The blizzard winds, rushing like passengers trying to catch a train, decorated the glass with ice. Snow flew by in great gusts, leaving the tops of trucks, 18-wheelers, and a small car or two buried in the storm.
Buffy rather liked it, the muffled sounds of windy chaos were somehow soothing. People kept coming through the diner's front doors, kicking their boots and shivering off the chill. They were all out in the middle of nowhere, trapped at a restaurant where the owner liked to overcompensate for the freezing temperatures outside by baking his customers. It made them reluctant to leave; refills of coffee, hot chocolate, and tea were free on such harrowing days.
People hung their hats and extra bulky coats on the hooks by the entrance, and Buffy could see the doors to the inn across the street; they looked bolted shut. No one had gone through them all day, and the snow was piled nearly three feet high beneath that weatherproof awning.
Buffy frowned, thinking about her impending trek home. She lived at the inn, and wondered if the front entrance might really be locked by the time she returned. There was always the connected bar, of course. Those doors hadn't stopped opening and closing since nearly five o'clock.
The cold, she supposed, gave people an excuse to drink and be merry. They could handle a shot or ten of whiskey if they were to stay the night anyway, as well as keep themselves warm.
This also meant the diner did well. A drunk didn't care about the gusts of ice plowing through this tiny excuse for a town, so long as there was a greasy burger waiting for him across the street. The restaurant was nearly bustling, if in a quiet sort of way.
Every time Buffy looked out the window she was grateful for double shifts, which were very typical; it was easy to keep her mind busy then. Gazing at the frightening beauty of the storm for as long as she could was nice, too. Simply watching the weather coat everything in a bright, sparkling white.
Trees branches were heavy with ice, while the night sky looked smoky and dark. It was almost ethereal. Whistling winds were the backdrop to murmurs and soft laughter, the expected noise of any busy diner. Coffee makers dripped, adding their own little tempo to the mix. There were three but usually only one was used at a time; not tonight.
Her face lifted when the bell over the door rang again, and two men with beards and frosted coats stumbled in. Their hats were covered by white, melting flakes. They came closer to sit at the stools lining the counter, and Buffy could smell the rum coating their words.
"Coffee and two T-bones, please," one man genially requested, slapping his white, whiskery hand down on the countertop and rattling the silverware. Buffy nodded and wrote the order down. "Anything else?"
"Can I get a hot cocoa, pretty Miss?" The other man slurred.
Buffy added it to the ticket, barely raising an eyebrow at the address. There had been way too many nicknames over the years for her to bat even an eyelash anymore. "I'll be back in a minute with the hot chocolate."
"Thank you!" the jolly one exclaimed, his drunken gratitude loud enough to reach the ears of several other customers nearby.
Buffy did her job and she did it fast, her footfalls avoiding the cracks in the tile floor every once in a while. It was a little game she played, distracting yet didn't interfere with serving customers. Silly, she knew, but anything that kept her mind fully occupied was a good thing.
Buffy rushed around the diner and passed coworkers as she moved through the short maze of tables and booths, carrying trays of dishes to and from the kitchen. Bobby was washing in the back, while Emily dried and made salads as they were ordered. There were two others at the grill, and Buffy had three waiters by her side.
She peeked out a window, glaring through the snowy night at the neon sign across the street. Jill's was run by a lady named Sarah, the previous owner's daughter- ironically not Jill, but a man named Bart. Buffy didn't remember how she'd learned the family history, but living here for three years had filled her mind with lots of needless information. Nothing changed, it seemed, in a practical ghost town; and it was really more of a truck stop than a town at all, but she'd never say it out loud.
Buffy was busy shuffling some napkins while she waited not-so-patiently for Charlie to come back from flirting with Sarah. He never left the woman alone, and spent a lot of time over there when he could be helping run this silly diner.
Problem? It was his diner, which always turned into Charlie's backing argument anytime someone complained. Buffy didn't typically mind when he was gone, because it meant more work for her, which meant less time to dwell and think about the past. Tonight, however, things were incredibly busy. No customer wanted to leave.
Ironically, right then Marry tapped her on the shoulder. "Buffy," she said, "It's your break."
She turned around. "Oh, no it's busy. I don't have to-"
"No. Do it. You've been on your feet all day." The middle aged woman with dark brown hair gave her a smile, and the lines by her eyes deepened themselves. "Take a coffee break or somethin'. I know you gotta be hungry, I've caught you nibbling at things all day but never actually sitting down to have a meal."
Buffy waved off her concern. "I ate before I got here, and I'm really not very hungry." Her stomach was hardly growling. In truth, she wasn't hungry.
"Well, eat somethin'." She went to turn away. "I'll take over the last table you had 'til you're done. Twenty minutes, now."
Buffy sighed and left the frosty window, but not before she spotted Charlie coming back through the falling snow. Perfect timing. At least she didn't have to feel bad about following Mary's advice.
