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~*~


The party was in full swing. People were talking, dancing, admiring the sapphire ring Fred had been given—doing everything, in fact, that they should do at a party.

The problem was that Buffy was bored to death.

Doyle and Cordy had long since disappeared, something that she didn’t really blame him for. Fred was radiant, Wesley was courteous, and the whole party was not a teenage scene.

Spike had been making the rounds for the past hour, shaking hands and basically dazzling all her relatives. It would have been great if he hadn’t made it all too clear what he wanted from her—or, more accurately, what he didn’t want.

Buffy sighed. The room was stuffy and she was so tired her heavily mascara-ed eyes were starting to feel gritty. Putting her drink down and giving polite smiles to people who glanced her way, she slipped out the back door and onto the deck that looked out at the Los Angeles skyline.

The breeze was just brisk enough to chill her, and she shivered as it caressed her bare arms. How had it come to this—to her feeling so young, naïve, and alone? Even at sixteen, she’d thought she knew who she was and what she wanted. Why had everything suddenly been turned upside down?

It wasn’t fair—but then, she knew the world wasn’t fair. She’d long since grown past repeating that adolescent incantation. But right now she felt so incredible childish that the found herself falling back on safeguards she’d thought she had long since abandoned.

“Getting tired ‘f all the merriment, luv?”

She jumped—and then immediately felt embarrassed. The Buffy of two weeks ago would have welcomed his presence, and it was the Buffy of two weeks ago that she needed now. He’d told her he only wanted to be friends. The romantic in her was just going to have to shut up. “Mostly just bored,” she said lightly. “Doyle was too busy with Cordy to talk to me, and the others aren’t exactly the funnest people to be around.”

He chuckled, coming to stand next to her. “They are your family, y’know.”

“Well, yeah…but still. Not the best party in the world.” God, did she have to sound so immature? Why was she unable to express what she was thinking? It wasn’t the party that was lacking—it was her.

“No, kitten. Don’t do that.”

“Huh?” Jolted out of her reverie, Buffy frowned at Spike. He was staring at her seriously, blue eyes sharp. “Don’t do what?”

“You’re blamin’ yourself for something that never happened,” he said simply. “Berating yourself for not wantin’ to be in there, sharing the merriment.”

“I never said that,” she mumbled, looking away from him.

“Hey.” Oddly gentle. “Things may ‘ave changed, but I still care about you, pet.”

Of course. You care about me so much that you blurt out your love for me and then backtrack faster than a Clinton. “I know,” she said. “The problem is I don’t know how.”

“’least you’re askin’,” he said. “I didn’t even have the courage for that, and ‘m s’posed to be the mature one here.”

She grinned a little at that. “You always were a big baby.”

“Not gonna deny that one,” he said with a slight grin.

“Guess we both need to grow up, then.” She still avoided his gaze, not wanting him to see the pain that resided there.

“Buffy—“

“Look. I know you only want to be friends, and I know that if we were more than that then you’d probably end up in jail and I’d be Sunnydale’s resident uber-slut. I know that, okay? The problem is—“ she braced herself, fighting to say what she knew she had to. “The problem is, I don’t care.”

Silence. Brittle, cold, and not in the least bit alleviated by the laughs they could hear coming from inside. Finally, Spike said in a low voice, “An’ how would you feel if you knew I felt the same way?”

She froze. Somehow, she’d thought he would tell her that they could never be together…or at least that she was silly for not caring about the so-called real world around them.

“I’m not saying we can,” he added quietly. “An’ I suppose some part of me must care, or we’d already be together, yeah? But…I don’t want to care, Buffy. I don’t want to have to care.”

Hazarding a glance at him, she winced when she saw his expression. He looked like he was honestly in pain. “The real world bites,” she said almost lightly, hoping he’d realize what she was trying to do. They couldn’t change the way the rest of the world was.

He smiled, only a little bitter. “Not gonna argue with you on that, either.”

For a moment they shared a simple silence, before Spike glanced at her and said, “Hey, you wanna go in there and dance?” Her uncle’s house was almost embarrassingly large—the living room, once cleared out, made a perfect dance floor.

She heard the music coming from the house; it was classical, Mozart or Bach or another one of those snooze-worthy guys. But it was better than being bored to tears, so…”Sure.” She smiled and took the hand he proffered, and they walked inside together.

