow’s face was a montage of emotion as she listened. From shock and horror at Dawn’s actions, to chuckling at the thought of Spike’s face when presented with a overly hormonal teenager, to a dreamy smile at the description of the kiss, and finally, anger at the both of them for the fight. Buffy looked up when she was done, and noticed the furrowed brow of her friend.
“What?”
“Ugh, you two have got to be. . .ugh!” Willow took a deep breath to calm down, and decided to start from the beginning. “What happened with Dawn?” A golden brow arched up at the abrupt change, but she let it be for now.
“Nothing, yet.” Buffy got up to refresh her coffee and Willow’s before continuing. “I’m going to talk to her after school. And she’s NOT going to like what I have to say. I figured it would be better to wait, make her go to school today, and have it out with her later,” she explained, and Willow nodded in agreement. “I sent Riley home last night. After we got back from Spike’s. I just couldn’t. . .” Buffy struggled for words.
“You couldn’t play pretend after the kiss Spike laid on you?” Willow offered, her tone sharp. The blonde looked up, anger firmly etched on her face.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean? I’m not playing pretend with Riley.” Willow snorted at that, pissing Buffy off even more. “I’m not,” she insisted.
“When’s the wedding?” The other woman asked innocently, crossing her arms over her chest and raising a russet eyebrow.
“When’s yours?” Buffy shot back, looking pointedly at the diamond winking on her friend’s slender finger.
“The day after I graduate college,” Willow told her, giving her a ‘so there’ expression. “And if Mark told me he wanted to get married tomorrow, I’d say let’s go,” she finished, leaning forward to pin her friend with her green eyes. “Now, when’s yours?”
“I don’t know,” Buffy admitted miserably, averting her eyes.
“Buffy, say that Spike hadn’t chosen racing as his profession and things continued on as they were. Where do you think you’d be, right now?” Buffy sighed, and twirled the spoon in her coffee once more. A slim shoulder raised in a half shrug.
“Probably married with 2.5 kids and a house with a white picket fence.” Her eyes raised to Willow’s again, the look of lost dreams swimming in her eyes.
“No doubts?” The blonde slowly shook her head, not wanting to follow where Willow was heading.
“Doesn’t matter, though. He did choose racing. And I let him go. We’re not the same people anymore.” Willow managed to keep her huff of frustration from exploding out of her mouth. Barely.
“No kidding? Do you think that Mark and I are the same as we were five years ago?”
“No. But, that’s different. You two never had any doubts.”
“You think?” Buffy’s eyes widened at that little bit of information. Willow rolled her eyes and continued. “Have you even looked at Mark? He’s gorgeous, and with the hit record, he’s rich. He has tons of plastic Barbies hovering around him on the road, all the time. Plenty of them are prettier, and more exciting than me.” Buffy went to object, but the redhead just held up her hand. “And there are days that I am petrified that he’s just not going to come home. So, don’t think that you’re the only one with fear. I live with it, everyday.”
“But Mark’s profession can’t kill him,” the blonde insisted.
“Oh, really. Haven’t enough performers died in plane wrecks to make that untrue? Not to mention, in case you forgot, he was in New York on September 11. Did you forget what a wreck I was?” Buffy looked guiltily down at her coffee, remembering indeed the mess that Willow was. With the communications down, and the pictures constantly flaring across the screen, Willow had nearly lost her mind, until he had managed to get through and told her that the meeting he’d had in the Towers had been canceled. “Now, it might not be the same as Spike, who courts death every time he straps into a car, but it’s enough to keep me awake at night. And don’t ever think that you let Spike go. Because you didn’t.” Their eyes clashed again, and they were both ready to go at each other. Willow was quicker.
“You have watched every race, every Sunday, since the first one he ran. You have three scrapbooks upstairs filled with every article and print ad he’s ever done. You have hours of videotape of his interviews and television appearances. You even have a week’s worth of Hollywood Squares taped, from when it was NASCAR week. So, don’t pretend to me that you were all noble and let him go. He’s been here. With you. Everyday since he left. And you’re only fooling yourself if you think otherwise. How does Riley feel, knowing there’s a third person in his bed at night?” Buffy’s eyes shot sparks at the words that Willow was throwing at her. “You’ve been acting like a NASCAR wife. The only difference being that you two aren’t actually together.”
