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Ch. 18: Friday Night Sighs

She tried to get used to it—she really did. But no amount of mental or physical preparation could keep her body from thrumming with excitement every time she saw those blue eyes twinkling—god, they were twinkling—and that smile warming her down to the very tips of her fingernails. And his body—she closed her eyes and attempted to shake that luscious body out of her mind. Buffy sighed dramatically and buried her head in her arms.
Cordy sipped her martini and played with her olive, her face furrowed in thought. "So it's been pretty torturous?" Back in town for a last weekend to pack up the rest of her stuff, she sat gracefully on the plush sofa and regarded her friend with sympathy.
Buffy groaned in agreement. She had readily agreed to go out to the new hot restaurant in hopes that the new environment would distract her. Unfortunately, it only made for a bright backdrop to her moping and frustration. Propping her face in her hands, she said, "I just thought I'd get used to it, you know? I thought maybe I was all hot and horny just because I was getting Spike overload. But it's not going away, not getting any easier. Do you think there's something wrong with me?"
"Actually, I do." Cordy giggled a little at Buffy's horrified expression. "Seriously, Buffy, hear me out. Do you think that maybe you're being a little hard on yourself?"
"What do you mean?"
Cordy took a deep breath and faced her directly. "Honestly? Would it really be so awful to give it a chance? He sounds like a great guy, and you're obviously attracted to him. He'd be crazy not to be attracted to you. All that stuff you told me about your past history and everything—is it really that impossible to get over? Is it so huge that you're willing to give up someone who might possibly be someone worthwhile?" Cordy looked at her fully, waiting for her reaction.
Buffy chewed on her lip and fiddled with a napkin. "I don't know. There's something inside of me that just feels like it's wrong."
Cordy dismissed that idea with a careless flip of her hand. "But it's not. I bet it wouldn't even make Jerry Springer."
Buffy chuckled a little before burying her head once again. "Maybe I'm just scared. I mean, maybe I'm just using this as an excuse to—to—" Buffy took a huge swallow of her margarita. "To avoid getting hurt. I totally threw myself into him last time, and it was so hard for me to get past that. It's not like I've dated since him. And if I were to let myself go for him..." She allowed to let her words fade, the napkin completely shredded before her.
"You might actually be happy," Cordy finished for her. "This is not marriage we're talking about. This is just about allowing for the possibility of something. You don't know what will happen—but you'll just be torturing yourself if you keep beating yourself up for being attracted to him. Let whatever is sizzling between you develop naturally. Who knows where it will lead you?"
Staring into the empty glass, Buffy scrunched up her nose and then peeked up at her friend. "So, you won't think I'm a total freak for going for him? For going for this guy that's slept with my mom?"
Cordy let out an exasperated sigh and then rolled her eyes dramatically. "You're kidding me, right? That's not really what's holding you back, is it? Because if so, I'm going to have to come up with some sort of punishment to pay me back for all the advice I've been giving. Who cares what people think? No one even needs to know. Hell, I've already forgotten." She shrugged and then called over the waiter.
"Excuse me, could we have two glasses of champagne?" She smiled sweetly at the waiter, ignoring Buffy's look of confusion. "I'm going to make a toast to your future," Cordy said simply.
Buffy stared at her hands for a long time, silently lost in her own thoughts. Finally she tilted her head and looked at her friend. "Do you really think I could let myself do that—let myself consider him as a possibility?"
Cordy nodded. "I really do. In fact, I feel like you owe it to yourself. Stop fantasizing—you could have the real thing." She thanked the waiter and handed her a glass. "Here." She held the flute with her immaculate nails. "Here's to new risks and the possibility of love. May we never be too afraid to live."
They clinked their glasses and drank in thoughtful quiet.
"Have I ever told you how amazing you are? How lucky I am to have such a smart friend?" Buffy smiled wistfully.
Cordy grinned. "Smart, ey? That's a new one. But don't forget sexy and incredibly talented, okay?"
They laughed and drank, and Buffy let go of the tight reins around her heart and body.
--
He took a shot of Johnny and shook his head. "No, I don't think she's interested. I mean, sometimes I think she is, but there's always this look of fear, like I'm gonna eat her or something." He sighed before muttering, "And not in the good way, either."