She got herself a cup of coffee, dousing it in cream and sugar. She grabbed her coat, scarf, gloves, and cheap beanie hat, plus the extra sweaters sticking out of her purse. After bundling up, Mary sent her a strange look but didn't say anything. She must think Buffy was crazy, which wasn't an uncommon opinion.
Buffy hardly talked, never shared a back story, lived at the small inn across from her dull, routine sickening job, and went outside during a blizzard for a lonesome twenty minute break. She didn't blame people for thinking she was rather odd.
Passing Charlie on the way out, he frowned at Buffy like she'd just sprouted horns. "Where are you going?" he demanded.
"Outside. You got back just in time to take over grill from Alex so he can serve while I'm gone."
Another frown. "You're going out in this weather for a break?"
She nodded. He rolled his eyes and rubbed a hand down his snowy sideburns. He looked like he'd just crawled out of an igloo from the 70s.
Buffy heard him mumble something about nutty chicks when she walked over to the front doors where her boots awaited. She slipped off her flats and exchanged them for weather appropriate shoes before leaving the diner with a smile.
She loved the snow, even if it was cold and she didn't exactly like the wind, but a storm was a storm and winter was beautiful. Sure, trudging home in this when she was tired and just wanted to go to bed was unpleasant. Standing below the awning that wrapped all around the diner while she sipped hot coffee was actually very nice, though.
She looked down and noticed tiny snowflakes were falling into her cup, sparkling the drink with their iciness. Everywhere around her it glittered. The wind was fast but sporadic, and there was a tree on her left that helped block the chill. It was pure solitude. The wide parking lot was covered with tire marks and the vehicles that made them, but as the snow fell it evened things out, covered the flaws made by intrusive human habits.
Yes, Buffy loved the snow. It was one reason she was glad she'd left California. She grew up there, but the place didn't have anything left for her, and it certainly didn't have much of a winter.
Buffy drank some of her quickly cooling coffee, biting back a sigh. Her lungs were burning with every intake of frigid air. The white pine trees reminded her of statues. It was hard to hear anything but the quiet, or even feel her fingertips inside her gloves. The snowstorm was calming, weakening, distracting, and there was so much to look at, yet her thoughts stubbornly poked through reverie.
Leaving California had never been her plan, but after Buffy's mother and sister died in a car accident, there was no reason to stay. Her father didn't want her, and since she was old enough to live on her own, he had no legal obligation to her. Moreover, Buffy wouldn't have accepted his help.
The few friends she made weren't any she could have called family. They were brand new. She had only just moved from Los Angeles to Sunnydale, California when her mom and sister passed away, and so to make it on her own was Buffy's only option. She hadn't left anyone behind. Not really. She sold a lot of her things, including the house, then bought a couple bus tickets to get away, only to end up here. In the middle of nowhere.
She had family in Chicago, and that was where she'd been heading until stopping mid-route and settling down in this truck stop town. Buffy hardly knew if she would stay indefinitely, but when she'd noticed that "Help Wanted" sign in the diner window, she applied for the job before even realizing what she was doing. Then, there was room at the inn and somehow, Buffy ended up hanging around.
Her aunt in Chicago didn't much care, so long as her niece was happy, which she truly believed Buffy was. The girl was twenty, after all, and could make her own decisions. Judith only asked that she write or call at least every other week, and Buffy still obliged the request three years later.
She felt coldness slip down her cheeks and quickly wiped at the freezing tears. Damn it. She hated crying. So what if this life was lonely and typical, at least you could depend on the routine. Not get the rug pulled out from under you at any moment.
It was hard making it on her own, but the town she'd chosen had cheap living and nice people. Buffy barely knew anything about them, to be honest, but they had never bothered her and for some reason always smiled her way, as if she wasn't little more than a stranger.
For some reason it was comforting. They were constants, but she wasn't close to them.
She could always leave at the drop of a hat. No one had attachments to her any more than she had to them. Which made things easy, simple; lonely, but not unbearable.
Buffy sighed as she finished off her coffee. She should go back inside soon, before Charlie got a chance to scold her.
But the snow was just so pretty, everything so quiet when the wind wasn't howling. She didn't like thinking too much, but she loved the wildness of the weather right at this moment, and she'd lived in a sunny state for much too long to let a little wind and gloom get to her.
Buffy shivered, looking at the clouds above. There was no use dwelling on the past, so she forced herself to smile. She walked to a nearby garbage can and threw her cardboard cup inside before spreading her arms wide, lifting her face to the sky. She opened her mouth, sticking out her tongue to catch the snowflakes; a few melted on her taste buds while others flew at her cheeks.
Buffy turned and flattened her tongue against the wind. She grinned like a child and laughed quietly as the glittering specs tickled her nose and lips.
Mouth closing, concern for the minutes taking a back seat, she inhaled deeply and walked ahead. Buffy passed cars and trucks before coming to the edge of the thin woods that practically surrounded the diner. She leaned against a tall, lanky pine. The lights from the windows blurred in the corner of her vision, and she laid her head against the cold trunk.
