5.
Buffy could hardly complain when Giles insisted she go home and sleep. Sleeping on the furniture at the Magic Box was a sure sign that she’d used up her not quite inexhaustible slayer strength. Reading that cryptic monster story did little to help her circumstances. Deciphering Watcher-speak always made Buffy’s head hurt.
She should be calling Dawn with an update. When Dawn heard about what had happened, she just wanted to come home. An East Coast scholarship sounded really terrific until Dawn realized just how far away she would be. That was kinda the whole point of going away in the first place, to separate herself from Sunnydale and all things preternatural. Dawn could be herself and everyone would see her instead of the slayer’s sister. This crisis had shaken her. She’d started chewing her finger nails again and phoned daily for updates on the situation.
Willow sounded upbeat on the phone. Those reassurances helped a great deal. Buffy tried her hardest to maintain a positive attitude for Dawn, but old insecurities crept into her conversation. When Buffy’s uncertain silence started to freak Dawn out she’d launch into another ‘I’m coming home’ speech.
The phone rang just as Buffy entered her house. She picked it up quickly. It could be Dawn.
“Hello?”
“Greetings Buffster! I’ve got a brewsky in one hand and the registered certification of my business in the other. You’re talking to a card carrying entrepreneur!” Not Dawn. Florida. Xander.
“Xander…”
“I had Ginny dissect the small print and it’s a go. I’ve hired a crew and we’re ready to roll! I’m the boss man now. People will be calling me sir…” He paused in order for Buffy to respond. Her lips trembled. Prolonged silence ensued. “Feel free to insert congratulatory messages at the beep…BEEP! Buffy? Are you there?”
“Yeah, that sounds great–“
“I am the owner of my own contracting business! How do you like them apples? Put Spike on, I’ve got plenty of gloat to go around.”
Buffy heard happy family sounds in the background. Xander left Sunnydale far behind for Florida and construction work. He found peace and purpose and the love of a woman named Ginny. He was a new father too. A boy. Brendan Alexander. He had dark curls, burped at will and was seriously photogenic. Just like his dad.
“Xander…”
“Buff? Where’s he at? Buffy?” No one had told Xander. How could no one have told Xander? Buffy’s chin began to tremble.
“Hello? What’s up?”
“Xander, I’ve got some news.” She let the tears fall but thankfully held off from blubbering into the phone. Xander was concerned for her first and foremost and asked if there was anything he could do to help. That’s when her pain became audible.
Xander had a way about him. He was always the first to grab an axe, even if it was only metaphorical, and start swinging. But it wasn’t his job anymore. Hell, it was never Xander’s job. Xander had houses to renovate and diapers to buy. Xander found the life he wanted and nothing was going to jeopardize that, not if Buffy had anything to say about it.
She couldn’t tell him much, but just talking helped. Xander was never a cheerleader for Spike, but the First changed everyone and everything. He struggled with bitterness over Anya’s death, but chose to embrace a new path and a new direction. Breaking free of Sunnydale and the past was exactly what Xander needed. Florida had been good to him. Ginny had a good business head on her shoulders and she loved Xander. That was enough for Buffy.
They spoke in quiet consoling tones for a long time.
“Call me anytime, Buff. You know I’m here. Giles and Willow, they’ll figure it out. They always do.” Optimism sizzled across the long distance lines. Buffy remembered optimism. It came dressed in a Hawaiian shirt and floppy trousers, carrying a hammer. Again Xander asked if there was anything he could do to help. Xander made her feel like this was just a bump on the road.
“Give that baby a kiss for me?” They said their good-byes and Buffy hung up the phone. She lay down on the sofa and threw the tartan throw over her body. Xander’s encouraging words played again in her mind. She clung to that feeling as drowsiness took her over the edge into sleep.
*
“You’ve got me worried, love, you’re not sleeping.” Spike whispered softly into her temple and followed it by a kiss.
“I’ve been busy. We’re working on this thing. It’s important–“
“It’s always important. What do you say we take the weekend? We could go to the mountains. Into the city?”
“Can I get a rain check on that?” Buffy curled closer into his chest. She didn’t want to talk at all.
“What’s this research anyway?”
“You remember, I told you already.”
“I can help, you know.”
“You are helping.”
“What d’you say we order in some Mandarin? You liked that pork dish with the almonds.”
“Mmm, that sounds good. Give me ten minutes and I’ll call.”
“Give us the remote, love, my show’s coming on.”
Buffy opened her eyes and found herself reaching blindly for the remote. Alone in the quiet room she could still feel the weight of Spike’s arm draped over her body.
*
When at last she returned to the Magic Box, Buffy was ready to face him again. She swore to herself there would be no tears. Tears meant weakness and whatever possessed Spike would fuel itself on her weakness.
She entered the steel room to find Spike lounging on the floor, propped up on one elbow. It was an easy familiar pose. He looked relaxed and calm.
“Got a cigarette?” He asked casually.
