She’d been right. Twenty loong minutes had passed since Willow dragged everyone out on the dance floor, and Buffy was still stuck up on the balcony with Spike. Needless to say, she was starting to get bored.
Spike hadn’t moved an inch since he touched her on the face, so they were sitting in silence, only a few feet apart, both of them staring everywhere but at the other person. It was beyond boring and Buffy had drifted off into daydream-land a way long time ago.
She was thinking about Cordy and Harmony, and she was starting to come to a way horrible conclusion. One that she really wanted to talk about, because it was starting to bug her.
She glanced over at Spike. Part of her was convinced that he was the absolute last person she would want to talk to about anything, much less this. But the other half of her wasn’t so sure. Spike didn’t like her in the least little bit, so maybe he wouldn’t be all nice to her about what she was gonna say. That would be good.
When she spoke, her voice was barely loud enough to be heard over the pounding music. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever had a real friend.”
“’course you have.” Spike snorted. “You were Little Miss Popularity for three bloody years. You had friends comin’ out your arse.”
Okay, he was definitely not being nice. “That’s not what I mean,” Buffy said impatiently. “I wasn’t talking about mixy-people!”
She was staring straight ahead, determined not to look at him, so she couldn’t see his expression, but if his sarcastic tone was any judge, he was arching a cool eyebrow at her. “Mixy-people? What the bleeding hell is that?”
“You know...people you sit next to in elementary school, and talk to when you have the same lunch period, and stuff,” Buffy explained. “Mixy-people. They’re not your friends, but you’ll talk to them when you see them.”
“So...you’ve got lots ‘f mixy-people—“ Buffy grinned at hearing the Brit say her phrase, it sounded like he was saying “Neanderthal” or “football-player” or something equally weird and freaky—“But no friends?”
“Um, yeah. That’s pretty much it.” Buffy wrinkled her nose in an effort to hide her hurt and added, “Don’t you think so?”
“I reckon you’ve got a few friends.” Spike’s voice was like hers, carefully indifferent, masking any real emotion it might contain.
“Yeah? Like who?” Wow, this had to be a record for them. They’d gone like five minutes now without screaming at each other.
“Well, Red, for one. Chit wouldn’t invite you to the Bronze if she didn’t like you. Faith, too. She doesn’t go all slutty for everybody, y’know.”
Buffy couldn’t help herself—she laughed bitterly. “Oh, right, sorry. I have two friends—a nerd and a total slut.”
Ow! God, what was Spike’s deal? One minute he was all Mr. Neutrality, and now he was grabbing her chin and glaring into her eyes, his own a hard, uncompromising blue, his jaw set. “Maybe ‘f you were a little nicer, you’d have more friends,” he ground out. “Red’s worth more than five sodding Harmony’s, and ‘f you’re too stupid to notice it—“
She pushed him away and leapt to her feet. He wasn’t the only one who could act all tough and fight-ey. “Oh, so now I’m stupid? Way to make me feel better!”
“Wasn’t tryin’ to,” Spike shot back. “All ‘m doing is giving you the truth, as I see it.” His voice softened. “You can still fix it, you know.”
She stared at him incredulously. One minute he was calling her stupid, and now he was acting sensitive and stuff. Is he schizophrenic, or something? “I don’t wanna fix it. I want you people to leave me alone!” She stomped over to the railing and stared out at the crowd of dancing teens.
He came up behind her. When he spoke, it was in her ear, and almost in spite of herself, she shivered. “Leave you alone—is that what you really want, pet?”
“I never asked to be adopted by the nerd squad,” she snapped, but even she could hear the lie in her voice. She was grateful for Willow’s help, not to mention Anya and Xander and the others. She didn’t know where she’d be without them.
“Yeah, but you were. And a fellow had to wonder—‘f you hate us all, what’re you doing up here in the dark?” She could feel him behind her, almost touching her back.
Okay, that was it.
She whirled around to face him, stubbornly refusing to show that having her own face be just inches away from his was doing serious things to her body. Instead she stared into his eyes and smiled slowly. “You know what, Spike?”
