Pounding.
Buffy stirred, moaning softly as the pain in her head intensified. Her head felt like a million elephants were trampling through it, her mouth was dry, her tongue thick. Everything ached.
“God,” she mumbled, trying to sit up. The room spun and her stomach churned violently. Buffy closed her eyes, taking deep breaths.
“Oh god,” she muttered, ever so slowly shifting her feet over the edge of the bed. Buffy frowned. Wait, a bed?
Finally, she cracked her eyes open, wincing at as the sun pierced her eyes. Her eyes adjusted, and she realized she’d been sleeping on a couch, not a bed.
“Hey, Buffy.” Fred’s voice was thankfully soft.
“Hi,” Buffy croaked, shutting her eyes again. “What time is it?”
“Umm…just past noon,” Fred answered, walking over to the blonde. She sat down on the other end of the couch. “How are you feeling?”
“Mmm…like someone ran me over with a Mack truck,” Buffy replied with a groan.
Fred made a sympathetic noise. “That would be all the alcohol you consumed. Spike said you were pretty trashed.”
“Spike?” Buffy mumbled. Her memories were foggy, but she was pretty certain Spike hadn’t been there…right?
“Yeah,” Fred said hesitantly. “You do remember playing cards with him, don’t you?”
Cards. The word stirred Buffy’s mind. Oh yeah, it was coming back to her. They’d played cards and loser took a shot. Apparently, she wasn’t all that good at poker. Plus she’d already consumed a couple Cosmos.
“Cards. Yeah, I remember that.” Buffy pressed her palm against her forehead as she propped herself up on her elbows. “And then we…” She trailed off as the rest of the evening came back to her in horrifying detail.
“Oh my god,” she breathed and let out a groan. “Oh god.”
Fred looked bewildered. “Do you feel sick?”
Buffy ignored the question, her stomach sloshing dangerously. “Oh no.”
Worried, Fred leaned forward, pressing the back of her hand against Buffy’s head. “Buffy, you look kinda flushed.”
“Oh god. I…we…” She couldn’t say it. Bad, bad, bad, bad, bad, her mind repeated. She could distinctly remember Spike on top of her. And there was kissing. Lots of kissing. With tongue.
“Buffy, you’re awake!” Willow’s voice was far too chipper and Buffy moaned, covering her ears.
“Oh right, sorry,” Willow whispered. “Do you want some Advil?”
Buffy reclined, closing her eyes. She nodded her head slowly. “Please, and some water.”
As Willow walked out, Anya entered, wearing an oversized T-shirt, her hair rumpled from sleep.
“Spike said you got totally trashed,” she announced loudly. “How do you feel?”
Buffy just groaned, burying her head under the blanket.
“Anya,” Fred hissed. “She has a hangover!”
“Oh,” Anya said understandingly. “Well lucky for you, on my thirteenth birthday, my mother imparted her only advice to me and that was the best hangover cure.”
Fred glanced up at Anya skeptically. “Your mother gave you drinking advice?”
Ignoring the question, Anya turned to face Fred. “Okay, I need you to mix in a blender: a banana, a can of V-8, 6 strawberries, 2 tablespoons of honey, 1 cup of orange juice, 2 cups of milk and ¼ teaspoon of salt.”
“Um,” Fred began, frowning. “Does Willow have all that?”
Anya shrugged. “There should be some left over from the last party.”
Fred cast one more look at Buffy, and then headed into the kitchen. As soon as she was out of sight, Anya kneeled down in front of Buffy, shaking her arm. “Okay, what the hell happened last night?”
Wincing, Buffy opened her eyes a sliver. “Drinking. Lots and lots of drinking.”
Anya rolled her eyes. “I know that. But Spike was clearly sexually frustrated. I mean, from the clenched fists, the tight jaw and the noticeable bulge-“
“Anya!” Buffy half-shouted despite her headache. “Please don’t say another word about Spike’s…thing.”
For once, Anya went silent. She regarded Buffy for a moment and then stood up. “Okay, next on the hangover cure: go take a shower.”
Buffy stupidly laid there, her eyes squinted. “I have to move?”
Anya crossed her arms. “Go!” Her voice was considerably louder the second time.
Buffy let out another groan and rolled of the couch. “I’m going, I’m going,” she muttered, dragging herself up to Willow’s bathroom. “Slave driver,” she added under her breath.
Buffy turned the water on hot and stumbled in. As the water ran over her, the pounding in her head started to lessen. Thank god, she thought, borrowing Willow’s shampoo, rubbing her hair gently.
After fifteen minutes under the hot spray, Buffy stepped out and dried off. She pulled her hair back in a sloppy ponytail, wrapped the towel around her firmly and peeked around the door.
Someone had thoughtfully left a pair of sweats, a sweatshirt and a T-shirt that said ‘Save the Whales!’ in big letters. Buffy quickly changed into them and picked up her crumpled dress and dirty underwear.
She staggered back down the stairs where Anya stood with a strange looking smoothing thing in her hand. “Drink this.”
Buffy cautiously took the cup from her hand and sipped it. Her face scrunched up. “Blech.”