Xander chuckled, shaking his head. "Man, you got it bad. Can't say I blame you, though, since you're living with the one woman you can't have. You have all these women throwing themselves at your feet, and you gotta want the one who doesn't want a taste." He took a swig of his beer and shrugged. "Could be worse. At least she's not dating anyone."
Spike grimaced at the thought. "Thanks. I can always count on you to make me feel better." He nodded to the bartender and looked at his friend. "Why can't I get over her?"
"Because you've wanted her for a long time, and now you're living with her. She's in you—sleeping in your apartment, naked in your shower, eating in your kitchen...she's all over you, man. You're screwed. And not in a good way." He laughed at his own joke, enjoying his friend's discomfort.
Spike threw back another shot. "Got any ideas on how to get over her?"
"Nope. But there's no harm in playing the field a little, like talking to that brunette over there that's been staring at you for the past ten minutes."
Spike glanced over and shook his head. "Nope, that's not gonna work. Tried it, failed miserably. No, I think I'm just going to go home and sleep on it."
Xander laughed again. "You are so dead. Two shots, and you'd rather be at home in an apartment with a girl you're never gonna get. You're in love with torture."
Spike shrugged, knowing that it was true. "No point in feeling like shit tomorrow morning. Might as well be tortured and enjoy the view, right?"
"If you say so, my friend. If you say so. But I—" he said, finishing his beer and getting up, "I am going to try my hand with a few of the fine ladies tonight. So, you to your torture, and I to mine." He patted Spike on the back. "I'll catch up with you later, okay?"
He watched his friend make his way towards an attractive blond. He wished there was something, anything to push him out of this stool and into the playing fields. Unfortunately, the only thing he wanted to do was go home, chill on the couch, and hope that maybe he'd get to see Buffy for a little bit before going to sleep. "Wanker," he muttered to himself. Throwing cash on the bar, he got up and left.
He quickly walked home, not wanting the time alone to think about how much he thought about her and how much he couldn't have her. He convinced himself that he simply didn't feel like playing the field and wasn't holding out for any possibility of dating her—he just didn't feel like dating. Comforted by his delusions, he swiftly entered the apartment.
It was empty.
He tried to ignore the piercing disappointment that clutched his stomach when he realized that she wasn't there—tried to attribute it to the shots he'd just had, but convincing himself of that lie still didn't make the pain subside. He dropped his keys onto the table and plopped in front of the television, looking for someone cheesy, godawful movie he could make fun of to take his mind off of his state of solitude.
Surfing continually for about twenty minutes, Spike was about to turn off the TV when he heard keys in the door. He hurried to select an innocuous show, something on TLC, and feigned boredom to suppress the giddiness that was making him smile at her appearance.
Buffy entered the apartment and immediately smiled at the sight of Spike lounging in front of the television. She'd hoped to catch him tonight, hadn't wanted to think about the probability that he wouldn't be home on a Friday night.
"Hey, there," she called out, placing her keys and purse onto the hall table. "Whatcha doing?"
"Not much," Spike replied nonchalantly, turning around on the couch to look at her.
"Want something to drink?" she asked as she reached for a mug. "I'm going to make some tea for myself if you want some."
He smiled. "That'd be great." He played with a pillow and tried to sound less interested than he was. "So, what are you doing home on a Friday night?"
Buffy bit her lip, trying not to let her heart beat race at his question, at her new decision. "I could ask you the same thing," she replied lightly.
"Well, I went out earlier with a friend, but I guess I'm just not into the whole club/bar scene. He was pretty eager to meet someone, pick someone up or something, but I just wasn't feeling it," he said honestly, trying not to stare at her, at how much she seemed to belong in his kitchen, in his apartment. He shook the thought away and tried to focus on their friendship, two friends having a conversation.
"Yeah, that's sort of how I felt. I mean, there were a few guys who sent signs, you know, showed interest, but really? I'd rather be here." She glanced up, wondering if he would pick up on her tiny hint, but he wasn't even looking at her. She turned back to the tea.
Spike had tensed with her simple words and had repeated to himself that it was just being home—not being with him—that she was implying with her words. He closed his eyes, frustrated that he was having such a hard time being natural with her, even in this innocent situation.
