Buffy had contemplated calling Giles, but then she remembered that he was at some hotel with his girlfriend, and even if she did know which hotel he was at, she wasn’t about to interrupt his special time with Olivia.
She could have called Willow. She could have called Xander. But she didn’t.
To be honest, she didn’t have the guts. Last time she’d heard their thoughts, she’d enjoyed it. At first. But then the thoughts had been deafening. All of their worries . . . And they refused to be around her. She’d been so sick. The only voice she could hear at the moment was Spike’s, and as annoying as that was, it was better than hearing two. Or three. Or thousands.
Only, she couldn’t really hear him. She was in the living room and he was in the bathroom. She could only vaguely hear it, from faraway. It wasn’t so bothersome, though.
“Oi! Slayer!”
Well, now it was.
“What do you want?” she snapped back, in no mood to walk into the bathroom into the barrage of Spike thoughts.
“More blood!”
“Ugh, he’s such a whiny baby,” she murmured, stomping over to the bathroom. She opened the door roughly, walked over to him, and yanked the mug out of his hand.
“God, what’re you all in a snit about?” he asked.
She didn’t answer, just left the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. She put some blood in the mug and stuck it in the microwave, once again disgusted at the fact she knew just how long it needed to be cooked. She wondered if Giles would smell the warm blood every time he opened the microwave. She could smell it. Humans didn’t normally smell blood very easily, but when there was a lot, and when it was warm, she could.
When it beeped, she yanked it out of the microwave and stormed into the bathroom. He was staring at her expectantly. She thrust the mug in his hands, having no intention to stay with him at all.
What the hell did I do?
She furrowed her eyebrows when she looked at him, calmly sipping his cup. Why did it bother him that she wanted to leave? Or was he even bothered? Maybe he was just confused because he had bugged her without actually trying.
She turned around and went over to the door.
Don’t go.
Buffy turned around, thinking for a wild moment that he’d said it out loud. Of course, she realized (thankfully, before she said anything) he had been thinking that. Spike would never plead for her to stay, ever. It was what had confused her.
Still drinking, he thought, I hate being alone. God, don’t leave.
Never in her life had she heard him sound so pathetic. Well, maybe once--when he’d been clawing at the ground and begged for the underground base she doubted was there to “fix me.”
It was that tone--and that tone alone--that made her hesitate.
Sighing, she went over to the tub and knelt beside it. She knew what it was like to be alone, and no one could fake that pathetic tone. Especially not when thinking it.
“What’re you doin’?”
She opened her mouth to explain, but nothing came out. “Well . . . it’s just so boring out there. Nothing to do.”
“Yes, because Giles’s bathroom holds so much promise for fun.” He brought the mug to his mouth again.
“Yeah, I can see it now. Giles’s Tub of Fun. We could make a theme park out of it.”
“I can think of a few fun things to do in his tub,” he muttered, his lips barely leaving the side of the yellow mug in his hands. His lips barely moved and Buffy had to think for a moment to make sure he hadn’t just thought that. Of course when she saw the small smirk on his face before he returned to drinking his blood and the eyebrow raised in amusement, she knew he really had said it, tone dripping with innuendo.
She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re a pig, Spike.”
He raised his mug. “I am what I eat.”
She almost laughed. Almost.
Hah, Slayer walked right into that one. Wait . . . is she smiling?
She didn’t care how alone he felt, or how alone she had felt and that she understood what it was like to feel so lonely even her thoughts had that extra-pathetic tone. She was not going to allow Spike to see her smiling. Maybe she felt a little bad because he was helpless, but she was still a slayer, and he was still a vampire that hated her, so he could whine and complain all he wanted. She wasn’t going to sit there and smile in front of him.
She stood up and started to leave, but then she heard him sigh. “You know, Slayer,” he said, and she turned around to make sure he was really talking, “it’s not my fault we spent all day yesterday snogging. That fault belongs solely to Red.”
“So? We’re talking about this why?”
“Well, you’re all antsy and stuff. Can’t blame you, much. Right there with you.”
Figuring it was probably better to go along with the story that she was being awkward because of their engagement rather than tell him she could hear his thoughts, she nodded. “Yep. Being engaged to you is like vomiting up acid. So glad you get that. Anyway . . .” she trailed off, and turned back to the door.
She put her hand on the doorknob and went to turn it. “Slayer, um . . .” Sighing, she turned back around and looked at him expectantly. “Look . . . maybe vomiting up acid is, er, too strong of an analogy. Not one I would use. You’re really not all that bad.”
