She felt so alone. It was strange how, even though Spike was by no means near her all the time, he’d become so important to her that knowing he wasn’t there in a best friend capacity anymore made her feel more alone than she ever had before.
She missed him—it was that simple. She missed being around him, missed making him laugh. She missed the hot kisses, too, but mostly she just missed him.
That, more than anything, told her that Doyle was right. She loved him. It wasn’t just hormones, it wasn’t just friendship. It was love.
Funny how she couldn’t shy away from it anymore. She’d been ignoring it for—God, she didn’t even know how long. But when Spike had said he loved her, and then when Doyle had said she loved him, well, a person could only deny so much.
Buffy wrapped her arms around herself, determined to keep walking until she’d at least partially resolved what she felt.
When she’d given him that (incredibly stupid) ultimatum, she’d been hoping he would show up and agree that they were just friends, platonic love, hormones out of whack, blah blah blah. Now she wasn’t so sure. Some traitorous part of her wanted them to keep going with their whatever-it-was relationship, wanted them to be together. And no matter how much she told herself it was impossible, she kept hoping.
Stupid world…
It was almost time for the party by the time Buffy meandered back to her cousin’s house. Smiling at Fred and her fiancé, Wesley, and avoiding her mother’s death glares, she ran upstairs and into the guest room.
She was wearing the simplest dress she owned—black, tight at the top and loose and ragged at the bottom. It wasn’t exactly formal, but since this was a mostly family thing, she figured it was ok…
And anyway, it was way less hot than that red dress she’d worn. Since Spike was going to be there, she counted the lack of hotness as a major good thing.
Although with her luck, he’d come wearing a suit again…
No. Bad Buffy. No salivating over Spike in a suit! He’ll come and say that you’re just friends, and you’ll smile and nod and agree. That’s all!
Somehow, she just couldn’t believe it.
Her stomach was a mass of butterflies when she descended the stairs about fifteen minutes before the party was to begin. Doyle was already there—and to her shock, Cordelia was on his arm. “What the f—“
“Buffy!” he cut in jovially, “I’m guessin’ you’ve met my girlfriend?”
Buffy’s only response was narrowed eyes and a curt nod. Immature, sure, but it wasn’t like she was required to be nice to the girl who did her best to make life miserable for everybody any time there was school.
Cordelia didn’t bother holding back. “Oh, everyone knows Buffy,” she said with a little laugh. “She’s the biggest slut in Sunnydale.”
“What?” To his credit, Doyle looked angry. “Cordy, did you forget to take your Midol again? Because—“
“Oh, please, Doyle.” His girlfriend looked disgusted. “She’s boinking a 26-year-old. Does that not tell you something about her?”
“And you’re doing the nasty with my uncle,” Buffy shot back. “I’m sure everybody in Sunnydale would love to know that.”
“He’s nineteen—duh!”
“Yeah, but if I say he’s not…” Buffy trailed off with a triumphant smirk on her face.
Cordelia sighed impatiently. “Okay, okay, you win,” she snapped waspishly. “I’ll keep my mouth shut about your pedophile boyfriend.”
Buffy was about to respond with something that probably would have resulted in a catfight when Doyle tugged hard on Cordelia’s arm. “Cordy, I need to talk to you,” he said in a voice that brooked no argument—despite the fact that Cordelia did, in fact, put up one.
“Doyle, stop it! I’m not your kid!”
“No,” he said in a low, annoyed voice, “You’re my girlfriend, and you’re being a bitch to my family. So cut it out.”
Buffy watched with a wry smile as Cordy started berating Doyle in a low, hissing voice. To tell the truth, she wasn’t as shocked about Cordy as she might have been. Doyle had a thing for beautiful women and an obstinate streak that would be useful in keeping Cordy in check. Still…no accounting for taste, she mused before walking over to where Fred and her father, Buffy’s uncle Rupert, were standing, putting the finishing touches on the decorations.
“Mind if I help?” she asked with an awkward smile.
“Of course!” Fred answered gratefully. “Dad doesn’t seem to get what streamers are for.”
“Really? It’s ‘cause he’s English,” she theorized, climbing up on the stool and helping Fred twirl the paper streamer before pinning it in place. “They’re way too fuddy-duddy for this kind of thing.”
“Really! How very ridiculous,” Giles scoffed. “The British decorate, same as everyone else. We just don’t use vulgar bits of paper to do so.”
“Oh, really? Seem to remember you helpin’ me hang these bits ‘f paper for Buffy’s birthday three years ago,” Spike drawled. Buffy’s head whipped around—and she almost fell off the ladder.
He was leaning against the doorway, wearing grey slacks and a dark black shirt, unbuttoned at the top. He came, she though in relief, drinking in the sight of him standing so near.
“Spike!” Giles said welcomingly, walking over to shake hands with him. “I must confess, I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Didn’t expect to be here,” Spike replied. “But I ran into Buffy last night, an’ she invited me. Hope it’s alright?”
“Of course,” Giles assured him. “You’re like family to us, you’re so close to Buffy…you know Fred and her fiancé Wesley, of course?”
“Can’t forget a pretty face,” Spike said teasingly, giving Fred a hug.
“It’s great that you could come,” the brunette said sweetly.
Buffy zoned out after that. She didn’t see Joyce and Hank exchange small smiles, or Cordy’s shocked staring at the new arrival, or the rest of the family’s furtive glances at her. All she saw was Spike—or more precisely, all she noticed was the fact that he hadn’t once looked at her.
When he’d made the rounds, he finally came to a halt at the ladder Buffy was currently sitting atop. “Care for some help there, luv?”
“Huh?” Buffy had been lost, staring at him.
“Streamers,” he said, gesturing to the rolled-up paper she held in her hand. “D’you want help?”
“Um, yeah, that’d be good.” She smiled at him apologetically as he climbed up the ladder on the other side of the fireplace they were decorating. “Sorry, I’m a total airhead…”
“’s alright—you were up late last night.”
She sighed and twirled the paper, trying to work a pin into the crack between the wooden paneling. “Look, if you’re going to be all adult on me—“
“Buffy, I didn’t say anythin’ other than you were up late.”
“Yeah, but we both know how that sentence was going to end: I was out late because I was getting drunk with Doyle.”
“You were drunk?”
Oops. “Well, not really,” she backpedaled quickly. “Just, you know, buzzed.”
He shook his head in disgust. “Can’t b’lieve you’d do that. Bloody irresponsible.”
“Oh, please,” she scoffed. “Like you’re much better, mister I’m-too-hung-over-to-think-straight.”
He smiled slightly. “’m not ever gonna be able to scold you, am I?”
“Nope,” Buffy said, grinning a little in return.
They finished putting up the streamer and moved on the to next section of the house in silence.
“So,” Buffy said nervously to alleviate the tension, “I hadn’t figured on you showing up…”
He shot a quick glance at her before saying simply, “You’re m’ friend. Of course I came.”
She turned away quickly, before he saw her face.
He’d just told her everything she needed to know.
~*~
A/N: Check it out:
dasugraphics over at LiveJournal made it...now pretty please review? You want Miss Edith to keep her eyes, right? ;)
And BTW, feel free to hate me because I'm being so shameless...this probably proves that I shouldn't update after a long day of playing around with HTML.