Her life was a question mark, all the time. She had no close friends, and no lover. She'd had three romantic relationships in her life, and only one had truly been serious despite its short duration. There was no romance now, and no close blood ties to speak of, nothing to hold her back or keep her grounded. She had nothing at all, except the falling snow.
Sometimes, Buffy wished she could go even further north, and live in cold weather always with every season, but something like familiarity had bread itself into her bones here, in this small middle-of-nowhere town. So she stayed. The colors in fall were pretty nice, too, she had to admit.
Still, like a stinger you can't dig out of your skin, she yearned for one dangerous thing; a wish to know freedom again.
Buffy was as free as a bird where she lived. She had enough money to go almost anywhere she pleased, and a nice savings account as her cushion. She had no one to really miss, and no reason to stay and no reason to leave. There was no need for any more of that kind of freedom. No. What she did miss, but was too afraid to try and regain, was the freedom to care.
The freedom to love someone, romantic or otherwise. The freedom to hold another's heart close to your own. Losing her family... had nearly destroyed her. Buffy climbed out of a hole of depression too deep to ever want to risk going there again.
Since recovering, caring about anyone became a foreign act, and while Buffy believed she could succeed very well at doing so if she wanted, she hadn't let anyone in yet. It was getting tiresome keeping people at bay, but it was safer that way. She was content.
Why ruin it?
Buffy frowned at her own thoughts and where they had landed, then looked up as things around her quieted. The wind stopped completely, and everything was blissfully still for the first time in hours.
No owls hooted, no wolves cried to the nonexistent moon, no crushing snow whispered in the dark. It was completely, utterly desolate of sound.
Until, a soft growling noise came from the left, where the trees thickened, and made Buffy's pulse jump. She spun around to catch sight of one of the scariest looking things she had ever seen.
Only ten dangerous feet away stood a monster, covered in white and gray fur, sharp teeth bared, tinted blue, and it's eyes dark abyss-like holes. It stared and grumbled something that might be a word, but she didn't understand. It moved closer, and Buffy moved back. Her hands were frozen, and that was not an intended pun.
It looked like a Yeti, but her logical brain argued otherwise. It must be some kind of wild animal. Maybe a dog? Hopefully?
But it wasn't. It was a monster. And yes, many people referred to dangerous creatures, like great white sharks or pythons, as monsters, but this was different. This thing stood like a human, walked like one, and had unnerving black eyes with no reflection. The ridiculous thought came to mind about how the eyes were supposed to be the window to the soul, and looking straight ahead, Buffy decided this thing didn't have one.
She finally tried to run as shock wore off, but the snow was so deep that her steps were sluggish and her lungs couldn't take in air. She made it maybe three feet before the thing had a hold of her, and then she was screaming bloody murder. She kicked and flailed, and even tried aiming for its groin, but the Yeti simply tossed her into the snow with what Buffy felt was honest annoyance.
It glared down at her, and she'd never felt her heart beat faster. She didn't want to die. She wanted to live, even if that meant suffering through the difficulties and hard times and heartbreaks, she wasn't ready to decorate a snow bank with her blood.
One problem, though; she couldn't move her arms.
Buffy pulled back, and kicked up with both legs when it leaned closer, showing its blue teeth. The creature howled in pain when her aim for its big jaw was on point, and Buffy tried to wiggle and hop her way out of the deep snow while it nursed its wound.
Shit. That didn't take very long. It was growling again, too, and this time louder. She must have pissed the thing off, which wouldn't matter so much if she could manage to get out of the cold, wet little ditch it had made for her.
Buffy looked over her shoulder, then immediately wished she hadn't. The monster was enraged. It was going to tear her apart, and raised its claws to strike, when suddenly, a black blur shot into her line of vision and barreled into the Yeti.
There was growling again, but two different kinds. She heard screeches akin to a wounded animal's; Buffy hoped the monster was the one being so loud.
She finally managed to get on her hands and knees, glancing hastily over her shoulder again when everything suddenly went quiet.
There stood a man, his back to her. He wore a long black leather coat, standing out like a raven against the snow. Except his hands were bare and pale, strong looking, and his head blended in almost perfectly with the landscape; his short hair was bleached as light as the unseen moon.
He radiated power. The guy was so distracting she only just realized that the monster was lying at his feet, unmoving. Its neck was bent at a strange angle, and suddenly Buffy felt a passionate wave of relief upon realizing the facts. He'd killed it. A stranger in black leather had just saved her life.
Fear followed relief. She soon remembered that he was still a stranger, and quickly got out of the all-fours position to move a few paces back. He turned around, having heard the snow crunching beneath her boots, and Buffy stopped short.
She wasn't kidding herself was she? Had she really just been rescued by a prince?
Buffy mentally shook the thought away. No. He wasn't a prince. That face was gorgeous enough. He was completely, totally drool-worthy, and his eyes were a piercing blue that reminded her of the sea, those cheekbones and flirting lips hard to ignore. The charcoal gray sweater he wore was definitely not brand name. His jeans were black and tight, and Buffy was sure, soaked to the knees. He stood tall and savage looking, somewhat cocky; not like a prince.
