Spike was bouncing coins off of the table and into an empty glass, having a perfectly entertaining time playing the trite bar game with Xander, when he sensed her in the back of his mind. She was soddin’ five blocks away and he could clearly feel her en route.
Here she comes, the forbidden fruit.
And Spike wasn’t going to lie; he might be decent at this sensing thing, he might later comment to Willow with a cocky smirk that she has some witch in her, but he was no Yoda. He couldn’t sense people from miles away, maybe at point blank range if he was completely focused and clearheaded, but people just didn’t randomly pop up in his mind like a pop tart out of a toaster.
All I need now, a soddin’ connection with her.
But he couldn’t deny it. Denial was not in his nature; the worst lies were the lies we told to ourselves, his mind would say. He felt the connection, and it was remarkably deep and somehow profound. And even though he might take a step back and assess the situation with a completely jaded outlook, call himself silly and juvenile because he’d only known the girl for a day, he couldn’t deny it.
He couldn’t deny it because it was there. It was a real, living thing, and not make believe. Even between blocks of residential houses and pet shops and apartments and record stores he could feel the connection between them.
Spike quickly manned his guns: he had to remember Giles’ spiel, he had to remember his own promise to the overprotective man.
He had to forego impulse for the night.
Maybe forever, you melodramatic git.
As she roamed closer, her aura started to envelop him, and she became like an ocean. How did you keep from soddin’ drowning in an ocean? He was drowning in her, and she was the only person that could throw him a lifesaver.
Bloody hell he scolded himself. This is all the soddin’ watcher’s fault. He should know better, that you always want what you can’t have.
Spike knew, though, that Giles must have perfectly understood the philosophy. The old man had several years under his belt, and most of those probably not in exile.
And so Spike could only infer that Giles also somehow saw the connection between himself and Buffy and, with past grievances, built the insurmountable wall that Spike now faced.
Spike silently wondered if Romeo and Juliet would have loved each other if their families hadn’t forbidden it, if wanting what you couldn’t have was the sole proprietor of this attraction for her or if it was something else entirely that he couldn’t quite pinpoint right now.
Just get her out of your mind, mate he said to himself. The more you think about her, the more you want her. Same rules as anyone else.
And so he shook his head – he threw himself the proverbial lifesaver and saved himself like he always had in the past – and went back to bouncing coins into the glass, trying to act oblivious and innocent to it all.
That was, of course, until she arrived. When that happened, his sturdy foundation suddenly became that of a washed away bridge, just a puddle of clay, and all he could do was focus on her.
Bloody hell Spike raged to himself. Here I am lecturing on the bloody subject of not putting girls on towerin’ pedestals and...
He wanted to describe his thoughts on her but he knew he had to choose his words carefully, even in his mind. His impulse, his first instinct told him watching her emerge through the swarms of people in the room was like watching the birth of a young goddess.
But he couldn’t allow himself such a hyperbolic description, with or without this Giles-induced attraction attached. He couldn’t say that she was a completely unique constellation of attributes, his Halley’s comet. He couldn’t say that all the stars shined in her name, or that flowers only bloomed because she lived on this earth.
It wasn’t just a Buffy exclusive club, though; he couldn’t say these things to any girl. Doing so would violate some not enumerated code of relationships, of people, really. Because you always wanted what you couldn’t have and never wanted what was readily available to you.
And so Spike was left in a Catch-22, with only Yossarian and friends to keep him company. He couldn’t very well pursue her because of Giles and his promise, but not acting on impulse – the absence of action – just made him more and more attracted to her, to the point where he was on the frayed edge of sanity.
Out on the edge you can see—oh, sod it. Just sod it all.
When she came in view, he heard Xander’s mouth noticeably gape open, like it just dropped to the floor in a puddle of drool, and a wayward, baritone pant from him. Even though Spike just preached to Xander the facts of life, he couldn’t very well blame Xander; Buffy was the very vision of Venus right now.
Probably always.
