Buffy found it almost unbearable spending all of her free time cooped up in the house. By Monday afternoon, her whole body was thrumming with excess energy, an urge to get up and just…run.
At the moment, she was sitting at the counter, listlessly thumbing through a magazine, her abandoned reading assignment, Hamlet, face down next to her.
She nibbled on the delicious cookie she had found in the jar while reading an article on the latest winter styles. Not that they were really all that applicable to California winters.
The familiar sound of heavy boots made her glance up and freeze, the cookie partway in her mouth. She swallowed quickly and picked up her things off the counter, darting to the stairs.
Unfortunately, Buffy promptly ran into the exact person she was running from.
Spike caught her arms, steadying her and forcing her to look up at his face. Buffy felt her throat tighten. “Excuse me,” she mumbled, moving away.
His hands slid down her arms and let his fingers grasp hers. “Summers…”
“No,” she blurted out wrenching her hand away and moved towards the stairs.
“Come on, you can’t not talk to me forever.” Spike insisted as he followed her up the steps.
“Says who?” Buffy retorted childishly and promptly slammed the door in his face, locking it for good measure.
After waiting a few tense seconds, Buffy backed away from the door and flopped back on her bed. The familiar comforter, cool under her cheek, and her beloved Mr. Gordo did nothing to calm her racing mind and her undecided heart.
********************
In an even more desperate attempt to avoid all things Spike related, Buffy had taken to riding the bus to school the past two days. She sat in the back, resting her head on her backpack. A few times she caught freshmen pointing at her and giggling, but she was too tired to care.
“Buffy!”
Turning around, the blonde spotted Willow locking her car and heading towards her.
“Hey, Wills,” Buffy said, subdued. Her hair was tied loosely at the base of her neck and strands slipped out, whipping across her face.
“How are you?” Willow asked significantly. On the phone, Buffy had told her bits and pieces of what had happened that night.
“I’m okay,” Buffy responded. At the look she received, Buffy caved a little. “I’ve been better.”
“Yeah,” Willow sighed dejectedly. “Me too.”
“Still no Oz?” Buffy questioned, her concern expressed on her face.
Willow shook her head negative, her fingers playing with the short ends of her hair. They walked inside the bustling school towards the cafeteria.
Buffy clutched her books closer. “And Tara?”
“We’re not really making with the…talkage right now,” Willow murmured, her usually sunny disposition abnormally gray. “I think it’s best if we just…don’t talk.”
“You need ‘me time’,” Buffy clarified with reassuringly.
“Me time,” Willow echoed. “Like a Willowcation.” She smiled a little. “I could use that.”
“Well, my cousin’s coming in tonight, and I promised her I’d show her Sunnydale’s finest after school gets out, including the Bronze. So you up for it?” Buffy proposed with a hint of challenge.
“Yep,” Willow nodded firmly. “I’m starting my Willowcation on winter vacation.”
Buffy perked up a bit at the prospect of a fun time. “Awesome. Come over to my house around six-thirty, and we’ll get you all sexy.”
Willow’s cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink. “Sounds fun. Okay, I gotta get to class early; I’ll see you at lunch. We’re sitting by the vending machine with the weird scribble.”
“Got it. And Wills,” Buffy called out as she stopped in front of the bathroom. “Don’t worry too much. It’ll work itself out, just give it time.”
Willow’s face softened. “Thanks, Buffy.” She backed away with a wave, disappearing into the masses.
Pushing the door hard, Buffy went into the badly-lit bathroom, dropping her bag at her feet. She studied her reflection and made a face.
As she dug out her cover-up, the door opened again, and Buffy bit her lip when she saw that it was Anya. “Hi.”
For a second a sad look crossed the girl’s face before regaining composure. “Hello,” she said coolly, leaning into the mirror.
Buffy swallowed hard and pretended to focus on covering up the pimple on her chin and her dark circles. Finally she spoke hesitantly. “So how are things with Ryan?”
Anya shrugged, her eyes blank. She ran her fingers through her hair, undoing her braids.
“That’s…nice,” Buffy said slowly and turned away, swiping a clear gloss on her lips.
Just as Buffy was lifting her bag onto her shoulder, Anya spoke softly. “It’s not my fault, you know.”
Buffy stopped. “What isn’t?”
Anya faced her reflection, applying mascara to her eyelashes. “No one’s talking to me. Everyone thinks I did something wrong, even you.”