Maybe a knight or warrior, but not a prince.
He was strong and she knew for a fact because he'd proven it by defending her. But even knights felt fear, not to mention the snow was still frigid and Buffy couldn't help but wonder why he wasn't shivering.
Or why he was able to kill that thing. The monster was huge- had been huge, definitely taller than your average man, and burly. It had thrown her to the ground like a football, and while Buffy knew she didn't weigh very much, that thing must have been stronger than three men put together.
"How did you kill that thing?" Her voice was nearly a whisper, and she had the suddenly terrifying idea that she might have just been saved from a monster, by a monster.
He stood there staring, and Buffy found herself reluctant to move. The way he was looking at her... It was little better than the hungry gaze she'd seen on the Yeti to settle her nerves, and he hadn't answered her question yet. She tried again. "Who are you?"
That was a tad more personal than she thought she should have phrased it, but if he would just speak, then Buffy could steady her heart rate and get back to the safety of the diner, where there was warmth, coffee, and witnesses.
Finally, the man took a step forward and she tensed in reaction. He must have noticed, because he paused and said, "I didn't save your life just to take it from you myself, pet."
Buffy relaxed only marginally. That was a lovely British accent, one she was positive had melted many hearts before hers. Frankly, it was distracting. He came closer, stopping near enough that she could see his breath.
Wait. She had seen it. Now, she couldn't. She should, but he wasn't actually breathing... at all.
The man in black gave her a kind of smile, but it was in a way where his already dramatically shadowed cheeks hollowed even further, lips pursing. A pitter-patter feeling ran through her chest and Buffy swallowed. "I- I'm going to leave now. All right?" She wasn't asking his permission, of course, she only wanted to find out if he was going to try and stop her.
"First, tell me why the hell you were out in the woods at night, by yourself, and in the middle of a bleedin' blizzard."
She swallowed nervously again. Fat flakes of snow still fell in front of her eyes, lightly covering the body that lay only feet away from them. "I work at that diner," she said, pointing a thumb in the direction of the lit up windows. "I was on a coffee break, and I came out here to get a minute to myself."
Spike rose one dark eyebrow; then, gauging her expression, he decided he believed the lady.
She was foolish for going alone, but the fact she wasn't hyperventilating after nearly getting killed dredged up a measure of respect in his gut. Spike wasn't used to rescuing humans that didn't weep, faint, or at the very least panic some, once he'd saved their asses.
*There's a first for everything,* he acknowledged.
Spike also realized that she had probably done the same thing many times in the past, and never came across a demon before tonight. The cute blonde probably had good reason to believe she'd be safe, and they were still in plain view of the diner's front doors.
But she was out here by herself, in the dead of night, and there weren't any lamps in the parking lot. Hadn't she ever seen a horror movie or one of those crime TV shows?
Spike felt himself getting angry, and he scowled. He'd become so accustomed to humans' general stupidity for doing the things that got them killed that he'd stopped getting mad over it. Hell, women walked alone at night and down alleyways on their trips home all the time. Men did the same moronic things, and even took rides from strangers that turned out to be demon females disguised as humans in short skirts. Spike was no longer surprised, or angered, by mortal idiocy.
Except now he was angry, and what this woman had done was probably one of the safest stupid things he'd seen yet that had gotten someone into trouble. She was not your average nitwit, he could tell because she was wary of him, and he had saved her. Spike got the feeling she wouldn't be doing this sort of thing ever again.
Yet the anger remained.
"Now will you tell me who you are?"
"Spike," he replied stiffly.
She looked like she wanted to comment, but stopped herself. Instead, the lady offered her own title. "I'm Buffy."
He snorted, and when she scowled at him, Spike wanted to laugh. But she was beautiful when she glared, he realized, and suddenly he wanted to rile her a little more. "At least it's original," he remarked.
She crossed her arms over her chest. "Ever hear that thing about people in glass houses throwing stones?"
Spike's chest tightened with laughter as he stared into her eyes, flickering like a flame. "Touché, pet."
She let show a reluctant smile, and Spike's attention focused. It was one mere second, but in that moment he was snared like a rabbit in a trap.
Her beauty was obvious. The girl was cute, no doubt about that, but as his anger finally melted away, that fast widening smile made him look beyond her snow covered slacks and plain hat. Her large eyes, a pretty gold-green color, helped lend the slight resemblance of a pixie. Her nose was adorably unique, and her skin appeared soft and fair, despite those rosy cheeks.
She looked like a bleeding pixie all right, and Spike remembered what she'd said about working at that diner he'd been headed into not ten minutes ago, before hearing her scream.
Spike grinned. It seemed he would be getting a chance to spend more time with this one.
"So," she glanced at the dead body behind him, and Spike's head turned to follow Buffy's line of vision, "how'd you kill it?"