“How dare you?” the blond hissed, glaring daggers at her best friend.
“How dare I?” Willow repeated. “Well, I dare because I love you, and Spike. And I hate to see the two of you wasting so much time when you could be together. Dammit Buffy. You still love him. Admit it, let Riley go, and go get your man.” Buffy was incredulous. Willow had never spoken to her this way. She usually listened, and was supportive to whatever Buffy decided. Apparently, the redhead felt strongly about this, and had been saving it up for quite awhile.
“I thought you liked Riley?” she said, her voice sounding tiny. The other woman sighed, and stepped down off her soap box. She reached across the table and gripped her friend’s hand, smiling when her squeeze was returned.
“Honey, it has nothing to do with whether or not I like Riley. He’s a good guy. But he deserves someone who’s going to love HIM, and only him.” Buffy knew she was right, but fear still clutched painfully at her heart.
“What if he decides to race again?” she asked quietly. Tears sprang to the hazel eyes studying her, and Willow felt her heart break a little at the apprehension lacing Buffy’s words.
“There is a chance of that. Slim, but it’s there. You just have to decide what you want to do. Do you want to be the one sitting in her living room, watching the race while still pretending that you let him go, or do you want to be the one standing by his side, either in victory lane or in the hospital, but never the less with him? How bad is he?” Buffy blinked at the sudden change of topic.
“Bad,” was all she said, the sight of him when he got off the plane popping into her head. Willow silently studied the blonde for a minute.
“Do you think he would be as bad as he is, if he’d woken up to find you by his side in the hospital?” Buffy’s eyes squeezed tightly shut at that. How many times had she asked herself that question over the last several months? She silently shook her head no, lowering her head until her forehead was resting on their joined hands, sobs wracking her shoulders. Willow stood and rounded the table wrapping her arm around the girl, whispering softly as she cried.
After a few minutes, Buffy calmed, and raised her head to smile shakily at the redhead.
“I guess I have some thinking to do,” she said, rubbing her free hand over her temple.
“You don’t have to decide right now. Isn’t Riley going to that conference on Friday?” Buffy nodded. “Well, take those few days to think, then decide. I don’t mean to sound like I’m coming down on you. But, I just want you to be happy.”
“And you don’t think that Riley can make me happy?”
“No,” Willow answered honestly. “I think everyone else lost that ability the day Spike moved to town.” She gave Buffy a smile, and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Remember Buffy, don’t settle.” She repeated the words that she told Buffy all those years ago, when Buffy was stubbornly clinging to Angel. The blonde nodded and hugged her friend, sighing at the comfort she felt. They pulled apart when the phone rang.
“Hello.” Buffy tuned and leaned against the wall, running a hand through her hair. “Hello, Mr. Snyder.” Willow and Buffy both stuck out their tongues in disgust, then cracked grins. It was hard to believe that the little Nazi was still the principal at Sunnydale High. Buffy listened to the obnoxious voice on the line, her grin slowly fading as she listened to him. “I’ll be right there.” She slammed the phone down with enough force to rattle the pictures on the wall, stopping to count to ten before turning back to Willow.
“Uh oh. What did Dawn do now?” The look of absolute fury that crossed Buffy’s face had the redhead backing up a step.
“I’ll tell you later. Right now, I have to go kill her.” With that, Buffy stalked out of the kitchen, leaving her best friend staring after her, a sense of dread over Dawn’s safety settling over her.
~*~*~
“Who the bloody hell is it?” Spike yelled, testily. He had cleaned up the mess, and had gone on to shower, actually making himself some eggs once he was cleaned up. Now, he was dressed in a pair of blue jeans, and a grey t-shirt, his semi blonde hair curling damply around his ears. Maybe, his father had a point, he had decided begrudgingly. That didn’t mean that he was ready to admit it to anybody, yet.
“Spike? It’s Cordy,” came the voice of the wife of his best friend.