Buffy opened her mouth to deny it, but then pressed her lips together. Maybe she wasn’t doing it on purpose, but she hadn’t actually talked to Anya in over a week. “I’m sorry,” Buffy said softly.
Anya shook her head, scoffing a little. “You all sided with Xander automatically, because it had to be Anya’s fault. Big, funny Xander would never do anything wrong.”
“I don’t think that,” Buffy told her, frowning. She moved to reach out to touch the other blonde’s shoulder, but didn’t.
Anya sniffled as she brushed her hair again. “Well, you have a weird way of showing it.”
“I know, and I’m sorry,” Buffy repeated, realizing how it must have been for her. “Are you working today?”
Anya reluctantly nodded. “From four to eight. You?”
“Three to seven,” Buffy responded, “my mom’s picking my cousin up from the bus station, so I wanted to be there when they came back. But we’ll talk at the Magic Box, okay?”
A glimmer of hope sparkled in Anya’s eyes. “Fine, but we can’t be distracted from our valuable customers,” she warned Buffy.
Laughing, Buffy shifted her bag and untucked her hair out from underneath the strap. “Of course not, it would be un-American.”
“Damn straight,” Anya agreed, the lip gloss in her hand pausing at her lip. “And Buffy, thank you for conversing with me, even if you were kinda slow.”
Buffy smiled, pushing the swinging door open. It was a purely Anya backhanded comment, and it was startling how much she has missed her antics. “I’ll see you later, Ahn.”
********************
Sighing loudly, Buffy set her bag down at the bottom of the stairs and slipped out of her shoes. Her bare feet slapped against the linoleum floor of the kitchen as she looked for any leftovers in the fridge.
Buffy had made it home just past seven thanks to another cashier, Alexandra, who had been nice enough to drop her off at her house.
“Hello?” She called out, thinking Giles might be home. Oh yeah, she remembered almost instantaneously. He was in Seattle for the week for some librarian conference thing-y—the epitome of dorkdom in her opinion.
Buffy wandered into the living room, expecting it to be empty and was startled at the sight of Spike slouched on the couch, the TV volume low.
“Oh,” she said softly, “sorry, I didn’t know you were—I’ll be upstairs.”
As she turned to grab her bag and dash to the solace of her room, Spike stopped her again for the second time in as many days.
“You’re a soddin’ tease, you know that Summers?”
Buffy felt a liquid fire flush her body. “Excuse me?” She demanded, spinning around furiously.
“You heard me,” Spike shot back. He was sitting up straight now, his azure eyes sparked with defiance.
“Oh you’ve got to be kidding me,” Buffy shook her head in incredulity. “Are you really that much of a petulant child? You’re acting like you’re five.”
Spike stood up and stomped over to her so they were forced to face each other. The sudden movement made Buffy dizzy. “Bloody right I am,” Spike snapped, “I’m soddin’ pissed at you! What the hell is your problem?”
Buffy reared back. “Problem? What’s my problem?! Our parents are living together! They have a relationship! I’m not going to jeopardize that over hormones an-and stupid you.”
“You didn’t have a bloody problem with that before when we were snogging!” Spike pointed out with a hint of satisfaction.
Buffy inhaled sharply. “Sleeping with you, Spike, was a wakeup call. This is my second chance to make things right with my mom. I won’t-I can’t-ruin it.”
“Soddin’ bullshit. I merely kissed you, luv. You’re the one who took it and bloody ran,” he told her, his hand fiddling with his lighter. On. Off. On. Off.
“Wow, resorting to blaming me for sex. You sure are a winner, Spike,” she remarked sarcastically.
Spike’s jaw clenched and unclenched. “I may not be Prince Charming, but whatever it was, it was real,” he told her.
“Real? You call a quickie in a supply closet real?” Buffy stepped close, her head tilted, challenging him for an answer.
Spike only stepped closer, the seriousness in his voice palpable. “I don’t know why you ran out, Summers, but frankly, I’m fucking tired of listening to your pathetic excuses. Well, pet, crown yourself the ice queen or deal with your bloody issues. I’m out.”
Buffy stood there, her jaw hanging open, her eyes stinging with…hurt? She watched him stalk up the steps, two at a time, and felt strange being the one left behind.
“Wow,” a voice came from behind her. “That was fuckin’ entertainment, B.”