He frowned, facing her again. "Kill it?"
Her startled gaze doubled in size, which was rather remarkable. "It is dead, right?"
Spike nodded gently, wearing a bewildered expression Buffy couldn't understand. "Yeah. It's dead."
"Then why are you looking at me all funny?" she asked, biting back a sigh of relief.
He shrugged. "'Cause most people don't care how I kill 'em."
"Most?" She frowned. "You do this kind of thing often?"
Spike scoffed. "Often enough, unfortunately."
"Oh." Buffy looked away then. Snowflakes assaulted her hat, dotting it happily until she lifted her face once again. "How?"
He tilted his head in question. "What d'you mean 'how?' "
She rolled her eyes. "That thing was like... a Yeti, or something. It was-"
"Wasn't a Yeti, love."
Buffy frowned again. "Then what-"
"I can't remember the Latin term." He rolled his eyes and added, "But your typical one is Frostbite demon."
"'Typical?' You're kidding, right?"
Spike shook his head with a faint smile.
Buffy let out a big whoosh of air, putting up a challenge with the reviving wind. She accepted the unlikelihood of all this weirdness lifting anytime soon, and said, "It was strong, right?"
The gorgeous man nodded.
"Stronger than a human," she said. "So, how'd you kill it?"
"I'm not human."
Spike was surprised at how easy the admission came. She tensed straight away and he could hear her pulse skitter alongside one thick gulp. He smiled once again. That racing heartbeat was a lovely sound, but he didn't want Buffy to be scared of him, though bugger if he knew why, so Spike told her the truth. "I'm not going to eat you, though."
She took a step back. "That's comforting," Buffy retorted.
"Look," he said, all matter of fact, "if I'd wanted to kill you, you'd be dead by now. I turned over a new leaf years ago."
Oddly enough, that confession stirred Buffy's interest.
There was a reason leaving Spike behind and forgetting they'd ever met didn't feel right, his major hotness aside. She simply didn't know what the hell it meant. It seemed this stranger really didn't want to hurt her, and despite just how wigged his admission to being something other than human made her react, he had saved her life.
Buffy chewed on her lower lip, thinking.
Gratefulness and curiosity somehow got the better of caution, as he kept looking at her like he cared. The distant sound of a bell chimed as someone walked out of the diner, and Buffy remembered that she needed to get back to work. "I should get back to work."
Spike held in a groan, shoulders slumping. "Yeah, I know." He wanted to follow her, maybe have those onion rings he'd told himself he would order while they talked a bit longer, but he also wasn't willing to scare the chit.
The vampire frowned. That notion was strange in and of itself, and getting irritating.
A bit of unease wouldn't kill her. Not like that ton sized ball of demon fur would have. Spike decided he would order a to-go meal, should Buffy not feel comfortable inviting him inside. Then, at least, he could hang around for a few minutes with an excuse.
It felt like butterflies came to life in Buffy's stomach when the man looked disappointed after she mentioned leaving. She'd already decided to ask Spike if he wanted a cup of coffee before that dejected look entered his eyes, and now she was rather excited to make the offer. "Would you like to come in... for a cup of coffee or something? Anything you get is on me."
Spike smirked as certain images popped into his head.
A light flamed in his blue eyes, and Buffy's breath caught on his bold grin. *Trouble. Trouble with a capital T.*
"You don't have to do that, pet," he said, though not very convincingly. "I'll gladly come in and spend some time, though."
Buffy shuffled her feet about two centimeters in the knee deep snow. "You saved my life," she said, and he came closer before they stood side by side, facing the lit up restaurant. "It's the least I can do."
They headed out from behind the trees, and Spike felt the foolish urge to place his hand at the small of her back. "If you insist." His throat was tightening.
"I do," she said.
They moved passed a large rig and parked cars that resembled snow banks, making their way towards the doors just as Buffy saw Charlie heading out. When he noticed her, he put his hands on his hips, and it looked as if a sigh of relief rolled off his shoulders before he went back inside.
Jeez, how long had she been gone?
"Who's that?" Buffy turned and faced Spike after his question. "My boss. I think he was wondering where I went."
"Took him long enough," Spike muttered.
Buffy smiled softly in bewilderment. "What'd you say?"
"Nothing," he mumbled. "Hope you have a change of clothes in there, sweets. Your pants are soaked."
Buffy swallowed passed the heartbeat acceleration caused by Spike's continual use of endearments, and glanced down at her legs. "I actually do." She had spilled sticky smoothies and hot coffee one too many times on herself to ever leave the inn without bringing an extra pair of jeans to work. Even though Buffy lived just across the street, it was annoying having to run back and forth every time someone bumped into her while she was carrying beverages.
Spike's mind wandered to what Buffy might look like in nothing but her knickers. He opened the door and let her precede him inside, mentally shaking the thought away.
His eyes caught on her swaying bum. Damn it.
He shouldn't have brought up changing clothes. Buffy turned around once they entered the warmth of the bustling diner, though. He heard the soft laughter of strangers, and smelled everything from bacon grease to fresh coffee and dish soap. His heightened senses spun in circles at places like this.