"You want some popcorn? I saw that you were watching TV—I actually picked up a few DVDs, if you want to watch something with me." She threw out the invitation and tried not to hold her breath in waiting for his response.
He couldn't help but be pleased—regardless of her motivation, she wanted to spend time with him. That made him happy. "That'd be great. There's nothing on, so a DVD's perfect. Here, let me help you." He got up and headed towards the kitchen, grabbing the popcorn out of the pantry. "Do you want buttered or toffee?"
"Ooh, toffee! I've never had that!" She smiled at him as she added sugar and milk to the tea. "Oh, did you want milk? I just assumed—"
"That's perfect. I didn't know you liked milk in your tea. Most Americans don't." He leaned up against the counter as the popcorn popped in the microwave.
"Yeah, well, after I went to London for a year in school, I could never have tea without it." She shrugged and handed him his tea.
"Cool. I didn't know you did a semester abroad. And in the motherland. Good choice," he teased, blowing at the hot tea.
She grinned and retorted, "Oh, yeah. I didn't tell you I have a thing for British guys?" She cocked an eyebrow before turning to get a bowl for the popcorn.
Spike's eyes widened at her response. "Whoa, is she flirting with me?" he thought to himself. Before he could ponder the thought further, the popcorn finished. He took the bowl from Buffy, filled it, and followed her back to the living room. Sitting down on one side of the couch, he asked, "So what did you get?"
Buffy placed the tea on the coffee table and went to get the DVDs. "I got a few random ones. Let's see...I have a few foreign films like Y Tu Mama Tambien, Sex and Lucia, but then I got Princess Bride just because I love it." She brought the movies over and stood in front of the TV, waiting for his choice. "What do you think?"
Spike ran his fingers through his hair. "Uh, whatever you want. I love Princess Bride, but I've heard great things about the others." He tried not to remember his co-workers column on the best movies for seduction and shrugged indifferently, secretly hoping she'd choose Princess Bride.
"Well, how about we put in Sex and Lucia and then if it's slow or something, we can put in Princess Bride?" She nodded in response to his agreement and then put in the DVD. She then turned off the lights, grabbed the popcorn, and then sat right next to him, offering him the bowl. "Have some. You don’t mind the dark, do you? I just like watching movies in the dark."
He tried not to notice the warmth she brought or the reason she sat so close to him—if they were sharing popcorn, they had to sit close, right?" He tried to make himself comfortable, letting the darkness hide his unease, and leaned back to watch the movie.
--
The movie—despite its graphic sex, horrifying though mostly implied violence, intriguing plot twists, and engaging characters—still didn’t hold his attention when Buffy was so close to him, her body leaning against his. As the movie came to an end, he finally allowed himself to look down at Buffy. He was about to ask her what she thought of the movie, but before he spoke he noticed her regular breathing. She was asleep.
Spike chuckled to himself softly. “Here I was, trying to watch the movie and not look at her, wondering if her movements towards me are intentional or not, and she’s completely asleep,” he thought to himself. Her head was lightly resting on his chest, and her hand was loosely gripping the popcorn bowl. He eased the bowl out of her hand and onto the table. He allowed himself a moment to look at her, really savor her soft skin, the way her hair was mussed up around her forehead, the slight movements of her lips from sleep—and then tried to wake her up.
“Buffy? The movie’s over.” Nothing. She didn’t even acknowledge his voice.
He started to stand up, thinking the movement would wake her up. She suddenly wrapped her arms around his waist. “Uh-uhm,” she murmured into his chest, shaking her head. He tried again, but she just groaned, not wanting to move at all. Instead, she pushed against him, her legs curled up on the sofa and her body pressing against his.
“Uh, Buffy? Unless we plan on sleeping here all night, you’re going to have to get up.” He gently brushed his hand against her hair, not completely disliking that solution.
She merely purred contentedly, pushing him even further into the couch.
He sighed and then gave up. “Might as well get comfortable.” He lay his body fully on the couch, trying not to enjoy too much the way she made herself comfortable on top of him. He took her hand, kissed it gently, and then whispered, “Good night.”
Buffy, sound asleep and lost in her dreams, merely smiled.





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