“Yeah?” There was still another strange expression on his face, one she’d never seen before. It was—intense was the only word she could think of to use. Like he knew what was going on in her head, what was really going on, and he wanted to help.
“I think I’ve had my fill of the yicky side of the tracks.”
The weird look left his face, to be replaced by an expression she was very familiar with: anger. “Oh, so ‘m yicky now, is that it?” He inquired, moving closer. Now he was pressing her up against the balcony railing. Buffy felt a moment of panic—her and heights? Not so wonderful. But Spike couldn’t push her hard enough to make her actually fall, right? Right????
“N—not yicky,” she stuttered, willing to say anything if he’d just back off. “I meant, um, sticky! Like, you know, hair gel and stuff. Because you use a lot of hair gel, and—“
“I use a lot of hair gel? The soddin’ poof uses a bucket a day!” Now he looked insulted. It was actually kinda a funny look, because his eyebrows got all scrunchy, and his lips pursed...ooh, lips.
Wait. He’d asked her a question, and she’d zoned out. Again. This was getting embarrassing.
What came out of her mouth was even more so. “What’s a poof?”
“A nancy-boy.” When her face stayed impassive, he exhaled loudly. “Someone walkin’ on the wrong side of the street? Lorne?”
When he said Lorne’s name, Buffy’s face lit up immediately. “Oooh, you mean a gay guy!”
“Well, yeah,” Spike said.
“Who’s gay?” Buffy asked eagerly.
“Peaches,” Spike spat, taking a step away from her. Buffy was glad—the conversation was getting so ridiculous that looking all mad and impassioned really wasn’t working anymore.
“Peaches are gay?” Buffy was confused. How could peaches be gay? Fruity, yeah—peaches were fruit, right?—but gay? Was that even—
Spike exhaled angrily, rolling his eyes. “Angel, pet. He’s a rainbow-flag-waving, gay-pride-parade-marching faggot.”
“Angel?” Buffy glanced down at the dancers. Angel was rubbing his crotch against Cordelia’s ass like his life depended on it. “Sorry, Spike, but I’m pretty sure Angel’s straight.”
“Well, yeah, but it pisses him off when I call him Peaches,” Spike said with a smirk.
Buffy stared at him for a second. It was funny how she could be all furious with him, and then get completely confused, and then in an eye-blink be mad again. It was the smirk that set her off. He’s smirked right after he’d done the finger thing, too.
So instead of answering, she just turned on her heel and stormed down the stairs.
She wasn’t actually expecting him to follow her, or anything. He hated her, right? He should just let her have her dramatic exit and sat up there and been all growly for the rest of the night.
In retrospect, she really should have known that Spike never did anything the easy way.
No, he had to come rushing down the stairs and grab her arm. “Oh, no, you don’t. You’re not gonna run away, Summers.”
She wrenched her arm from his grip. God, could this get any more clichéd? “I’m not running away! I’m just—bored, and I’m going home.” She turned her nose in the air and practically ran down the stairs.
After that, several things happened at once. Buffy ran straight into Harmony, who screeched and dropped her root beer right on Buffy’s feet. Spike ran straight into Buffy, who fell right on top of the root-beer-soaked, screeching Harmony. The music stopped and people gathered around them in typical high school, ooh-there’s-gonna-be-a-fight fashion.
Harmony was the first to act. Buffy was kinda pinned down by Spike’s weight, but Harmony’s arms and torso were free, so she had some wiggle room. And wiggle she did, until she was standing upright and staring down at the two blondes with a look of pure rage on her face.
“You stupid slut!”
Buffy pushed Spike off and stood up, trying to ignore the fact that she really would’ve enjoyed letting him stay there for awhile. When she stood up, her shoes squelched. “Eeew, I have sugar shoes!”
“’ll drive you home,” Spike said, but his eyes were on Harmony, who looked extremely angry. In fact, now that Buffy had elected to ignore her, she looked something very close to murderous.
“Hello! You spilled root beer all over my brand new dress! You should be, like, groveling, or something!”
Buffy just stared at the girl. It was funny how, two days ago, if another girl had spilled soda on Harmony, Buffy would have been backing Harmony up. She would have said something along the lines of, “You totally should, geek,” or something equally as dumb and banal. Now, though, all she wanted to do was laugh.