Hell, he was used to it by now. The only reason Spike noticed was because every smell and noise and sight softened when Buffy looked into his eyes. "You don't have a dry pair of jeans in your car do you?" She frowned in concern and nodded at the denim hugging his legs. "Those can't be comfortable either."
Spike did, at the inn across the street where he'd gotten a room for the night, but he didn't feel like leaving to change. "It doesn't bother me, pet."
She frowned harder. "Aren't you freezing?"
He smirked and glanced away, then forced himself to whisper, "No body temperature."
She only needed a few seconds to grasp his words and their meaning, and her eyes widened like kaleidoscopes. Buffy was about to ask him several questions when Mary passed by, bumping her with one rounded hip to get her attention. "Seat the customer and get back to work, girl. Charlie's in a bad frame of mind."
Buffy nodded distractedly. She and Spike quickly shed their coats and hung them on the hooks by the door. She told him he could sit at the counter unless he wanted a table.
He chose a stool and Buffy went to tell the boy making coffee that she'd take over counter duty again as soon as she got back, and he graciously accepted her proposal just before knocking a container of coffee grounds to the floor.
Spike watched Buffy smiled understandingly at the fellow when he sighed dejectedly and bent to clean up the mess, before she headed off to change.
She went to the locker that held her purse and extra clothes, then the bathroom.
The woman whose nametag said "Mary" in plain black letters literally stumbled upon the bloke cleaning up the coffee, and she shook her head with a "Tsk." She tossed her fluffy brown hair over one shoulder before asking Spike if he'd like to order.
"I was just thinkin' on that," he lied, fingers tapping quietly against his knee.
"All right. Just let me know when you decide," she said. "Want a menu?"
Buffy suddenly came out from the back wearing a dry pair of jeans and her hair changed. She'd left the scarf, gloves, and hat behind with her soaked pants, and now that he could see her whole face and frame, a thought came to mind.
When Spike had first driven into this small town, settling on spending the night because of the blizzard, he figured an evening of dull television and cooler-chilled blood would be his fate. After discovering Miss Buffy, though, it was like the compass had changed direction; and Christ, he hoped he was right.
Spike wondered how it might feel with her sleeping against him.
"I'll be behind the counter for now, is that okay?" Buffy asked.
The other waitress, Mary, carrying two cups of hot tea in her hands paused to say, "Sure, your tables have cleared out anyway. I'll give your station to Daphne so you don't have to worry about manning 'em both."
"Thanks," Buffy replied gratefully.
"Oh, by the way." Mary rolled her eyes and grumbled, "Sarah turned Charlie down again- big surprise -and he's been a bear since you stepped out. Steer clear if you can."
Buffy nodded. "Got it."
The brunette sidled out from behind the counter, and the young man who'd finished cleaning headed to the kitchen with coffee stained hands.
Buffy took out an apron from a lower shelf behind her and tied it around her slim waist. "Okay," she said, bright eyed and looking anything but like a lady who'd just been attacked by a hungry Frostbite demon. "Have you decided what you want?"
"Not just yet," Spike said, eyeing her with blatant curiosity.
"Well, how about some coffee?" she asked.
He nodded. "You have onion rings here?"
She nodded. "Sure do." He didn't respond immediately, instead opting to stare with unwavering interest for several moments more, and Buffy narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "What?"
"Nothin'." Spike displayed a half smile. If only she knew what he was thinking, she might be pouring the coffee into his lap rather than the cup she'd just flipped right side up. Hot steam wafted across his lips and warmed his face before she spun around to grab a worn menu from the stack near the hardworking machines. Buffy set one beside his coffee mug. "Look through, see if you want anything else," she said.
Spike opened the menu obligingly. "You know, I think there is somethin' I've got a hankering for."
"What is that?"
"When are you done here?" he asked, never looking up.
"Working?" Buffy frowned. "I don't get off until about two."
He smiled. "Perfect." Spike closed the menu he was barely scanning and looked into her moss colored eyes. "Onion rings and a beer, pet."
She blinked. "You could get that at the bar across the street."
"But you're not there."
She fought a blush. He'd said it so matter of fact, so plainly... it was all a girl could do not to at least smile, so Buffy stooped to grab an off-brand bottle out of the mini fridge below the counter which was only there for storing beers. "What I meant was, are you sure you don't want something else?" she asked, twisting the lid off. Thankfully, her face wasn't flaming
Not of the food variety, no, but Spike wasn't about to scare her away. How could he know she was experiencing the same feelings as he? Listening to her heart accelerate didn't mean she liked the speeding and skipping, nor did the rising color in her cheeks speak of anything more than innocent character. He wasn't going to take the chance. Making Buffy feel threatened was the very last thing he wanted. "If I do," Spike answered instead, "I promise you'll be the first to know."