It was almost like she was dressed to kill something, probably multiple Gods at the same time or the rain or the sun or some other indestructible object. Her burgundy top was loose-fitting and extremely elegant, and made her eyes appear more brown than green.
Could just be the lighting. He knew her so well already.
The outfit was a complete walking contradiction, though, because although her top was tasteful, her white denim skirt was “abbreviated,” in Spike’s own choice of wording. It was frayed at the bottom, the style of the times, and the contrasting whiteness of the skirt made her legs look all the more golden, long and shapely, three words Spike knew he mustn’t use to describe them if he wanted to stay platonic like he promised.
But she wasn’t holding herself like a runway model at all. She was kind of slouching her back, kind of looking down, kind of unsure of herself and overly self-conscious, and kind of heading straight for him.
So adorable. Such innocence.
“Spike,” she uttered softly, staring into his eyes.
“Buffy,” he replied coolly. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of her beautiful lips which were practically glowing with the help of some great brand of lipstick designed to make all the boys go wild.
There was an awkward pause because neither party knew what to say to the other. Finally someone spoke, and curiously it was the third party and more importantly the third wheel, Xander, who said with just as much enunciation as the first two to mock them, “Xander.”
Buffy gave Xander a quick wave but her true attention never left Spike. “I’m glad you made it.”
Spike tried out his best devilish grin, the one that always worked with the ladies, but it just came out all wrong and wry with the vision in front of him. He tried to cover his embarrassment with a cool, “Told you I wouldn’t miss it, pet.”
He wanted to be a true gentleman and tell her that she looked beautiful all the while getting her seat for her. Not hot, but beautiful, and Spike knew the difference. But he also knew the only way he could keep his promise would be if he said the former, and although being a jerk might safely repel Buffy away, he didn’t want to risk it because she might be into that type.
And so, with all that in mind, he said nothing as she sat in the chair across from him.
But their gazes never left one another, and his admiration for her looks must have become known because her cheeks turned a scrumptious shade of pinkish red. It would have been heavenly to Spike if only he wasn’t chained to the floor with his promise to Giles. With the promise in mind, the blush was like a kidney shot, because it made her practically glow innocence and beauty and only made his inner mind scream all the more for her.
And then he saw it.
Judging it with the same scale of the promise, it was akin to an evisceration of his inners.
As he looked into her eyes, he saw shimmers of the rarest commodity. It was the thing that inspired people, it was something that normally could never be taken away, it was the building blocks of life.
It was hope, and Spike felt he could destroy her blocks.
He just wanted to leave. Coward be damned, he just wanted to drive to some faraway place and then swim to some uninhabited island to be away. Maybe he could fade away back into his own world in that moment, that would certainly solve the dilemma. Put a stake in the heart of anything that might have happened between them.
But he knew that he couldn’t, because he would take some of Buffy’s hope with him.
Finally someone came and broke the silent reverie.
“Oz is gonna be on in a second,” Willow stated to everyone, taking the last seat next to Xander.
Buffy’s eyes peeled off of Spike and wandered to the stage. Wanting to know what was so interesting because the band hadn’t even begun playing, Spike’s eyes darted in the same direction, although he had an arduous time leaving the vacation that was her.
Spike saw Oz slowly nod at Buffy, like he was agreeing to do something.
What could they possibly have planned? he thought.
It didn’t take long for Spike to get his answer. Oz started the song with some wandering electric guitar riffs and then the band came in and then the vocalist belted out some lyrics and then all hell broke loose.
The world was on fire and no one could save me but you.
It's strange what desire will make foolish people do.
I never dreamed that I'd meet somebody like you.
And I never dreamed that I knew somebody like you.
Couples were starting to dance together. The song was probably the epitome of a slow sensual alternative rock song.
And Buffy told Oz to play it... Spike immediately understood the gesture, his mind deep in pensive lands.
Before he knew it, Buffy was on her feet looking him straight in his eyes. He suddenly realized that she must be able to see inside his head through his eyes, see what he was thinking and, worse, what he was feeling, and so he closed his eyes – the doorways of his mind, body and soul – for what felt like the world’s longest blink.