She furrowed her eyebrows, not quite sure if she should be disgusted or pleased. “Um . . . okay?” she settled for instead.
“Well, yeah, you’re a decent kisser, so--”
“Decent?” she repeated, hating the fact she sounded outraged.
“--all right, well, quite a bit more than decent. Tryin’ to keep my reputation here, yeah?” Damn good kisser. Which only makes this worse. “And . . . I’m just, well . . . Look, I know it doesn’t mean anythin’, but . . . You’re not that bad. I mean, engagement aside. Never wanna go through that again.” I would rather die. I would rather take a stake to the chest than have her on me ever again. Just not bloody normal.
She frowned. Spike was being civil. That was odd. Exceedingly odd. “Well, um . . . Thanks, I guess.”
All right, she’s buyin’ it. Maybe now she’ll let me outta this tub.
Well, now Buffy understood his suddenly nice behaviour. What a manipulative asshole.
“I mean, I s’pose it coulda been worse. Coulda been engaged to . . . er, the Whelp.”
“You’re saying I was better off with you than Xander? Puh-lease, Spike.”
“No, I meant I was better of with you. Can you imagine me and him snogging?” Oh bullocks now I’m imagining it. Me an’ my big mouth.
An unwanted image went into her mind--a brief image that she wasn’t sure was from her own imagination or his--of Xander curling up in Spike’s lap and kissing him. Initially she was disgusted by it, but the next second, she was laughing.
“That’s not funny, Slayer.”
“Xan-der and Spike-y sit-tin’ in a tree-e-e-e, K-I-S-S-I-N--”
“Shut up! Bloody hell, woman, I think you’ve got a fetish. Fine by me, but don’t bother me with it!”
She folded her arms over her chest. “Oh, what, but it’s okay for you to make comments about me and Willow kissing?”
“That is actually sexually appealing,” he commented.
“Well maybe I think two guys kissing is hot.” She smirked at him, noticing his absolutely disgusted face. He held the mug tightly in his hands, but she had the feeling he had forgotten about it for the time being. She walked closer to him. “Maybe I like the thought of Xander curling up on your knee, and kissing you all softly.”
Make her stop. God I’m gonna puke.
She smirked. “I mean, can you imagine it? Xander. I mean, he’s kinda cute. No, he’s adorable.”
Spike’s jaw was clenched tightly. Keep your mouth shut, Spike. You wanna get outta the tub. Just keep your mouth shut.
“And his eyes are so penetrating.” She knelt beside the tub, looking at Spike, careful to keep her eyes wide and her best Innocent Virgin expression on her face.
Stop it.
“And his lips? I’ve looked at his lips more than enough times. I love his hair, too. God, so soft, and thick, and--”
Bad image. Bad image!
“Thinking on it, you would have to be the top. Xander’s a bit of a girl as it is, you know.”
Spike grabbed Buffy’s hair and slammed her face against the tile, blood bursting from her nose while she yelped out in pain--
Buffy blinked. Apparently, Spike imagined things from a third-person perspective, as if it were a movie. It nearly made her jump, but she caught herself just in time.
Spike was staring at her expectantly, as if waiting for her to continue, the hatred in his eyes intense. If she mentions one more thing about me an’ Xander doing anything I will rip out her tongue. Except I won’t. Stupid chip. As if that night with Angel wasn’t enough homoeroticism for eight lifetimes, she has to mention the boy?
Oh God. That was too priceless.
She smirked evilly. “What’s the matter, Spikey? Bringin’ back bad memories?”
“What?” he muttered, and by all appearances, seemed confused. Did he tell her? Please no.
“Angel told me a very interesting thing about you.” She moved a little bit closer.
Still fisting her hair, Spike raised her head again, her face bloodied, her whining and begging him to stop, and he slammed her face against the tile a second time--
“More like a dream he had. Always wondered about the pouf.” The bastard told her. He told her!
Angel was in front of her, but he looked different--his hair was longer, more ragged, and the white shirt he was wearing was baggy and old-fashioned. “You’re a real keeper, William,” he said, his Irish accent thick, and he cupped the side of her face gently. “Glad to have another man in the gang.”
She blinked a few times. Seeing Spike’s memories was like looking from his eyes--it had been like Angel was talking to her, but she knew it was Spike he’d been talking to. “He told me all about it, Spike. About how he was glad he had another man in the group.”
