She'd expected to start crying again when she'd left the kitchen, but instead she sat in the chair, staring forward as she sipped her coffee and feeling numb.
The past week had been too much for her. It was emotional overload, and all she wanted to do now was find somewhere to hide from the world until it could all go away.
She didn't know what to do about her mother, and she didn't know what to do about Spike. From the looks of things, her mother was now on the road to recovery, which meant all the promises of "later" they'd made to each other were rapidly turning into those of "soon." Buffy felt guilty the moment the thought crossed her mind, but in some ways it had been easier when things had been direr with her mother. She hadn't had to think then—just feel. But now Joyce was going to get better, and they'd have to face their problems and try to work through them. Yet could they? After coming so close to losing her mother, Buffy knew she didn't want to write Joyce out of her life completely, but what sort of relationship could they have? Would it always been tinged by heartache and mistrust, or would they be able to come to build something new.
Buffy let out a long sigh, her hand tightening around the ceramic handle of her coffee mug. She wasn't ready to think about that yet. It was too much now when she was just starting to process that her mother had made it through the surgery alive and her prognosis was good. She could contemplate repercussions later. "Soon" had yet to fully become "now."
Yet pushing away those thoughts brought the other bit of current unpleasantness to her mind—Spike and his less than appealing behavior the night before. It hadn't been the first time she'd seen him drunk, nor was it the first time they'd had an argument with him under the influence. But it was the first time it had hit her so hard. Even with his jealous tendencies, Spike had never once accused Buffy of actually sleeping around on him before. His bouts of jealousy always seemed to be directed towards the other men, and while at times his behavior could get embarrassing enough to piss her off, he'd never directly accused her of being less than faithful.
Buffy knew it had been primarily the alcohol talking, but she couldn't bring herself to place all the blame there. For it to even enter his mind—sober or no—he had to have been thinking about it at some point. Did Spike really think she'd so quickly jump into bed with another man whom she barely even knew? And if he did, then did that mean she'd underestimated the level of his jealousy in the past? Had Spike always thought her capable of so callously betraying what they had together?
Her hands trembled as she brought her mug back up to her lips, and Buffy decided she wasn't going to allow herself to think that was true. Spike had to have more trust in her than that, didn't he? She could trust him with all his screaming, panty-throwing groupies, after all. The women did bother her—she could admit that, at least to herself—but it had never been because she really thought Spike would hop into bed with them. She just wanted the skanks to back the hell away from her man. Simple as that. It made her inner Cave Buffy less than happy to see some other woman trying to make Spike hers, but not because she didn't think Spike loved her enough to control himself.
Buffy tensed, her mug almost falling from her hands. Was that what Spike's problem was? Had she not made it clear to him how much she loved him? Her insides twisted as that fear crept over her. She knew she wasn't really good at expressing herself, not the way Spike was. He always knew just how to make her feel loved, and she'd feared she'd never be able to do the same for him. Was that what his problem was now? Had she been so wrapped up in her own problems she hadn't taken the time to let Spike know he was loved?
They hadn't made love in close to a week now, and Buffy knew Spike well enough to know how important physical contact was to him. He needed both a physical and emotional connection, the two too intertwined for him to separate them. Plus, without the release their frequent lovemaking usually afforded him, he had to be tense. Buffy knew she sure was…
She made up her mind as to what she needed to do. Buffy didn't want to keep fighting with Spike. It had been one time, and everyone was entitled to a little freak out now and then. Yes, it had hurt, but drawing it out would only hurt more. He was obviously sorry, and Buffy really wanted to forgive him. It was easier to push it out of her mind, not to keep hurting longer than she needed to. The more she thought about it, the more she could rationalize it. She hadn't been giving Spike enough attention, and he was feeling insecure. That was fixable.
And that's what they'd do when he got home—they'd fix things. She'd make sure Spike knew she still wanted him and only him, and everything would be fine.
Buffy set her coffee mug back on the table, determined to make this work.
Spike sat in a chair in the studio, his head in his hands. Brian had thrown his second fit in a row, and had subsequently stormed out again. It seemed he now thought Spike was the problem in the band, and that he was trying to take over despite the fact he wasn't even an original member.
Quentin Travers, their producer, had been furious to lose yet another day of recording time, and had informed the band that they had one of three options: they could make Brian behave himself, find a new guitar player, or forget about the album.
Rory and Oz were currently out tracking Brian down in hopes of talking some sense into him.
"Spike, can I speak to you in my office for a moment?"
