CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
"What's with the sudden anti-social riff?" Cordelia grimaced, bright midday sun in her eyes. "Everyone is asking about you. I'm running out of excuses."
"I guess I've just been needing a break." Off her friend's blank stare, Buffy added, "You know... to think about stuff."
She continued to stare blankly. "Huh?"
Buffy nodded and settled for, "Must be the post-car loss trauma."
"Must be." Cordelia gave her a skeptical once-over. "Well, are you coming or what?" She smiled. "Lots of cute guys... and no Parker, I made sure of it."
Buffy glanced at Angel, waiting in the car. "Thanks, but... I don't think so, Cord. I'm not feeling up to the whole meet-and-greet right now."
"Your loss." Cordelia sighed, and skipped back to the car. "But you're not flaking on me tomorrow, got it?"
"Uh huh." Buffy didn't hear a word she said.
"Bye bye, Buff," Angel called out with a wave as they drove away.
"Bye, Angel," Buffy said quietly, and realized something new.
It doesn't hurt anymore. Not like it used to.
Her thoughts returned to the thing that did hurt. Spike.
As much as she wanted not to care, she couldn't help but be worried. And angry. And jealous. Crazy jealous. He'd been out all night, doing god knows what with who. Going for a drive, my ass.
She didn't need this. She really didn't need this.
Her speech was outlined and ready, beginning and ending with the phrase, 'You need to move out'. She had no idea how he'd take it. Would he fight her on it? Would he just leave, no questions asked? Would she ever see him again? Wait, that's not the point.
When she turned to re-enter the house, she heard another car pulling up.
The car of Spike.
Her stomach clenching, she watched him approach. You can do this. You can do this, Buffy. You can--
He stepped out of the car, squinting in the sunlight. With a quick, casual nod in her direction, he said, "I'm moving out."
She stared at him, dumbstruck. "What?"
He was already making his way to the backyard. She followed. "Spike?"
He sighed. "I can't stay here, with you. I can't do this anymore."
"Wait -- hey." She tugged on his jacket sleeve. "That's my line!"
"Glad we agree then." He yanked his arm away.
She frowned at his back. "Did you get back together with Dru?"
"What? No."
"Did you see her?" She followed him again.
"No, I didn't see her. Not that that's any business of yours."
"Then what's with the sudden moving out?"
"Shouldn't have stayed here to begin with."
"What? Why?"
He didn't answer, just kept striding ahead.
She intercepted him at the poolside. "If you don't stop walking I'm going to hit you!"
He relented, and stopped.
She took a deep breath. "Look, last night--"
"Yeah. Believe it or not, seeing you starkers wasn't a bloody revelation for me, alright? This isn't about that."
"That's not what I -- God, why do you have to be so mean?"
"That's a little pot calling the kettle isn't it?" He brushed past her.
"What is your problem?"
"You!" He spun around and said fiercely, "You are my problem! You never should've gotten in my way!"
Her brow furrowed. "In your way?"
"That day was supposed to be my last." He stepped back, fanned his arms out. "I'm a walking bloody ghost, Buffy! Look at me!"
"You look all right to me."
Narrowing his eyes, he leaned toward her. "Stop saying things like that. Just stop it, and let me go. Because this," he pointed between them, "is going nowhere."
He stormed away and slung the guest house door shut.
Buffy stood there, shaking, helpless. Tears threatening to fall, she walked in a daze to the house.
* * *
Spike was blindly stuffing objects into a bag when he saw it.
On one of his song sheets, the ballad about Buffy, there was a cherry-colored lipgloss print.
He sat down on the bed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Buffy was lying stomach-down on her bed, feeling hollowed-out and inconsolable, telling herself he was right, there was nothing she could tell him to make him stay, when her cell phone rang.
She didn't move for a moment. She had no desire to pick it up. Talking to a friend right now -- Cordelia, especially? Not the most appealing prospect. She reached for it to glance at the number, and frowned until she placed it. The guest house.
He was still here?
She sat up, and hit the talk button. "He-hello?"
"Drawing room. Five minutes. Bring your ears." Click.
With a giddy, widening grin, she glanced at the bedside clock and hurried to her vanity mirror.
* * *
Before she made it down the last step, she heard it. The piano: first a light tinkling, segueing into a lush classical concerto. It was something Dawn had recently struggled through; Spike, on the other hand, was playing it like he wrote it himself.
Following the sound, she entered the room. He didn't look up, but she knew he could sense her presence.