“It’s Spike now,” she found herself saying, the voice coming from her mouth not her own. He reached up and gently slapped Angelus’ cheek. “You’re not too bad yourself, mate.”
“I wonder, is there anythin’ else I’ve been missin’ out on?” Suddenly, Angelus was grabbing her--Spike’s--crotch through his pants. The breath she--he--didn’t need caught in his throat. “Come on, William, you never wondered?”
“Remember how it felt to have him grab your dick? He said you were really, really excited--”
“Shut up, Slayer, shut the fuck up.”
“But--Dru--I love--”
Angelus pressed his mouth against his hard, and his eyes remained opened, too stunned to do anything. She felt herself, well Spike, harden in Angelus’ grasp as he pulled away. “Dru doesn’t mind to share her toys, Spike.”
“Dru wouldn’t mind, that’s what he said,” Buffy told him sweetly. Maybe having an insight in Spike’s mind wasn’t too bad. All those times he managed to know just what to say in order to hurt her, now she could pay him back.
I hate him. I’m gonna kill him. I’m gonna find Peaches and tear his head off. “Right, so fine, maybe we did something once but I can assure you, Slayer, it never happened again. And what does it say about your precious soul-having pouf, then, if he’s braggin’ it up all he’s done with me?”
“From the way he told it, you didn’t seem to mind so much. He said you enjoyed it just as much as he did, if not more. He thinks you’re gay, and Dru’s just a cover.”
“I am not gay.” One night doesn’t make me gay. The very thought of it makes me sick. God, why the hell did I do that? Now she’s gonna think I’m some . . . some pouf. She doesn’t understand! So what’s a little experimenting, huh? I bet her and Red have done a little of that. Huh . . . Well, now, that is an interesting thought, innit?
“The Spikey doth protest too much, methinks,” she said with a grin.
“I’m really not, Slayer.”
“Yeah, yeah. Sure.”
“Would I have gotten off to you grinding against my leg if I was?” he told her smoothly, the smirk on his face absolutely annoying.
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Okay, that was a spell.”
“What? You mean you rubbin’ yourself all over me like a cat in heat? Moaning, mewling, beggin’ me to take you right there in your Watcher’s chair?” Turned that one around on her, didn’t I?
She wanted to punch him. She wanted to kill him. How dare he mention that? It was a spell! She hated him, she hated the fact he had turned her on, and she just hated him, in general. Always. “Of course it was a spell. Am I supposed to believe that you liked staring at my boobs when you thought I wasn’t watching? I mean, you were just as excited as I was. I remember how hard you got when I bit your earlobe.”
That wasn’t so much the spell as male wiring, but she’s a bitch for mentioning it anyway.
Buffy blinked.
“Well, yeah, it felt good, and Red did cast that spell. How am I to blame for things I did under the spell, luv? I remember telling you I loved you, too. Had you touched me under any other circumstances, I would’ve been sick.”
“Precisely. Which makes me think you probably aren’t that into girls anyway. It was all the spell, remember?”
“Trust me, luv. I’m as straight as they come.” ‘Cept for that one time.
“Uh-huh. Sure.”
“I am!”
“Are not,” she responded childishly.
“Am too!”
“You are so gay.”
“Oh, yeah?”
Spike grabbed Buffy’s hand and pulled her in a crushing kiss--
Bad idea. She’d stake me and I’d vomit. Vomiting on the slayer? Not the best way to prove you’re not gay. Oh, right. I’ve got a mug o’ blood, too.
Buffy briefly shook her head. That had been disturbing. Perhaps because she actually knew what it was like to kiss his lips, but that was more disturbing than images of her face being smashed into tile.
Spike took a sip of the blood. “Well, what does that say about your ex-honey? He came onto me. He was the one who’d been wonderin’ for a century what it was like. Bet he wasn’t thinkin’ o’ you the night you bumped uglies. Prob’bly thinkin’ o’ me. Or your precious Xander.”
And there went your chance to get outta this tub.
Seeing as him snarking at her was a lot better than him kissing her, she actually wasn’t too upset. Still, the comment about Angel stung. Although she knew that Angelus and Angel were two different people, the fact that he had done something with Spike--not only that, but had initiated it--was disturbing, and hurtful. Of course she knew Angel was thinking of her that night they made love, but she was still jealous--in the same way she was jealous of Darla whenever her mind wondered to the vampire she had met so briefly, or of Drusilla, who Angel couldn’t even bring himself to kill. Not because she worried Angel still might feel for Spike or the others, but because he had been able to share something with them he could never properly share with her.