“You look beautiful, you know,” he said as they went onto the improvised dance floor.

Buffy made a face at him. “Oh, please,” she said. “Black is so not my color.”

“Not mine, either, but you stared at me when I came in,” Spike said with a grin.

Her blush told him all he needed to know; he threw back his head and started to laugh. She gave him a disgruntled swat, trying to ignore how good it felt to be this close to him, and how happy she was simply because she’d made him happy. “You’re a doofus,” she informed him.

“But a sexy doofus,” he countered, squeezing her hips ever so slightly.

Ignore it, ignore it… she willed herself. “You know, avoiding illegal activity is going to be a lot harder when you’re drawing attention to the fact that you look hotter than any guy my age ever could,” she pointed out.

He shrugged. “’ve pretty much gone off the deep end, luv.”

He was confusing her, in that great, she was pretty sure he was insane sort of way. “Meaning…?”

“Meaning,” he said, letting his hand skim up her back and caress her bare shoulder, “That even though you’re m’ friend, I can no sooner ignore the fact that ‘m in love with you than I can jump off a cliff and fly. Both times, I’m sure to fall.”

She wasn’t sure what to make of that statement. She wasn’t sure what to make of him. After four years of friendship, they’d suddenly been reduced to making obscure statements and checking each other out when they thought the other person wasn’t looking.

Buffy hated it.

Which was why she sighed and stepped away from him. “Spike, I can’t—“

“Do this,” he finished for her. When she looked at him in confusion, he said, “You think I can? I keep tryin’ to just joke with you the way we used to, an’ it always comes back to the same thing. Me wanting you and showing it.”

Her cheeks turned red at that—well, how could she help it? 16-year-old guys didn’t say things like that, and they were the only kind she knew how to deal with. “I kinda get what you mean.”

He shook his head. “You couldn’t possibly.”

She gave him a level stare. “You’re wrong and you know it. I deliberately monopolized your time, dressed like a ho, made sexual jokes—“ She broke off, unable to continue. She’d been doing it for long enough that she wondered if it had ever occurred to him what was happening; she wasn’t proud of it. It was more immature than all his innuendos and confusing hints combined.

“Guess we’re both idiots, then.”

“Yep.” She forced her voice to be light. “You for asking me to dance, and me for agreeing.”

The second it came out of her mouth, they both winced. “Can we say anything tonight that doesn’t have like a million meanings?” Buffy asked, only partly joking.

The song wound down, and by silent, mutual agreement they left the dance floor. “Apparently not,” Spike answered. “Look, I’m gonna go get some air.”

“You mean you’re gonna go smoke,” she corrected, smiling in that wry, knowing way of hers.

“Well, yeah,” he admitted, shuffling his feet.

“You know, that’s really bad for you.”

Sodding hell. Trade once nuisance for another—it’s clearly my night.

No—that wasn’t fair. Buffy wasn’t a nuisance, precisely, just damn hard to be around, and that wasn’t her fault. “So you’ve told me,” he said dryly, stomping out the cigarette she’d indicated. “Hasn’t stopped me. ‘m a rebel when it comes to things like that.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right. Hey, wanna go for a walk?”

And yet again she’d managed to flummox him. Spike stared at her, aghast. “You wanna go for a walk?” In a skimpy black dress, with your hair all teased and your lips all shiny and…shit.

“Duh,” she said, giving him a look that made him feel like a prime idiot. “I’m bored, the party is slow, and I’m tired of Doyle being all insightful. C’mon, please?” She widened her eyes and began to pout.

Spike shut his eyes briefly. She doesn’t know what she’s doing, mate. “Sure, luv,” he said wearily. “Let’s walk.”

~*~

I really need to stop bribing you guys...the mother of all colds decided to make me feel miserable and NaNoWriMo came, pretty much simultaneously...sorry for the lag in updates =(

Luckily, this is the last really angsty chapter--prepare to drown in teh fluff, at least for a little while *g* Thanks so, so much for all the wonderful reviews--I pretty much died when I responded to them, they made me so happy =) *bats eyelashes* Feel like leaving me another? Just to make the fluff come faster? Yeah, I know, I'm a greedy little brat...either way, thank you!





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