“An’ Jazz,” followed by the voice of his goddaughter. A wide, genuine smile split his face as he swung open the door, the little girl in Cordy’s arms launching at him the second he came into view.
“Unca Pike!” she squealed, her laughter filling the apartment as he spun her around. Cordy watched the display with a sad smile. Her critical eye picked out the gauntness of his face, and the skinniness of his body as he twirled her daughter.
“Hello, Lil bit. And how’s my favorite girl?” he asked, setting her on her sneakered feet, and kneeling down to be at eye level.
“I’m fine,” she said, her tone almost prim. He chuckled as he took in the curly haired girl, dressed head to toe in pink, her favorite color. A pink bow attempted to tame the shoulder length, dark curls on her head, a pink t-shirt with ‘Hello Kitty’ on the front swallowed her tiny torso, and a pair of pink jeans bagged around the top of her pink sneakers. She looked like she had been hosed down with Pepto Bismal.
Wide, bright brown eyes studied him from underneath the fringe of her bangs. Her tanned skin had a dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Her little, bow shaped mouth was grinning at him.
“Well, that’s good to know,” he returned, just as formally, sending her into another peal of giggles when he poked a finger into her belly button. “Cordelia, I didn’t know you gave birth to the Pillsbury Dough Girl!” he exclaimed. Cordy just smiled, and crossed her arms over her chest.
“I’n not the Pilsbury Do girl, Unca Pike. I’n Jasmine,” she said, giggling at her silly uncle.
“How right you are, sweet Jasmine. I stand corrected. Will you forgive me?” he jested. His accent had slipped into the smoother, upper crust tones of his father and he bowed low over her hand and brushed his lips across the back of it. She smelled of bubble gum bubble bath and fabric softener.
“Can Mommy say hello, now?” Cordy asked her daughter. Jazz nodded, sending her curls into a tizzy. Spike chuckled again and stood, moving easily into Cordelia’s embrace. “You look like shit,” she said, pulling back to study him. He shifted uneasily under her scrutiny, never liking the soul searching her eyes seemed to do.
“Thanks ever so. You certainly know how to make a man feel. . .manly,” he said, pulling out of her arms.
“You’re welcome. When’s the last time you ate anything?” He scowled at her, making Jazz giggle again.
“‘Bout five minutes ago.”
“What?” she demanded, arching a brow when he all but growled.
“Eggs.”
“That’s all?” she tsked in disgust and walked into the kitchen, Spike right behind her.
“Hey now, what are you doing?” He tried to peer over her shoulder as she poked her head in the refrigerator, only to find her hand waved under his nose to get him to back off.
“I’m going to feed you. You used to be hot, now you’re lukewarm at best.” He snorted, but stepped back.
“How are you?” he asked quietly, knowing her well enough to know just why she was playing mother hen with him. Cordy stood, a platter of sliced ham in her hand, and stared down at it for a long minute.
“Jazz, why don’t you go watch cartoons in grandpa Giles’ room?”
“Kay, Mommy.” The little girl scrambled out of the kitchen and down the hall, not needing to be told where to go. They often spent time over here, since both of her parents were on the outs with their own parents. The girl needed a grandparent, so Giles, and Joyce until she died, had filled the role. She waited until the child was gone before turning back to her task of getting Spike some food, and told him about the fight.
“He just took off? And you haven’t heard from him?” Spike sat down at the tiny kitchen table, stunned by the events that had occurred, while she pulled out a pan to cook the ham in, and put it on the flame.
“I saw him, a couple of nights ago. He came to get some clothes.” She cooked while she worked, methodically turning the meat in the pan. “He’s so freaked out that he even THOUGHT of raising a hand to me.” She shook her head, sighing heavily.
“What about you? Aren’t you ‘freaked’?” He took a sip of the coffee she set in front of him, savoring the fresh brewed taste.