When he opened them back up, he knew he had been too late. She could see it now. He didn’t close them fast enough, and they had told her far too much, speaking volumes about the fire of his desire for her.
His eyes betrayed him. He knew that she sensed the connection now also.
And that meant everything.
They had something between them now, they had an impulse that they were both following, they had what felt completely right, and that meant that Spike was screwed. She now had the right to ask him, she had the insight and she had the courage.
But not before the ending crescendo, the final assault, the big finish. Whereas before shimmers and glimmers of that precious hope arose in her eyes for spectacular flashes, now Buffy’s eyes were brimming with the rarest commodity for what felt like an eternity. The hope in her eyes was like the sun now, no longer a glimmer or shimmer, but a penetrating ray of ethereal beam.
It was as overwhelming as staring into the sun for a lifetime.
Hope that only he could take away from her.
It felt like winter passed before she finally spoke.
“Spike,” she uttered, tone a beautiful contrast of seduction and shyness. “Do you want to dance?”
Bloody hell, woman, of course I do! More than anything on this soddin’ earth right now!
He parted his lips, he was ready to utter his acceptance, he was about to nod. He wanted to just rise and let her take him, he wanted to act on impulse on what felt so right to him.
Clips of sound suddenly cut him like a knife. The conversation with Giles quickly flashed through his head: the realization, the acceptance, the promise, the word. It was the worst symphony of sound he had ever endured.
And he knew that he couldn’t allow himself this one little dance with her.
“Spike?” Buffy prompted, nervousness clearly distinguishable in her voice.
He had to think of something fast. He had to say something that kept his word and didn’t break her hope.
Spike had to do the impossible. His gaze dropped to the floor.
“I can’t dance,” Spike replied finally, sacrificing Buffy’s hope for his promise to Giles and already feeling it was a bad exchange. He didn’t want to raise his gaze, he couldn’t bear to see the once overwhelming hope now completely crushed like a broken mirror. He didn’t want to scar his hands with the shattered glass and so he continued to focused on his feet.
There was a noticeable pause before she spoke again.
“Oh, c’mon, Spike,” Buffy urged him, not giving up. He was obviously not convincing enough in his convictions, and she must have known it was just an excuse. “It’s easy. You just move your hips around like this.”
The jaw-droppingly innocent display of “dance” she put on, of moving her tight little body around in a circle while thrusting her bodacious hips every which way, made Spike consider suicide as an honorable option.
She looked so good it hurt. And she couldn’t know it either, and that fact hurt even more.
Buffy stopped dancing and addressed him again. She kept a playful tone to keep the mood light. “C’mon, I’ll just dance around you. I want to thank you for saving me in class today. A little dance never hurt anyone.”
Oh God help me. He would have gladly taken the classroom oral report back if he could, only he couldn’t because it already happened and he shouldn’t even be having stupid thoughts like that but his mind was just in such disarray.
And he knew that those events, what she deceivingly called “saving me,” weren’t really the reason behind this connection. It made a part of the whole, but it wasn’t the entire whole.
And I’m down in a hole right now.
She waited for his response with pleading eyes and he knew that the big man upstairs wasn’t gonna help him out.
Spike’s gaze fell to the wooden floor again.
“Buffy...” He started to fidget with his dragon gem, grasping at it with his fingers, but when it started to glow he dropped it like a bad habit. “I just don’t feel like dancing right now...”
He didn’t know how to end it fully until the word blurted out of him. “Sorry.”
He kept his eyes on the pitcher of coke on the table, away from the black hole sun that was Buffy. But he didn’t need to look at her, he could probably be in Nebraska and feel the rejection and insecurity and need and anger flow off of her like a wave of light.
Spike thought the worst was finally over and everyone could continue their regularly scheduled lives.
But then Buffy did something bad. She did the unthinkable.
She sinned where she shouldn’t. She tempted who she mustn’t.