Sitting there at the Grand like it was tailor-made for him, he was a study in contrasts: a punk rock virtuoso.
Unable to keep her smile hidden, she approached him slowly, and leaned on the piano. He paused for a moment, eyes downcast, and began the song. The song she somehow already recognized as the one he wrote for her.
She watched his fingers as a slow, mellifluous tune poured out of them. Melancholy, reverent, aching, everything she imagined it would be.
And then he opened his mouth to sing:
"I was burned before I crashed in you
Strung and turned and faded into blue
Waiting for maybe someone like you
He glanced at her, and Buffy swallowed, heart suddenly pounding. Those weren't the same words she read.
"To save me like you needed saving
Too strange to be strangers
Too far gone to be friends
Too lovesick to be lovers
Only one way this could end...
But if you kiss my pages
What else can I do
Think I'll stick around and crash and burn with you
Buffy smiled bashfully. He'd rewritten almost the whole song, and this was... even better.
"You were wrecked before I smashed in you
Lost and vexed and jaded baby blue
Flashed your shine in rooms I never knew
Saw through me like I saw through you
We're too strange to be strangers
Too far gone to be friends
Too lovesick to be lovers
Only one way this could end
But if you keep your clothes on
I'll keep mine on too
She giggled. He looked up with a wink, and sang the real line, slowing it down for the finish:
"Don't know why you let me in
When you've got so much to lose...
But I'll stick around to crash and burn with you
Yeah, I'll stick around to crash and burn with you...
I'll stick around to crash and burn... with you."
When his fingers stopped moving, he looked up.
For the first time in their history together, Buffy was speechless.
He smiled, eyes locked with hers.
The phone rang. And rang. And rang.
Shit. "You gonna get that?"
She finally heard it. "Oh. Uh-huh. Yeah."
When she walked off toward the kitchen, Spike shut his eyes, exhaled.
"Hello?" Buffy had to clear her throat and ask again.
"Buffy? What happened?"
"Dad?"
"Is everything okay?"
She frowned. "Yeah, everything's fine. What's up?"
"Martin called. He said the papers weren't faxed yet."
Oh, shit. Shit! "Oh, really? Well, I faxed them, Monday morning. Right after we talked. Maybe they didn't go through--"
"Buffy, how am I supposed to feel comfortable hiring you someday or recommending you for a firm when you can't complete even the tiniest task for me?"
"But I -- I did do it, I just didn't check the OK message!" Right after I forgot to send it...
"You want me to ask Linda to come over and do this work when you're already there, is that what you want?"
"No. I'm sorry, Dad, I -- I'll go do it right now."
"I want you to sit there and make sure every last page goes through. Do you hear me?"
She shut her eyes. "Loud and clear."
As she hung up the phone, Buffy noticed her hands were shaking. And not because of her father, who was usually the cause. But because of the man waiting for her in the next room.
She closed her fists and stood ramrod straight, trying to calm her breath. That song... It confused her even more than she had been for the last week. He was telling her he'd stay, that he'd wait to see what happens -- but he knew as well as she did that they were pretty much doomed. So what did he want her to do?
She knew what she wanted to do. She could feel it; see it happening in her mind's eye. Feel his soft lips on hers, see the clothing flying every which way, hear the piano keys clink as their bodies sought purchase.
It was a nice fantasy. But she couldn't always do what she wanted to do. And pretty songs didn't change that.
Was it finally time to talk, honestly, about what was going on?
Buffy took a deep breath, psyching herself up to leave the kitchen. Really, really going now. Here I go. Watch me.
And just as she took her first step, she heard the back door open and close.
She frowned, and her shoulders sagged.
Well. Probably for the best. Because... For the best.
With a sigh, she headed down the hallway to the office, looking forward to sending 300 pages of legal briefs to some guy named Martin.
A/N: The song Spike sings here, "Crash and Burn", written solely for this story and performed by me (sorry, but Spike wasn't available -- you'll just have to pretend I'm a hot English boy), is available for free listen and/or download here. Please keep it to yourself and don't redistribute. (I think they're actually selling it on some Korean mp3 site now... I know, I don't get it either.)
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Author's Chapter Notes:
The song Spike sings here, "Crash and Burn", written solely for this story and performed by me (sorry, but Spike wasn't available -- you'll just have to pretend I'm a hot English boy), is available for free listen and/or download here. Please keep it to yourself and don't redistribute. (I think they're actually selling it on some Korean mp3 site now... I know, I don't get it either.)