“Not really.” She glanced over at Spike, her tone a cross between hesitant and unsure. “I always knew that it might happen, but I never believed he would follow through. And he didn’t. Thereby proving me right, and him wrong. But do you think he sees it that way? Nooo, not Xander Harris, progeny of an abuser. To him, the fact that he had raised his hand at all was enough to prove to him how much like Tony he is.” She wiped her hands on her jean clad legs, then started to pull the ham from the pan. She couldn’t believe how nervous she was in front of Spike. He was their closest friend, knowing more about what went on in Xander’s head than even her.
“What do you want me to do?” Spike asked her bluntly, knowing in his heart that she wanted him to talk to Xander. The only problem was, he was far from healed himself. What was he supposed to do for his friend? Cordy walked over to the table and sat the plate of steaming ham and sliced melon in front of him, before sitting in the other chair with her own cup of coffee.
“Talk to him. You’ve always had a way of making him see what an ass he’s being. Work your mojo again, and send him home.” Spike concentrated on cutting the meat, contemplating his answer before looking up at her. She looked so tired, so desperate. He sighed, looking back down at his plate, and stabbing a couple of bites.
“Luv, I don’t know what I can do. I’m not in too good a shape myself,” he told her honestly, hating the crestfallen look that passed over her face. He looked away, keeping her in his peripheral, so he didn’t have to see her, feeling a coward.
“Spike, please,” she pleaded, her voice so quiet, he almost didn’t hear her. He looked up again, and found himself trapped in her gaze. “I don’t know how to reach him. I know that a lot of our problems over the last year are as much my fault, if not more so. My parents, and the house. Money. I keep trying to tell him that I don’t care about the money. I didn’t have to be with him. My parents offered me a lot of money, after we first got married, to leave him. I didn’t. I love him, so much. And it hurts, Spike. It hurts. You have no idea how much.” They continued to stare at each other, as tears slid silently down her cheeks, her eyes imploring him to help her.
“Yeah,” he whispered, his voice thick, as he spoke. The food still sat on his fork, any appetite he’d had gone, replaced with the desire for a drink. “Yeah, I do.” He shoved the fork in his mouth, forcing the food down his throat, and into his stomach. Cordy lowered her eyes, feeling guilty for stirring up his pain, when he had so obviously just started to pull himself together.
“I-I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have. . . We’ll just go now.” She started to rise, but was stilled by his fingers in her wrist.
“Cordy. Sit. It’s alright.” His blue eyes burned into hers, urging her to sit back down. She slid into the chair, hoping she was reading his eyes right.
“I’ll talk to him.” Relief flooded her features, and a radiant smile spread over her mouth.
“Thank you. Thank you, so much.” Her fingers squeezed his, and he could feel her shaking.
“I can’t promise anything,” he warned, taking another bite. His throat felt less raw, and the food looked more appetizing, now that she was beaming at him. She released his hand and sat back with her mug, smile never wavering.
“I know. But maybe you can take a tire iron to his head and knock some sense into him,” she offered, her eyes sparkling. She felt so much better now. Spike had a way of telling everyone else what was wrong and how to fix it. Even if he couldn’t fix himself. She tilted her head to the side and studied him again, making him squirm.
“Wha?” He wondered if he had something stuck to his face.
“Now, what can we do to knock some sense into you?” Cordy asked, leaning forward to rest her elbows on the table and sip her coffee. He shrugged, shoving more food in his mouth. She was pleased to see that he was almost through the three, huge pieces she had made. He really did look sick.
“Dunno. Figure out a way to get my peepers working proper again, without the risk of going blind, and get me back into a race car,” he answered, finishing off the food. She snorted in a rather indelicate manner, and rolled her eyes.
“Is that all you want out of life, Spike?” He scowled, and sipped his coffee. “Sounds kind of lonely.”
“Can’t have what I want. She’s still running scared.” He sounded so bitter, it nearly broke her already dented heart.
“So?” Cordy shrugged a slim shoulder. “You’ll just have to run faster to catch her.” Spike’s eyes shot to hers then, and found himself succumbing to the blinding smile she was giving him. He rolled his eyes, his answering grin spreading.
“Really? Well, Mrs. Harris, do you have any ideas on just how to do that?” He quirked his scarred eyebrow in challenge.
“Oh, do I,” she started, settling herself in to tell him just what she thought would capture one Buffy Summers.