Buffy moved into Xander’s vision like a falling angel and smiled seductively. She grabbed his hand with a certain neediness and dragged him off to the dance floor, not even asking the boy if he wanted to dance. It was like she owned him, like Xander was her property, her pet that she could bring out to play with whenever she liked.
Today, she was using him to kindle jealousy.
Spike slouched like a question mark over the table, his hand grasping his forehead like he had a terrible headache.
She’s gonna make me jealous... and it’s gonna work bloody perfectly.
As bad as it might have been for Spike, it was positively worse for Xander. She was filling the gas tank on his infatuation with her, all the while alleviating her own neediness by taking over his small world for a few minutes. Despicable, maybe, but so was Spike; at least Buffy’s actions showed some semblance of real human emotion.
My actions were just plain stupid.
Spike frowned inwardly. He thought he might have infused enough self-respect and decency and wisdom into Xander that he wouldn’t allow Buffy to use him like this.
Clearly, I was bleedin’ wrong.
Buffy chose a spot in the room so that Spike could see them dancing. Buffy allowed Xander to place his hands casually around her waist, dangerously close to her hips. After a little bit of close quarters dancing like this, she must have decided it wasn’t enough. She playfully slapped Xander’s hands away and then did a slow, sensual, and above all erotic dance around him, grinding into him whenever she pleased. She was absolutely oozing sex, the vapors could almost be seen in the air.
At one point, Buffy perched her tiny little head on Xander’s right shoulder and whispered something into his ear that made the boy shiver, probably a sweet nothing.
Giles will die a slow and painful death Spike rashly thought. He quickly caught himself with that reckless train of thought and tried to focus on something besides Buffy and besides Giles, something neutral and plain. Spike decided on the singer’s vocals.
What a wicked game to play
To make me feel this way
What a wicked thing to do
To let me dream of you
What a wicked thing to say
You never felt this way
What a wicked thing to do
To make me dream of you
That avenue, like probably all others, only led to thinking about Buffy even more. He tried to concentrate on the weather, but all he saw was thunderstorms in the ten day forecast.
His eyes drifted like magnets back to Buffy.
And what had originally felt like only jealously turned into all sorts of shades and hues and rainbows of attraction. This little thing, this connection with Buffy was clearly becoming something bigger, something that wasn’t up for trade or barter or conversation. Something that couldn’t be quickly dismissed or denied or disbanded.
It wasn’t just Buffy dancing. It wasn’t just the physical. Spike felt he wouldn’t be so frustrated right now if it was just the physical; he’d had the physical several times before, and he didn’t need it everyday, it wasn’t bleedin’ oxygen or anything.
When Spike saw Buffy dance, he saw some innocence that he just tainted, he saw some hope that he just took, but most of all, he saw her heart. And even though they had only known each other for a day, her heart was up for trade, it was up for barter, it was available only for him to take.
Spike pried his eyes away from Buffy and found himself at an equally mesmerizing sight.
Red?
Willow sitting at the table.
She looked just as jealous and hurt and miserable as Spike must have looked.
And Spike knew now, above all else, that Buffy had great power. Not just slaying power; that was on the surface. It was clear to him that Willow obviously adored Xander, that she loved him as more than just a friend.
This whole place is so fucked up, everyone’s in love with the wrong person.
Spike knew Buffy had just tipped the first domino, and the rest were about to fall.
Spike couldn’t take this. He didn’t need this. He didn’t decide to stay here in Sunnydale just so he could endure frustration and temptation that would make even his black heart burst. If his inner dragon responded to intense passion and emotion, why wasn’t he burning down the Bronze right now?
He got up from his chair and marched toward the door with his gaze on the floor.
Someone ran into Spike, whom he immediately sensed was a vampire. It took only a small bitter shove from Spike for the undead to bite the dust on the pointy end of the Bronze’s wooden counter corner. Everyone stopped and stared at the display for a few seconds before dancing again.
And then Spike left.
If you have time, please review. I get all discouraged and think I’m screwing up if you don’t. :(