Just then, the bell above the door rang and a gust of cold wind followed two more customers inside. The weather had taken another nasty turn, and big fat flakes whipped around the parking lot. "I'll be back," Buffy said. "Still on hostess duty."
"Right." He watched her go, two menus in her hands as she headed for the blokes shaking off their snowy overcoats. Spike remained patiently waiting, as he planned to do for the remainder of the night.
***
The frosted windows saw chilly customers pile in and out through the hours, distracting her as often as possible. Still, in between servings and orders, as the stools around Spike filled up, he and the cutie in the apron got to talk and share stories, got to know one another quite fully as they shared batches of onion rings.
Such moments trailed into one long night, and before they knew it, the clouds hiding the stars had thinned and the wind had stopped. Snow was lightly falling like powdered sugar, and Spike noticed Buffy's feet were dragging come two in the morning.
They both knew the storm would pick up again. If the weather program on the radio was anything to trust, they could look forward to more of winter's showy wrath in the afternoon and evening tomorrow.
Spike wanted to be annoyed, because the snow and ice would prohibit him from moving on, but he couldn't. All he felt was... eager.
He would be able to stay, and that meant spending more time with Buffy.
He'd learned a lot about the woman over the past few hours. Yet he wanted to learn more. He wanted to know the things underneath.
He wanted to know how she looked when she first woke up in the morning. He wanted to know if she was a deep sleeper or easy to rouse. He wanted to know how she took her coffee, tea, and what kind of music she enjoyed most. He wanted to know how her hair might look spread over a wrinkled pillow. He wanted to feel her legs under a bed sheet, rubbing against his own.
Sometimes, when Spike stared into Buffy's eyes, or watched her laughing without a care and smiling his way, he thought maybe she wanted to know such things, too.
"God, I can't wait to lie down." She bent forward, resting her elbows on the shiny countertop. "When are you leaving town tonight?"
Spike took great pleasure in telling her he wasn't. "M'stayin' the night. I've got a room at the Heartbreak Hotel 'cross the street."
Her eyes blinked big and wide like an owl's, and not in reaction to the Elvis reference. "You- You're staying there?" Buffy faltered. "That's n-not-..."
He frowned. "Not what?"
Possible, she was going to say, except that would sound crazy and she didn't want to look crazy in front of him. She opted for sensible, with a tendency to stutter. "Not serious. You're not serious, I mean."
He gave her an odd look, and Buffy couldn't blame him. "There a reason I shouldn't be?"
She actually gulped. "I live there. At the inn." Buffy gave him a nervous smile. "It's just funny. I didn't know you were spending the night here- There- In town," she explained, if rather idiotically.
Spike barely noticed. "You live there." His tone gave truth to a question as delight filled his eyes.
She nodded. "The owner let's me rent a room on the second floor. She never gets full occupancy," Buffy replied, and then absently wondered why she'd told him where her room was located.
Thoughts ran through Spike's mind like they were on a conveyer belt. Buffy said she had been in this town for about three years, yet she never bothered to find herself a real home in it? Strange, that. But then again, Spike recalled certain things he'd noticed over the several hours spent with her.
She didn't talk about why she'd left California before traveling here, and never once called either place home.
She didn't talk about missing anything at all, really, and as far as Spike knew she didn't have family around here. Buffy was working a double shift tonight, and not appearing annoyed in the least over it. It led him to believe she wasn't any more comfortable at the inn than she was here, at the diner. She might have a room, but she didn't have a real home, and didn't seem to be missing the one Spike assumed used to be in California.
She was unsettled, rather like a baby bird that had left the nest a bit too early and still hadn't found a place to land. He thought she might be looking for one.
"Do you ever want to leave this place?" he suddenly found himself asking.
Immediately surprised, Buffy blinked, but then something shifted behind those beautiful green eyes. "Sometimes, yes. I do," she admitted.
"Then why don't you?" he urged.
"What?"
"Why the bleeding hell don't you leave?"
Spike hadn't meant to sound quite so insistent, but he didn't get a chance to worry over that, because a voice from the back of the kitchen cut into their conversation. "Buffy! Customers at table eight!" Charlie bounded through the doors carrying two dishes piled high with food. He shoved them at her and said, "Mary's got too many tables right now and Daniel's on his break."
"He just came in an hour ago," she pointed out.
"He'll pay for it later when he wants another cigarette and I don't give him ten minutes. For now just serve his section." He nodded at the meals now in her hands. "One of the guys wanted ketchup and the bottle at the table's empty, so don't forget to grab a fresh one."
Buffy sighed as he walked away, back through the swinging doors which lead to the kitchen. Spike was glaring in the same direction and she couldn't fathom why as she set the plates down, but didn't waste time trying to figure it out. She fetched a new ketchup bottle from a cabinet, then stuck it between her arm and ribs before picking up the plates again. "I'll be right back."
Spike's eyes followed her as she left. The table Buffy had to serve was a booth, down the length of the front windows and settled into the far corner. He couldn't seem to take his eyes off her, even if she wasn't doing anything particularly interesting.