“First off, that was Angelus, not Angel, and Angel hated you.”
“Angelus hated me, too. You honestly think he cares about stuff like that?” She’s naïve for a slayer.
“I am not naïve,” she spat instinctively, realizing a second later that he hadn’t said that out loud, but he didn’t say anything so she figured he thought she was commenting on his actual sentence. “I know that Angelus can’t love anymore than you can; I’m just saying that unlike you, Angel was a different person, whereas you’re pretty much the same.”
I can love! I am not like him at all! Stupid bint!
“You’d be surprised how different I am from him, luv.” He took another drink of the blood, sighing. “Look, I’m gonna cut to the chase. I hate the tub. Will you get me outta here?” So much for planning and patience. You really gotta work on that, Spike. Patience really should be one of your virtues.
“And why should I do that?” she asked, surprised he had given up on his plan to be nice to her in order for her to unchain him. Then again, she knew that Spike really wasn’t a patient person. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that had he waited until Saturday . . .
Serious, mate, you’re an idiot. Why would the Slayer do anything for you? “’Cause you’re pretty?” he suggested, smiling at her and widening his blue eyes in an attempt to look cute.
“Ooh, nice try. But it’s gonna be a bit harder than that.”
Dammit. How do I convince a girl I hate to let me go when she hates me too? Let’s see . . . Uh Slayer, so she’s strong. Commenting on that would be pointless. Um . . . She’s pretty. Obviously that didn’t work. Pretty girls know they’re pretty. Something true, or at least she hopes is true . . . But not obvious . . . I hate flattery. God, why can’t she just be susceptible to your flirting? Wait a minute . . .
“You know, Slayer . . . You an’ I both know you’re not dumb enough to fall for anything I throw your way.” Call her smart. I bet no one’s ever called her that before. I’ve seen the way Giles looks at her. What a pillock. She’s smarter than they give her credit for. She’s lived this long, hasn’t she? “I’m not gonna sit here and flatter my way outta this tub. You know it won’t work, and I know it, too. Either you’re gonna do it, or you not. I’m not gonna waste my time flattering you.”
Buffy almost laughed. He was flattering her by saying he wasn’t going to. She could say what she wanted about Spike, but he really knew what he was doing when it came to compliments. She figured he would be--he always had a way with words.
“If I take you out of this tub, you know I’m just gonna tie you up to the chair anyway.”
Better than this too-short, too-cold, hard porcelain tub I hate with a passion. The chair is actually comfortable. Don’t tell her that; she’ll get off on making you cramped.
“Yeah, I know, I’m not an idiot. It’s just . . .” I hate being alone. I hate this tub. I hate this loo. “Yeah, you’re right. Never mind.”
Sighing, Buffy stood up and went over to where the key was hidden. She knew Giles often put Spike in the chair, so she didn’t see anything wrong with doing it herself. If he got too annoying, she could just threaten him with the tub, since she knew how much he hated it. “If you try to run off, I’ll kick your ass,” she told him, lifting the key up so he knew what she was doing.
And go where? Detroit? “All right.”
Without another word, she quickly undid his chains. When she pulled back he stood up quickly, so quickly it unnerved her, and she took a step back. He swayed slightly and some blood sloshed over the side of the mug, splattering on the porcelain underneath him. He had a dazed look in his eyes.
“Change o’ plan,” he said in a gravelly voice. Buffy tensed. If he went to run past her, she would knock him down. “I’m takin’ a shower.”
She blinked. That was a lot better than him trying to run past her. And after she took a whiff of him, she found herself inclined to agree. “Um . . . Okay.”
He thrust the mug forward. “Put this on the sink, will you?”
Sighing, she took it from him, careful not to touch where the blood had spilled, and placed it on the sink. “Will you put these in the washer for me, please?” he asked casually, as if he asked her to do that every day, gesturing at his clothes.Yeah, the 'please' should do it. Proper an' all.
“Ugh, I think not. Do your own damn laundry.”
With that, she left the bathroom, shutting the door behind her, ignoring the insult he shot her way--but only because she didn’t know if he actually said it or not.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Again, his thoughts are bold, memories/daydreams are in italics.
Chapter End Notes:
Yeah, so this is my first spuffy story; hopefully I'm getting it right. Also, um, I've got quite a lot of this written so I'm well ahead of y'all. So, updates shouldn't be too far apart. No promises, though.