~*~
Buffy was looking around hesitantly, trying to find Willow and the others, when Spike caught up to her.
She rolled her eyes reflexively. “God,” she snapped, all traces of their former talk gone from her voice, “Puppy-dog much?” Actually, he’d make a really good puppy dog, following her around like a slave...oh, God. Where had that thought come from? Buffy forced herself to stop thinking about slave-Spike.
“Just figured you’d wanna know where all the cool kids hang,” Spike said in a snide voice.
Buffy rolled her eyes. “Oh, please,” she began, but someone cut her off.
“B! Wassup?”
Buffy rolled her eyes but greeted Faith nicely enough. “Hey, Faith. Who’s your date?” She eyed the guy standing beside the brunette.
“Huh? Oh, yeah.” Faith laughed tipsily. “This is Devon. He’s the lead singer in—“
“Oz’s band,” Spike finished for her. “How you doin’, mate?” he added, eyeing the man up and down with a faintly protective air.
Devon raised his eyebrows. “Man, I’m still recovering from dating Cordelia.”
“Right.” Spike nodded and tilted his head up. “Good. Red’s up there.”
Buffy followed his gaze and let out an incredulous snort. “You guys hang out on the balcony?”
Devon frowned at her. “There something wrong with that?”
She abruptly remembered the fact that she was supposed to be friends with these people, not make it her life’s goal to insult them. “N—nothing,” she stuttered, smiling ingratiatingly. “I just don’t think I’ve ever been up there, is all.”
Devon gave her this look. She couldn’t really describe it—it was an “I-know-what-you’re-up-to” look mixed with a “you-stupid-bitch” kinda thing. He glanced at Spike. “Dude, I need to talk to you.”
Spike narrowed his eyes. “Either say what you wanna say in front of Summers or keep you mouth shut, Devon.”
“Fine. Buffy Summers is a bitch, no one likes her, so why the hell are you talking to her?”
Buffy’s mouth fell open in outrage. How dare he stand there and insult her! She was not a bitch! Well, okay, she had been, but as of three days ago she was so totally reformed! “Okay, you know what?” she snapped. “I have no idea how Faith puts up with you. I mean, yeah, the stoner-boy thing is kinda hot, but I’d rather put up with Harmony.”
To her surprise, Faith laughed. “Damn, B, way to kick my boyfriend’s ass,” she said, grabbing Devon’s arm.
Buffy just looked at her. Was that a compliment or an insult?
“Faith, why don’t you take Buffy on up?” Spike suggested, keeping his eyes on Devon. All of a sudden, Buffy found herself very, very glad he wasn’t looking at her. They’d fought for like forever, but he’d never looked at her like he wanted to kill her. And, okay, she doubted he’d kill Devon in the middle of the Bronze—but she was still glad he wasn’t looking at her.
Faith looked at him like he was insane. “I’ve had three frickin’ margaritas already. I am not doing those.” She pointed at the stairs before turning back to Devon with a sly smile. “I could do you, though...”
Surprisingly enough, Devon allowed Faith to pull him away from what Buffy was starting to think was a major testosterone thing, what with the staring and the growling and all. It was seriously weird and frankly, a little bit creepy.
So really, she was glad when Willow waved at her from the balcony and called down, “Buffy! You’re here!” She had to shout to be heard over the music.
“Uh, yeah. Just got here.” She tried for a smile, succeeding only a little.
“Well, come on up! What are you waiting for, an engraved invitation signed in blood?” Willow yelled back, grinning at her own joke. Buffy smiled, too, and went up the stairs.
“I’m sooo glad you could make it.” The redhead began gushing as soon as Buffy’s foot hit the top step. “I had to talk Spike into not kicking you out of here the second you walked in—what’s up with Spike, anyway? He looked like he wanted to rip Devon to shreds—nobody really liked Devon, but it’s OK, since he’s Faith’s and we all just put up with Faith on account of how no one can control her, and—“
“Willow? Breathe.” Oz came up behind her and wrapped an arm around his girlfriend’s shoulder. He nodded casually to Buffy. “Hey.”
“Hey,” Buffy replied, trying to smile. It was still so weird, having these people as her friends.
“So, you wanna sit down?” Willow, having recovered her breath, was doing her best to make Buffy feel normal.
“Um, yeah, sure.” Buffy followed, looking around curiously. It was a nice enough place, she guessed, if you were into dark and mysterious. The balcony was out of the neon lights that swung around the dance floor, and though the music drifted up, it was much quieter than on the floor below. Low couches in dark blue and black made it even more creature-of-the-night-ey. Buffy couldn’t decide if she liked it or if it majorly weirded her out.
“So,” she said, sitting down on a couch next to Xander and Anya, “This is nice. Kinda dark, but—“
“Hey.” Oz sat down and pulled Willow into his lap. “Dark has advantages.”
“Yes, you can get many orgasms up here and no one would even notice,” Anya said, darting a quick glare at Xander. He was sitting next to her, but to Buffy’s great amusement, every time Anya tried to scoot closer, he’d scoot away. “That is, if you have a boyfriend. Which I don’t,” she told Buffy.
“That’s horrible,” Buffy said, fighting to keep a straight face. “Must be really awful, with no one to take your coat, or open doors for you—“
“Or give me sex, which you and I both know is the most important thing in a relationship. Isn’t that right, Xander?” Anya resumed glaring at Xander.
“Think you’re gonna kill the whelp ‘f you keep bugging him like that, Ayn,” Spike said, grinning. He leaned against the balcony railing.
Buffy frowned at him. “Why are you up here?” Oh, great, now she sounded all jealous and stuff.
“Well, these are my friends. ‘m up here every Friday night, you know.”