“I don’t smoke.” He swayed his head back and forth, assessing her. “And no stake, I see. Well, darling, if you’re not gonna stake me, bring me some smokes or some whiskey. Preferably both.”
Buffy forced the grin from forming on her face. That was him. Her Spike. Impatient and demanding. Pretty soon he’d be tackling her and–
No.
That was not going to happen. She looked into his eyes and saw only her reflection. He twisted the corner of his lips, evaluating her. There was no recognition at all, not even the barest hint. Buffy took a deep breath and idly grazed a hand over her abdomen.
Empty. She felt so empty.
“Time of the month, is it?” His sneer was cold and condescending.
“SHUT UP!” Buffy shrieked, threw a plastic container of pig’s blood at him and stormed out. Okay, maybe she hadn’t steeled herself enough to face him again.
Spike raised his hand and caught the jar. He blinked slowly and shook his head at the retreating stranger.
“Women.”
Spike pulled off the lid and drank deeply. He picked up a faint sound as he swallowed his daily ration. It seeped gently through the crack at the bottom of the steel door. It was definitely a sniffle.
Later she returned with a new resolve and stone face. She sat on the chair and looked at him.
“You’d better tell me what’s going on here, pet, before things get nasty.” He crinkled his nose at her and spoke with deliberate softness. She knew all his voices and all his tricks.
“You’re my guest and that’s about it.”
“And just who the fuck are you, love?” That hurt. To hear him say that word. Love. She was his love and he was hers. But he said it in such a blank way it held no meaning. It was just another overused vocabulary word, like the and it.
Like like.
“My name is Buffy Summers,” she spoke quietly and searched his face for some reaction. Spike’s forehead creased as he strained in thought. He knew that name. Why did he know that name? The Annoying One…had he mentioned it? Or one of his dance troupe? He’d definitely heard of a Buffy Summers.
Yeah. Candy-coated, bubble gum name. It finally hit him.
“The bloody slayer?” Spike’s eyes widened. That’s what he’d sensed from her. Where were his manners? Spike stood up immediately. She wasn’t long for the world, but he’d be polite before things got grisly. It was a habit he’d never quite shaken from his human years. She was his for the killing but at least he could show her common courtesy. Maybe this one was a little slow. Didn’t she know the rules of the game? Cute as a blood soaked button though.
“Don’t you have someone teaching you etiquette, sweetheart? The way this is done?” He shook his chains for effect. “Come on, let’s lose the chains and go at this proper like. What do you say?” He was spoiling for a fight, eager to kill. Spike tilted his head and drew is gaze over her petite form. She didn’t look like much, but he could sense the slayer in her now, loud and clear. It had been forever, but she knew that stance, that look of murderous delight and it was all pointed at her.
Buffy remembered that was a bonus of his arrival in Sunnydale all those years ago. Curing Drusilla was his first priority, but he offered to kill the slayer for a bonus. A lark. God, that was so long ago. Did he have any memory of her? Of Sunnydale?
“Do you know me?” It broke her heart to ask that question.
“Heard about you, yeah…high school cheerleader slayer. Something like that. Say love, you got a uniform?” A slow grin spread across his mouth. “I always fancied a bird with enthusiasm…bet you can even do the splits.” He rolled his lips in a relaxed exclamation. “I can wait, pet. You go grab your kit and pom poms and get changed and we’ll get right to it…”
Buffy made a irritated snarl in the back of her throat. “Do I LOOK like I’m still in high school?” It annoyed her that he thought she looked that naïve.
Spike regarded her closely. He knew the American education system was shite, but even she looked a little long in the tooth for high school. This one was old. An old slayer. The prospect tickled him.
Old for a slayer meant she was good and had lasted. This one would be quite the notch on his belt. The Hellmouth must have really honed her muscles but you could hardly tell by the loose fitting tracksuit she wore. He suddenly wanted to see her muscles.
If only they could forego this cramped Thunderdome for something more fitting. Spike thought of a better location: Main Street at midnight. In a flash he had her dressed in a tight leather number, back lit and glistening in a light rain with something thrashy by the Ramones– no, the Clash playing in the background. Yeah. That would be cinematic and memorable for him. Pure poetry.
Spike shrugged his shoulders, not wanting to betray his rebounding enthusiasm for her operatic demise. He attempted to sound uninterested and aloof.
“Bad press package is all, Slayer. Hey, are we talking college cheerleader?” He bit the tip of his tongue. That sent a lightning bolt through Buffy’s body. “Much nastier moves. Come on, love, give us a peek.” His gaze dropped to her hips and ass.
He was flirting with her. He wanted to kill her and still he was flirting. He used to do that in the bad old days. It used to piss her off, but now she couldn’t stop her body’s unconscious reaction to his teasing, molten voice and those eyebrows. There was only one alternative.
Retreat.
Buffy grit her teeth and left the room as quickly as she could. The ghost of her arousal lingered after her. It was unexpected, but not unappreciated. Spike stood in puzzlement, his nostrils flaring. He inhaled deeply.
He’d have a bit of fun with this one before draining her.