“You have to drink it all,” Anya told her.
Buffy’s brow wrinkled, but she complied, gulping the smoothie-thing down as fast as she could.
“Now,” Anya commanded, taking the empty glass, “go into the car.”
“Car?” Buffy whined.
“Yes,” Anya affirmed. “We’re gonna go for a big greasy breakfast.”
The thought of food made Buffy’s stomach churn. “I don’t think that’s a very good idea,” she said slowly as pervious hangovers came back to her. “Hungover Buffy plus food equals very bad.”
“You need to eat some greasy food, it’ll soak up all the disgusting alcohol in you,” Anya said cheerfully, pulling Buffy with her.
Her stomach sloshed again. “Oh joy.”
************
After much cajoling and persuading, Anya managed to get Buffy to order sausage and eggs with toast. So far, Buffy had nibbled on the toast.
Fred was happily enjoying her Big Stack and munching on sausages while Willow ate her eggs.
Anya had opted for a fruit salad and was slurping down chocolate milk. “Okay, explain again why Spike was all grouchy.”
Buffy rolled her eyes, sipping her water. “I don’t remember.” Liar, Buffy told herself.
Fred paused, her fork suspended in air. “Anya’s right. Spike did look a little…tense.”
Closing her eyes, Buffy count to five before responding. “I’m not sure.” Okay, that was true, Buffy thought. She was pretty much down for the count after the whole kissing thing.
Another involuntary groan escaped. Cordelia and Harmony were right, she was a slut. A major slut. She put the whore in hormone. She was the pushy queen of slut town.
Any appetite she’d had disappeared, and Buffy set down her toast mid-bite.
But who was he to kiss her while she was drunk? Buffy mentally argued. That was practically taking advantage! Although, Buffy was pretty sure she’d said something along the lines of ‘take me.’
“Buffy?”
The blonde glanced up, meeting Willow’s anxious hazel eyes. “Huh?”
“Are you okay? You look kinda sick again,” Willow commented carefully.
Managing a wan smile, Buffy nodded. “Fine. It’s just…I should probably be heading home soon.” She then remembered her cell phone. “Shit.”
She quickly pulled the phone out and turned it on. The screen declared she had three new messages.
With a little help from Fred, Buffy dialed her voicemail and pressed the phone against her ear, listening to the messages.
All three were from her mother.
Buffy dialed her home phone, praying her mom was there. Thankfully, she picked up on the second ring.
“Um, mom? It’s me, Buffy,” she said awkwardly.
“Oh Buffy! I’m so glad you called. Are you still at Willow’s?” Joyce asked, her voice clearly expressing her concern.
“Uh, no, we’re just getting some lunch, and then I’ll be home,” Buffy responded. She looked up at Willow who nodded.
“Well, good. Did you have a nice time?” Joyce questioned sounding a little more relaxed.
“Yeah, it was fun. My first Sunnydale High dance,” Buffy answered lightly. “I’ll see you soon, bye.”
As soon as her mother said good-bye, Buffy hung up and snapped the phone shut, tucking it back into her purse.
“What’d your mom say?” Anya asked, motioning to the purse.
“I gotta get home soon,” Buffy replied making a slight face.
“Yep, me too,” Fred added. “I’m working tonight.”
“Oh!” Anya nearly shouted, making Buffy wince. “I almost forgot! Buffy, can you start Monday after school?”
“Start?” Willow echoed with a frown.
“You mean working?” Buffy wondered.
“Yeah, Jeff’s super excited to have another cashier. He says I scare away the costumers,” Anya muttered with a glower. “Please, I have finesse.”
Buffy nodded. “Sure, can you give me a ride though?”
Anya shook her head, looking apologetic. “No, it’s Xander’s choice.”
Buffy gave her friend a wary glance. “I won’t even ask.” She paused, biting her lip. “Willow?”
The redhead declined too. “Mathalete meeting,” she said by way of explanation.
“Just ask Spike,” Fred suggested pleasantly. “I’m sure he’ll give you one.”
Buffy felt her heart sink. “Oh…right,” she lied.
Fuck.
***********
Buffy tiptoed into the house, trying not to alert Giles or her mom. She’d already called to say she’d be there soon, but the whole ‘how was your evening?’ thing part two didn’t really appeal to her pounding head.
Stealthily, Buffy walked up the stairs and into her room. She dropped her dress and make-up in a heap on the floor and curled up in bed.
The covers felt cool against her skin and the sweatshirt Willow had given her kept her cozily warm.
Her eyes had closed when a slight knock jolted Buffy out of her half-sleep.
“Come in,” she called out, hoping her voice wasn’t too hoarse.
Joyce poked her head in. “Hi. When did you come in?”
“Just a minute ago,” Buffy answered, pulling the covers up to her chin.
“So…you had a good time?” Joyce hinted, a hopeful look on her face.
“Yeah, I did,” Buffy reaffirmed.
Joyce smiled briefly and then straightened. “Well,” she began, “I’ll let you get back to sleep.”
“Thanks,” Buffy responded with a faint smile.
Joyce shut the door softly as Buffy closed her eyes again, finally drifting off to sleep.