“He is,” Anya said cheerfully. “And usually he passes his time by staring down at—“
“Oh my God!” Willow exclaimed, jumping to her feet. “I absolutely love this song! Don’t you love this song, Oz? Xander? Anya? I love this song!”
Anya stared at Willow in confusion. “Willow, what in the world are you doing? I was trying to tell Buffy that Spike—“
“We should go dance!” Willow again cut Anya off. She began tugging on Oz’s hand. “Come on, Oz, we never dance! And Anya, you know, dance floors are very seductive, with the sweat and the music and everything, you should come too!”
She pushed Oz towards the stairs and moved in on Anya. Before anyone had time to blink, she was ushering her boyfriend and the hapless would-be couple down the stairs and onto the dance floor, babbling about dancing the whole time.
Buffy blinked at the empty space that a second ago had held four people. “Okay. What just happened?”
Spike shrugged, looking casual. Buffy narrowed her eyes at him, glad that he wasn’t looking at her. His eyes looked...funny, she decided. All tight around the corners, like he was worried about something—or maybe nervous? No—Spike never got nervous! Mad, yeah, but...nervous?
It couldn’t be.
“Sometimes Red just goes completely carrot-top. Best to just obey her when she does,” Spike said casually. “Anya was right ‘bout one thing, though. The view from up here is nice.”
Buffy stood up and walked over to the railing hesitantly. She mimicked Spike’s leaning position, except she was about ten feet away from him. Because being stuck in a small dark space all alone with Spike was bad enough, thank you. She did not need to get all close to him, too.
She could see Willow going absolutely nuts on the dance floor. Buffy smiled fondly—Wills could be crazy sometimes, but she was a really good person. And there was Cordy, rubbing up against some frat boy, who was a piece of salty goodness really but hello, Cordy was acting like such a slut with the shimmying and stuff—and there was Harmony, practically wrapped around—
Buffy clamped her hands over her mouth and squeezed her eyes shut. Not gonna cry, not gonna cry, don’t want to look like a dumb blonde—come on, Buffy, don’t go all Hilary Duff now, Spike is right there, do you want him to see you cry? Not so much!
But it didn’t work. She stumbled back to the couch and plopped down in it, struggling to keep tears in. Well, she couldn’t help it, could she? Harmony was dancing with—“Tyler.” The name came out as a strangled kind of half-sob. She sounded like a dying duck. It was pathetic!
“Who?” Spike asked absentmindedly, still scanning the crowd. He glanced over at Buffy and did a double take. “Bloody hell, Summers, what’re you cryin’ for?”
“I’m not crying!” Buffy sniffled. She wiped away the tears, being careful not to smear her mascara. “I’m just—I’m just a little mad, is all.”
“Mad at who?” Spike was inching towards her with a wary look on his face. It was actually beyond annoying. He reminded her of the people at the zoo who had to feed the lions.
“Harmony.”
Spike let out an aggrieved sigh. “Not this again!”
“Huh? Oh, not the whole kicking me out thing. That slut is rubbing herself all over my Tyler!” Buffy winced as soon as that came out. Could she get any more lame? She sounded like one of those pathetic losers on Desperate Housewives.
So really, it didn’t surprise her when every hint of pity left Spike’s face and was replaced with amusement. Piss her off, yeah, but she wasn’t exactly surprised. This was Spike, after all. Stupid Spike who couldn’t go a day without insulting her—
And who, she decided, looked really, really good in red and black.
Wait. Off topic. Spike was saying something. Words were coming out of those wonderfully shaped lips...Concentrate, Buffy.
Right. Concentrate. On words.
Okay.
“What, did you brand the guy, or something?” Spike inquired, arching a questioning eyebrow at her.
“Huh? No!” Buffy mentally smacked herself. “He’s just...everybody knows he’s mine!”
Spike inched forward. Now he looked something other than amused...he actually looked kinda...Buffy frowned. Weird was the word. Not angry, not shocked, not annoyed, and not—thank God—pitying....just weird. “Just like everyone knows I hate you, right?” Inch. Inch.
“Just like everyone knows you hate me.” He came still closer, until he was standing in front of her. Then he sat down, and through the dimness, Buffy could see straight into his eyes.
“So answer me this, Summers...if what everyone knows is true, how come you don’t slap the shit out of me when I do...this?”
Then, to her complete shock, he lifted a single finger and trailed it down her face, brushing her bottom lip ever so slightly. She wasn’t the only one who shivered.
They sat in silence for a second, breath shallow, just staring at each other. Then Spike did the absolute worst thing he could have done.
He smirked.
“Well?” he said expectantly.
Buffy just lifted her hand and showed him the nails. “Manicure,” she said, tilting her nose in the air, trying hard to make it look like she wasn’t in the least little bit affected by that little touchy-thingy he’d just done.
Because she wasn’t. Her heart was racing and she was flushed and she couldn’t think straight because the music was all fast and loud and stuff, not because of anything Spike was doing...or had done...or could do...
Oh, crap.
Buffy pouted and slumped against the couch, shooting a disgruntled look at stupid Spike and, more specifically, his stupid fingers.
It was gonna be a long night.
~*~
A/N: Just so you know, this fic is gonna go somewhere. The night at the Bronze might take up a few chapters ‘cuz I want stuff to happen *grin* but after that, things will speed up. Promise =)
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Author's Chapter Notes:
A/N: OK, I write responses to every review and I say thank you every single time, but again I have to say: THANK YOU!!!!! I mean, I don’t write because I want reviews, but it’s nice when I get them, because then I know that people didn’t just look at my story and think “My God, this is such crap!” Or something to that effect =) So anyway, thanks again, and enjoy! (I’m hopped up on caffeine again, lol)