Pretending
Spike was drunk- more than slightly. It took a lot of shots in the karaoke bar downtown to get him on the plane. The bartender watched him with amazement at his ability to ‘hold his liquor’. When the screeching voices of the singers actually began to sound good he knew he was getting somewhere. He stood up, slapped a bill on the counter, nodded his thanks to the bartender, and then slipped out into the night. He was ready to claim his hopeful reward for saving the world yet again . . . or to discover it wasn’t enough and he was still being punished. Whichever it was, he was ready.
Spike clenched his jaw. Yeah, he was ready.
He glanced out the window. His keen vampire eyes could make out the trembling ocean below. He let the movements of the waves carry him away. He wasn’t ‘that’ ready to let his mind contemplate alternative outcomes.
Who knows how long he stared out the window. The announcement jarred him back to reality.
“Please remain seated until we have reached a complete stop and the seatbelt sign is switched off. Thank you for flying Delta Air to Rome. We hope you enjoy your stay.”
So do I, Spike thought. He got steadily to his feet and realized that the alcohol had worn off. He’d need to make a stop at another bar before heading to his destination.
As he stepped into the airport, he reached into the pocket of his black leather duster. His fingers found the piece of notebook paper. It was slightly warn from his consistent unfolding during the wild inner-debate back in LA. There was an address written but that wasn’t why he’d brought it out. He had served its purpose already because it had it memorized. It was the name above that caught is attention, bringing up emotions of both strength and fear, mixing to form a whirlwind within him. It became too much and he wildly stuffed the parchment back into hiding.
He quickened his pace. He needed a drink.
He came across a club/bar not far away, a placed called Anima. He could hear the beat of music even a block away. The sound brought up the memory of a gyrating blonde. He stormed into the club and demanded whatever was strongest. He was invited to lounge in the decorative seats and beds positioned for the guests. Spike simply glared, drained his drink, and then barked for another one.
Finally the alcohol took effect. He laughed with renewed confidence. On his way out he had to pry a slutty brunette off him. She jabbered away in Italian, slurry Italian. He was just about drunk enough to take her up on the offering, but the soul gave him enough reason to reject. She pouted as he walked away. He straightened his coat, trying to shake off the arousal she’d created.
It wasn’t hard to find the apartment again. A century of existence had led to a profound ability to retain information. He stood outside the building for a long while. He leaned against a streetlight and dug for a cigarette. One left. He’d been saving it for a special occasion. He puffed away, craning his neck up to the window he new belonged to his girls. It was lit brightly with light, but he couldn’t make out any movement within.
The cigarette dissipated too fast. He grimaced and smashed the butt under his boot. He took in a deep breath.
He made it up to the stairs to the door. He almost turned back. But he had to know. He couldn’t continue without knowing. He brought his fist up and knocked.
The door opened. Andrew poked his head out. Spike frowned.
“Andrew,” Spike said.
“Oh, Spike! Oh mio dio, mio dio! What a pleasant surprise!” Andrew moved to hug him but Spike stepped back.
“What are you still doing here?”
Andrew widened the door to allow Spike entrance. Spike hesitantly entered. He glanced around and realized no one else was around. He wandered if Buffy or Dawn were ever home at all.
“I’m in the process of moving on to better things.” Andrew pointed to a stack of cardboard boxes against the wall.
He had enough of the pleasantries. “When is Buffy due home?”
Andrew crossed his arms. “The slayer doesn’t need a curfew.”
Spike gritted his teeth.
“I thought you decided to move on last time you were here.” Andrew came over to stand near the vampire. He laid a hand on Spike’s arm. Spike glanced at the hand and shrugged it off. “I’m saying this as a friend. Buffy is happy. You shouldn’t interfere with that. Your happiness can be found somewhere else.”
“No. I am not going to believe that until I hear it straight from her,” Spike said. He went over to the couch and plopped down, his duster tails spreading out over the cushion. He leaned back and looked up at Andrew with defiance.
“Fine, vampyre. Do what thou wishes. But thout will be disappointed.”
Spike thrummed his fingers on the arm of the white sofa. “New couch?”
