Spike’s heart pounded in rapid double beats as he beheld the blinding silhouette at the door. Buffy was over there and not...
He stared blankly at her just as she stared blankly back at him.
She had that normal blank expression cemented on her face. Normal Buffy. The eyes did not show any conviction or passion; the pale red lips were not arched in an upside-down smile; and there was no tension in the delicate curvatures of her soft face. She seemed obliviously innocent to the illegal activity she just caught red-handed in the closet.
A thunderbolt had struck Buffy. Too provoked by the electricity and shock, she was unable to show any real emotion. Or maybe, rather deceptively, the blank expression was the unbridled emotion? Maybe the lack of emotion – the underwhelming anger sans anger – displayed all the emotion necessary for a situation as grim and climatic as this.
At first, Spike saw only one Buffy – just the overly calm one – but diplopia overtook his senses and she separated into two Buffys, nestled side by side in the doorframe.
A double vision. Two of one and the same.
A few seconds later fantasy continued to flirt with reality as two more of Buffy floated in the upper periphery of the scene, making a total of four.
Eight of her suddenly sprouted about, like bright yellow daisies in a fruitful field, at the far left and right of his vision.
Then there was sixteen of her. And after that thirty-two of her. And then sixty-four of her. It just went on and on as Buffy spawned in doubles around the room, plentiful as those clone troopers in Star Wars or those porn sites on the internet. Spike couldn’t stand it... his mind thrashed with that stupefied image of Buffy.
She was everywhere in that moment; she was everything in that moment.
She was his enemy. His oasis of dirty pleasure. His secret affinity. His embodiment of all the evil and bad and banality in the universe. The person he loved to hate. Was it possible to fear losing the hated people as well as the loved people? Bank too much in anything, even the bad?
Spike’s horrified eyes swooned to the mystery person who had almost given him a blowjob, to the shadows of the person he couldn’t quite make out a minute ago in the darkness of the closet.
He couldn’t recognize her then. But he could most certainly recognize her now.
Faith.
It was Faith. Faith was the one that was—
Faith Faith Faith Faith Faith! Motherfucking Faith!
Spike spun around to the door for an inevitable confrontation with Buffy. She wasn’t confrontational in that exact moment because she was still stunned, but that would inescapably change as the seconds decayed away. She would climb her way out of this numbness and start the cliché. Confront him and confront Faith and, most importantly, confront them.
Spike silently cursed himself in his head. He should have known it was someone else; he should have known it wasn’t Buffy... he should have been able to tell. His mind raced in an endless circle of the same damn thing. His thoughts were like a dog trying to catch its blasted tail.
He should have noticed the tawdry perfume that tainted the stale air. He should have heard something, anything – a stifled giggle, an ungraceful footstep, a suspicious fumble in the unfastening of his belt. He should have noticed the disparity of ability in the activity. He should have observed the dearth of vibrant golden rays that illuminated any room she presided in, even as dark and dreary and black a closet as this one.
He should have known. But he didn’t.
“Sticky” could not even begin to describe Spike’s current situation.
Buffy finally started to show something – some emotion. A creased eyebrow, increased tension in the skin contours surrounding her eyes and mouth, clenched teeth... these were good signs. The situation was not in that beyond amendable realm; things were dire but not incorrigible. It was not completely hopeless... even the faintest touch of passion – good or bad – suggested hope.
But Spike didn’t see much hope in her now. Buffy glared at the twosome in the closet as if they were rattlesnakes. This was the part where she justifiably went all melodramatic and screamed off-key at Spike and raged crazily about this mad mean world and stomped around like some angry gorilla bear and screeched like an enraged bat and...
Buffy didn’t do any of these things. She just stood there, head slumped, looking at the two caught and caged rattlesnakes.
Shit.
“Buffy...” Spike took his first breath since he saw Buffy – a big, jagged breath – and stepped toward the door to her. “I thought—I thought that was you... you gotta believe me...”