The question he'd asked probably caught her off guard, and maybe he had been a little too forward, the inquiry a little too threatening to her peace of mind. Nonetheless, Spike wasn't in the business of letting people stunt themselves staying where they didn't want to be by keeping his mouth shut about it.
Usually he didn't care, and he might sound presumptuous with such opinions, but he couldn't help himself. Buffy was someone Spike felt he could understand, at least in this way. He liked to entertain the idea that maybe she was ready to leave this place she didn't call home. There was a difference in living and surviving, and as soon as he learned her full story, he'd know for sure which way she was playing.
Buffy started back, and quickly realized Spike had been watching her.
It made her smile, strangely enough. This rescuer of hers was many things, including attractive, kind, witty, and a flirt. They had shared a few good verbal sparring contests over the last few hours, too, which succeeded in making her laugh. She enjoyed spending the time with him, and was only mildly surprised at the trust she felt developing for a total stranger.
Spike saved her life, after all, but there was still something incredibly... special, about the way they clicked. In truth, he didn't feel like much of a stranger at all.
She wasn't afraid of him. Seeing was believing, and even that wasn't a foolproof rule, so while Buffy knew he was something other than human, it didn't bother her in the least. Maybe because she didn't see much out of the ordinary about him, asides from excess strength. Maybe because of the other thing, that feeling she couldn't label.
Quickly reaching the counter, Buffy rounded the corner and slipped between the stools and coffee makers for what had to be the fiftieth time that night. She folded her arms and looked directly at her savior. The row of silverware and upside down cups were empty of customers for once, and the buzzing from surrounding voices dimmed as Buffy said, "There's nowhere I want to go. I don't have someone to travel with, and I'm... comfortable. That's why I haven't left."
Something in her voice lured him like a siren's song might a sailor, and a yearning began to bleed into his chest. "You don't have a partner."
Buffy swallowed, nervousness splattering across her cheeks in a white flush. "I don't have a reason."
"And a partner would be a reason."
"The right one, I guess." Her words descended into a mumble and Buffy couldn't understand it. His eyes had the power to make you feel like you were falling, she realized, and the implications her words were making appeared as a bait hook. She had always wanted an adventure, had always wanted to find a home with someone, but the fear that came with such wishes was overpowering.
Until, you found the right person.
There was a lot to be said about "right" people, because they popped up out of nowhere and before you knew it, they were a part of your mind and your routines. They were pictured in your future before events could take place. They were a character in your story, someone to lean on.
And sometimes, they helped you write your story. "Spike, I can't leave," she murmured desperately.
Keeping things the way they were couldn't be right but it was the safer choice, she told herself.
He didn't know how she'd caught on. Buffy knew exactly what he was going to ask her before the thought had even fully formed in his mind, but once she responded to the unvoiced question, he knew that he wanted her with him.
"Why not?" he asked. His life was a solitary path, an endless trip of moving through the country and only living in places he liked for short periods of time. He'd told himself, after getting shackled with a soul by some meddling gypsies his grandsire used to know, that he would only settle down when he had a real reason to; his fight was the good one now, better to tackle it where he could and not get too attached to things.
She frowned like she was reading a very provoking book, or like his thoughts had bled out onto the floor and she could see every sad one. "Because I- we barely know each other," she said.
His heart somehow felt both light and heavy at once, but it was amazing he could feel it at all. "There are ways to fix that, love."
Her eyes clouded with indecision. It sounded absolutely crazy. Spike sounded crazy. He'd saved her life, there was a connection, she wanted to run away with him. That was crazy. He wasn't human, she was barely living.
This was all insane. "I just... I can't... I can't do that," she said, eyes wide and lost. "I want..." Buffy swallowed, caught his own gaze in a stronghold with shaking lips. "I don't know... Spike. But-"
"All right." Disappointment flashed in her eyes. He chose another route, another choice. "Just stay the night with me," he murmured beseechingly. "We're both goin' back to the same place, and we don't have to head to separate rooms, if we don' want."
Buffy's heart did a somersault and she had to take a deep breath. She wasn't accustomed to this.
Well, she got the occasional invitation from men every now and then. Lonely truckers, mostly. What she wasn't accustomed to was being tempted; that had never happened.
Suddenly, she realized she wasn't just tempted, she actually felt expectancy light her blood. It was paired with something that felt strikingly like relief. "I..." Her throat was tightening, her mouth running dry. He was waiting for an answer, his entreating face kind and wicked at once.
Buffy wanted to be carefree with him, she wanted to spend more time with him here, but her shift was almost over and then they would part ways. The night was quickly turning to morning, the sun would be rising, and with it another calm, uneventful, mundane day.
"Okay," Buffy whispered. Then her eyes widened.
Had she just...
Spike gave her the smile of the century.
She had.
___________
END NOTES: I have a few more chapters to edit before this story is over. Thanks for checking it out, I hope everybody enjoys the whole thing! And this goes without saying, but please review. :) :)
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