Spike looked up sharply at the sound of Quentin's clipped tone. "Uh, yeah," he replied as he got to his feet and followed the older man into the office. A quick bolt of fear went through him as Quentin shut the door, and Spike knew there was no way whatever this conversation was about was going to be good—not with the week he'd been having.
"Have a seat," Quentin said as he walked behind his desk and gestured to the chair in front of him.
Spike did as he was told, albeit with uncertainty. "Is this about Brian?" Spike asked. "Because…"
"No, it isn't about Brian," Travers said, cutting Spike off before informing him bluntly, "It's about your current relationship."
Spike blinked. "My what? What about it?"
Travers clasped his hands in front of him and cleared his throat. "It has come to the attention of the label that you're currently involved with your step-sister."
"Buffy's not my step-sister," Spike said quickly, the response automatic.
Quentin frowned. "So her mother is not married to your father?"
Spike had didn't like the sinking feeling he was getting in his stomach. "Yeah, that's true, but she's not my step-sister."
"Do I need to show you the dictionary definition of the term 'step-sister?'" Travers asked, his eyebrow arching.
"No, you don't," Spike snapped, his control on his anger barely there. "Buffy and I are both adults, and have been for the duration of my father's marriage. We were not raised as siblings and have never viewed each other as such. There's nothing wrong with our relationship."
"I'm afraid some people might not see it that way."
"Sod 'some people' then," Spike thought, though his response to Quentin was, "Are you telling me to leave Buffy?"
Travers leaned back in his chair, his hands still clasped. "No, I'm not telling you to do anything except think about what this could do to your career, especially now that you're just starting out. If your album is as successful as we here at Watcher Records are counting on, then your life is about to become a very different one, Spike—one in which the media is watching your every move. Your involvement with someone who is technically your step-sister is something that could very easily cause a PR backlash you may not want to deal with."
Spike frowned. He hadn't thought of that, although now that he had, he didn't really care. Buffy was the most important thing in his life, simple as that. Spike stood, bracing his hands against the desk. "If that happens, I'll deal with it. I love Buffy, and if it came down to her or my career as a musician, she'd win, no fight."
Quentin blinked. He'd forgotten how foolish lovesick young men could be. "It was merely meant as a friendly warning, Spike. Think about your priorities. Women come and go—the opportunity I'm offering you comes once in a lifetime."
"Not women like Buffy," Spike insisted, shaking his head.
Quentin opened his mouth to respond, but stopped when he heard voices from outside the office. "Well, it seems your wayward guitar player has been returned. No need to waste anymore of my valuable time." He stood, walking towards the door but stopping when he reached Spike. "I know right now you probably want to rip my head off, but when you cool down, think about what I've said. We're trying to make you a household name here, and I don't think you realize how that's going to change your life. Very little will be private anymore. Do you really want to give the vultures a reason to descend?"
Before Spike could formulate an answer, Quentin had left the office. Spike frowned, the sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach growing.
Spike did think about what Quentin had said, though he wasn't sure his thoughts were quite what the producer had been going for. He wasn't worried about his career. He'd make it or he wouldn't, and he wasn't going to sacrifice his relationship with Buffy in order to influence the outcome.
What he was worried about was her. He hadn't really thought about the effect his possible fame would have on their lives, but now Travers had him thinking about just that—and how Buffy would be able to handle it. If their relationship did become tabloid fodder, would it be too much for Buffy? Would she want to live that sort of life? And what if the media did jump all over the idea of her being his step-sister and paint their relationship as something sordid? Would Buffy be able to handle her name being dragged through the mud?
It was one more straw piling on top of an increasingly overburdened camel's back, and Spike didn't know how to handle it. He already had more than enough stress, and yet it seemed as if everywhere he turned, he found more.
He should go home to Buffy, talk to her, see what her feelings were about the whole thing. But the fight they'd had earlier was still fresh in his mind, and he wasn't sure what he'd be coming home to. If Buffy was still angry—which Spike was almost certain she would be—then adding this to it could be just what it would take to drive her away.
Spike couldn't go home then. He was too much on edge and too afraid of what he'd find when he got there. He needed some time to clear his head, to relax, distress.
He needed a drink…
Spike turned his car away from the apartment and towards the nearest bar.
It was after midnight before Buffy gave up waiting. Dinner was cold, she was tired—anything she'd had planned was ruined now anyway.
Refusing to let herself cry, Buffy got up and went to bed alone.
Yes, this is moving into some serious angst territory here, but I hope you'll be willing to stick it out with me.
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