Buffy returned her head to an upright position and tried to find something in Spike’s eyes. Was she looking for sincerity, honesty, truthfulness in the blue yolks of his eyes? Or perhaps she wanted to walk on eggshells; perhaps she searched for deceit, nefariousness, feigned guilelessness? The inquiring green ovals prodded the ashamed blue eggs for only a split second, any evidence of anything lost as Spike shifted his gaze to the floor.
He tried to avoid eye contact. Good signs not ahoy. Guilty on all charges.
“I should’ve come to expect shit like this from you,” Buffy finally said.
Spike shook his head at her words. “Buffy, I thought that was—”
“You thought that was me,” she finished disgustedly. “What? You didn’t see anything because it was dark?”
“Listen, Buffy, I’m—”
Spike stopped short of an apology as he processed Buffy’s satirical words and inherent flaw in her argument. If she wanted a fight, he would give her a...
“What the fuck did you think my and your little fling was, Buffy? I Only Have Eyes For You?” Retaliation was good; at least it partially put the focus on her and not him. “Well fuck that... I’ve never been the bloody white knight of this little farce and I don’t intend to soddin’ well be now.”
Feeling brave, Spike met her eyes again.
He winced at what he saw.
He could hardly even stand looking at her now without feeling the urge to gouge his own eyes out; she looked like a little beaten golden retriever out in the cold. A puppy he beat. A person he raped and pillaged and exploited. He immediately wanted to shed ten years – become a child again – and use the notorious take-back, to take back what he said and what he did.
“But I didn’t...” he pointed at the ground and repeated his mantra with all the conviction he could muster, “but I didn’t do this...”
Faith pressed her hands against the front of her small denim skirt and darted erect from her knees. Everyone forgot about Faith in that moment. Maybe that wasn’t the best idea.
“‘Upside to this,” Faith chimed in with a mock cheerful look, “is that she’ll have even more sympathy among the masses. Another saga in the long list of travesties for little miss charity case.”
What? Huh? What the hell? What the fuck was that suppose to mean? Was Faith just mocking Buffy or did Faith... did Faith know about her? About Buffy’s past? What!? That would certainly squeeze the last bit of life out of Buffy... no one knew about Buffy’s past, Buffy’s greatest secret, Buffy’s greatest fear. Well, besides Buffy and a few of her closest friends and...
Buffy’s frightened eyes alternated looks between Faith and Spike. “What did you just say?”
Faith laughed evilly. The laugh was reminiscient of something that evil wily doctor in the Mega Man series would have made. Pure, true, unadulterated evil resonated in that laugh. “Oh, this is precious...”
Quaking but curious, Buffy went akimbo and cocked her head. What was Faith implying...?
“You really don’t know, do you?” Faith said.
Buffy stared intensely at Faith. “Know what?”
“We know what you’re all about, Buffy,” Faith answered somewhat cryptically, perhaps only for the paradoxically dramatic effect.
Because what Faith said next was painfully clear. Because what Faith said next... what Faith said next killed.
“Your sad little past... the fire at five and the druggy grandpa... the harsh living conditions...”
The eyes of the room went as wide as the Milky Way galaxy.
“Spike told all of us.”
Ground control to Major Tom: we have officially hit rock bottom! I believe I’ve foreshadowed Buffy’s greatest fear as everyone knowing her real life; I think I’ve even gone out and blatantly stated it a few times in the story. Please do not lose faith (har har) in Spike or the story. It’s only after he’s lost everything – after things have utterly fallen apart – that he’s free to do anything or, in this case, put things back together. Hopefully you actually want him to put things back together; I know I’m skating on very thin ice, especially after twentysome chapters of abuse and no true Spuffiness. The next handful of chapters should hopefully prove fruitful in making Spike a more likable character. I’m not abandoning the anti-hero in him by any means, but he can at least be gentle when it comes to Buffy and possibly more open-minded about the world. Feedback is imperative to the success of this story... seriously, I want, nay, need to hear your thoughts on current events (and no, not the primaries or Obama or Hilary). ^_^ So, like, oh my gosh, review away! :D