It was unbelievable that people like the girl standing in front of her thought that they had a right to homage from every single person in and out of the school. What was even more unbelievable was that they actually got it.
And finally, to round out the unbelievable-a-thon: she was completely unafraid of Harmony. She was already about as low on the popularity scale as you could get. She had someone standing beside her who, though he hated her, hated Harmony just as much as she did.
So instead of cowering or begging Harmony for forgiveness, Buffy just rolled her eyes. “Whatever, Harm.”
Harmony went stock-still and stared at the other blonde incredulously. “Did you just whatever? You so did not just whatever me!”
“I so just did,” Buffy shot back, mimicking Harmony’s dumb-blonde accent. “And you so need to get out of my way!”
“Oh, no you don’t,” Harmony shrieked. “I am not going to let a social leper like you insult me! It is so totally never gonna happen!”
Oh, ew. Buffy’s feet were starting to get sticky. “Harmony, just move already.”
“I am completely not moving until you—“
“God, would you just move your arse, already?” That comment came from Spike, who sounded as bored as Buffy was.
Harmony stuck out her lip. “Blondie Bear, you should do something. She just, like, ruined my dress!”
Buffy glanced at Spike. He was eyeing the dress with a sarcastic expression—it was a tube dress and fit her way too tightly, in Buffy’s opinion. I mean, does she have to show the whole world how huge her boobs are?
Spike’s answer told her he’d been thinking the same way. “Harm, why the bloody hell should I care?”
“Spikey, I can’t believe you sometimes. You’re so insensitive! If you were a good boyfriend you’d—“
“Bloody hell—Harm, I am not your soddin’ boyfriend!”
Buffy started to grin. She’d never seen Spike get this mad at her—and he’d gotten really, really mad before. But now he was all embarrassed and mad, which was way entertaining, cuz his face was pink and his fists were all clenched and he looked really cute like that...
Cut it out, Buffy!
She tapped him on the arm. “Sorry to interrupt the lover’s quarrel again,” she chirped, “But you said you’d drive me home?”
He looked down at her. His lowered brows made his eyes navy, almost black. Buffy had to force herself to hold his gaze, his eyes were that intense. “Yeah. You ready?”
“Uh-huh. Let’s go.” Buffy began to walk away.
“Hold it!” Harmony screeched. When neither of them obeyed, she ran over to them and grabbed Spike’s arm, digging her nails into his flesh. “Blondie Bear, wait up!”
“Hey! Get off of him!” Buffy began prying at the other blonde’s fingers, trying to ignore the way the crowd around them was tittering.
Spike solved the problem by jerking his arm so hard Harmony’s hands were wrenched away. “Shove off, bitch,” he snapped, and before Harmony had time to recover, he strode towards the exit. Buffy followed, practically running to keep up. She thought she heard Harmony scream something, but the music was loud enough so that (luckily, in her opinion) she didn’t hear what it was.
Spike was silent as he led them to his car, so Buffy was quiet, too. She was actually a little worried that if she started talking she’d remind him she was there and he wouldn’t take her home. Not that she really had a problem with walking home normally, but her shoes were seriously gross—the sooner she could get out of them, the better.
Apparently he knew she was there, though, because when they got to his car he opened the passenger door and said, “Careful, I think there’s some Jack on the seat.”
The streetlights made his hair seem to glow in the darkness, but she couldn’t see his eyes. Suddenly, something occurred to her: Holy shit, I’m in a dark alley with Spike. Did I, like, get a lobotomy and not notice, or something?
“You gettin’ in, or what?” Spike asked impatiently.
“Um, yeah...” She slid in, pushing two clinking bottles out of the way. “What’s Jack?” she asked right before he slammed the door.
“’s whiskey, pet. Jack Daniels.” He slammed the door.
“Ew,” Buffy muttered, dropping the bottles on the floor of the vehicle.
When Spike got into the driver’s seat she said, “Anyone ever tell you not to drink and drive?”
“I don’t,” he replied, so shortly that after that Buffy decided to keep quiet. It would be so like him to kick her out of the car because she was bugging him.