Andrew nodded. “A gift from Vincent.”
Spike gritted his teeth. “The Immortal,” he growled.
Andrew didn’t respond.
Suddenly Spike detected footsteps outside, two sets. They stopped right before the threshold. Then came laughter. Spike got to his feet. It took all his self-control not to stomp over and reveal the pair of lovers he suspected lingered outside.
The door burst open and the owner of the giggling became known. Dawn shut the door, her cheerfulness vanishing. She glared at him. He’d suspected shock, but all there was on her expression was bitterness.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded.
He had no idea how to respond. “Hullo, bi-Dawn.”
She stalked over and kicked him in the shin- hard. If he wasn’t a vampire he would have probably faltered backwards. His blue eyes widened.
“Bloody hell!” He recovered and gave the teen a smirk. “Still mad then? Should I sleep with one eye open?”
She put her hands on her hips. “Yes! But not because of what you did in the bathroom. I forgave you for that. But I’ll NEVER forgive you for not telling us you were back.”
They knew? Spike’s eyes shifted to fall on Andrew. The boy stepped backwards, looking very guilty. Figured. It was a feeble attempt to put his faith in Andrew.
Spike sighed. “That’s fair.”
“It is.” Dawn relaxed. “So, ‘why’ are you here?”
“Why do you think?”
Dawn shook her head. “You shouldn’t have come. You can’t decide to leave us alone and then suddenly change your mind.”
This was a very bad idea, Spike thought. He rolled his eyes upward towards the ceiling. Couldn’t the powers give him a break? What did it take to get in their good graces?
Catching them all unaware, the door opened once again. All eyes traveled over to the new occupant. Buffy stood there. Spike’s eyes roamed over her attire. His hands clenched at her tight-fitting clothing and expansive of visible skin. She’d been out dancing, smashing her body against the wanker Immortal.
Spike saw nothing in Buffy’s eyes, not even anger. “Leave, now,” she said calmly.
She began to move past them all and toward the bedroom.
Spike stared. “That’s it!? That’s all you are going to say?”
She didn’t even turn around. “That’s all there is to say.” With that, she went into the room and shut the door. Softly, not even slamming the door.
Spike just stood there, dumbfounded.
“I told you,” Andrew said. “She moved on. I told her about you when I saw her getting serious with Vincent. But she didn’t care. I knew then that she really didn’t care anymore. I’m sorry.”
Andrew really was Spike’s friend. Not that Spike would admit it to anyone. The boy’d kept his secret until he saw Buffy getting it on with another.
“Thanks, mate,” Spike said. He kept staring at the closed door.
“You should go,” Dawn said.
Spike slowly turned. He glanced at Dawn and then at Andrew. He nodded and did just that.
A Month Later
Spike was losing, and he didn’t care. He’d likely go to hell. All the good he’d done meant nothing. The Power’s lack of attention showed that. At least the fiery torment below would help him to feel again. Even pain would be a blessing.
The Polgara demon was of ordinary strength. The difference was that Spike’s defenses were lacking. His vision was less focused, his block not as solid, and his punches and kicks lacked power.
The Polgara aimed its skewers toward Spike’s heart. Spike shut his eyes and welcomed them.
Nothing.
“What the hell do you think you are doing!”
He knew that voice anywhere, especially when she was brassed off. He opened his eyes.
“Buffy?”
She let her sword fall to the ground next to the fallen demon. Her shoulders slumped, her eyes watered, and her mouth wobbled.
“Spike.”
She sounded broken. “I’m so sorry.”
He blinked. “Mite confused, pet. Would you mind explaining?”
She cried outright then. “I’ve been pretending to be happy for so long that I began to believe it myself.”
His lips parted.
“The truth is I’ve been so very unhappy since the hellmouth collapsed. But everyone thought I ‘should’ be happy. So I made it look like I was. But how can I be happy without you?” She paused. “I need you, Spike.”
He saw the sincerity in her eyes. He opened his arms. “Well come here then.”
She ran to him, nestling where she belonged. The tears soaked his black t-shirt, but they were of a different kind- they were tears of joy. Spike joined her.
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Just a bit of inspiration I had