He drove quickly, his headlights cutting through the night. He drove up to her house without hesitation—Buffy couldn’t decide if it was a good thing or a bad thing that he’d remembered her address. As soon as he stopped she grabbed the door handle, ready to leave. She had in fact pulled it and started to open the door when he turned the car off.
She turned to look at him, surprised. “Yeah?”
“Just ‘cuz I gave you a ride home doesn’t mean I even remotely like you, y’know.” The words came tumbling out of his mouth at a remarkable speed. “I just wanted to piss Harmony off.”
“Um, I know?” She said it like a question because she had absolutely no idea why he’d told her that. Talk about stating the obvious.
“Good.” He nodded and opened his door.
She stared at him. “This is my house. You remember that, right?”
“Well, yeah. ‘m walkin’ you to the door.” He half-rolled his eyes at her and got out, closing his door before she had a chance to protest.
She exited the car hastily when he started walking over to her side—he was acting like this was a date, or something.
Unfortunately, he was standing right in front of her by the time she got out. She couldn’t just walk past him and into the relative safety of her own house like she wanted to. No, she had to stand in front of him and wait for him to move—something he didn’t seem inclined to do.
She tilted her head up, intending to ask him to move...but she stopped suddenly, transfixed by his face.
They were right outside of her family’s garage, so the floodlights lit his face roughly, throwing harsh shadows across his face, emphasizing the hollow his cheekbones made. Yet, somehow, the dim light added poetry to his face. It made his lips seem fuller, his eyes bluer.
Buffy was entranced.
So entranced, in fact, that contrary to everything she actually wanted to do—smack him, insult him—she found herself slowly swaying towards him, her eyes intent on his. In them she read anger, confusion—and the same interest that was drawing her in.
“You know I really hate you...” Spike whispered, bringing a hand up to cup her face. She leaned into it, closing her eyes.
“Yep,” she said breathily. “Me, too—I hate you too, I mean...”
“Good. Glad that’s clear.” He moved closer.
“As glass,” Buffy whispered, and her lips met his.
She’d kissed people before, of course. She wasn’t a kissing slut like Harmony, or anything, but she had kissed guys—Tyler, Angel, and to her shame, Parker. So, kissing Spike should have been pretty—well not ordinary, but not exactly world-shaking, either.
Except that it wasn’t. The second he’d touched her face, tingles had shot up her spine. She’d never had spine-tingles before. It was kinda freaky.
Then, when he actually kissed her, she got lip and face and all-over-the-rest-of-her-body tingles, plus an amazing feeling of heat that started slowly burning in the pit of her stomach. She moved a bit closer, feeling his grip on her tighten, sliding her arms up to lock around his neck.
Their lips stayed locked for an indefinable moment, suspended in time, neither of them wanting to move and break the strange spell that had come over them.
Oddly enough, it was Spike who became forgetful and whispered, “Buffy,” breaking their liplock and reminded Buffy that she was standing in her driveway, kissing Spike Walsh.
She pushed him away and stared at him for a moment, wide-eyed, before stuttering something completely inane: “I have to—I’ll just go now,” and running up to her front door. Behind her, she heard Spike mutter, “Bugger.” She ignored him—God only knew what would happen if she went back there.
Later, she thought it was a miracle that she didn’t trip over the steps, fall flat on her face, and break her nose. Someone up there must really, really love me, she thought, redoubling her pace until she was inside.
She slammed the door behind herself, breathing as heavily as if she’d just run away from a swarm of evil killer bees—although actually, compared to what she’d just done, the killer bees might be preferable. She slumped against the doorway, heart thunking in her chest, one thought running through her mind:
What the hell did I just do?
~*~
A/N: Sorry it took me so long to update, but I’ve got good news: school’s out for me, which means updates’ll probably be faster and more regular. *apathetic silence from readers* Well, okay then. I see how it is! No, kidding, sorry, I’m in a weird mood. Thanks a million for the reviews, I did the happy dance again =) Also, if any of you are even remotely interested--I set up a LiveJournal account thingy, address is in the author profile thing on this site.
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