~*~
She was an idiot.
That was the only explanation that came anywhere near to being logical. The only explanation that didn’t make her want to puke. She was absolutely, positively, without a doubt, the most stupid teenager to ever walk the face of the planet.
How could she have thought he’d want her?
He was twenty-six, for God’s sake. He could have any woman on the face of the planet, and he damn well knew it. She was lucky enough to be able to call him her friend. Why had she been dumb enough to think he’d want anything else?
She wanted him, of course. Stupid, stupid little girl, Buffy berated herself, staring out at the night he’d fled into. How could she have been so incredibly idiotic?
Okay, so he had kissed her. That indicated that, on some level, he wanted her. But that didn’t mean anything. She’d deliberately tempted him, wearing a sexy dress in his favorite color. She wasn’t exactly an adult, but she wasn’t a little kid, either, and that dress made it obvious. But Buffy knew that she wasn’t anything special. She knew that Spike had only been reacting to her in the way any man reacted to a female, older girl or young woman. She’d incited that reaction on purpose…
And she’d pay for it with their friendship.
But did it have to be so hard? It had been perfect—every brush of his lips against hers had been utter and complete heaven. The fact that she was going for hell for even thinking about kissing him, much less actually doing it, had occurred to her.
She just couldn’t bring herself to care. If she was going to hell, then she was sure taking the scenic route. She was going right through heaven, which for some reason seemed to exist only when Spike was holding her, his lips moving over hers.
And that scared her more than anything else.
Willow—geeky, lovable, perceptive Willow—had tried to warn her. Right before her friends had left, the redhead had taken Buffy aside and asked, “You’re sure you’re okay?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Buffy had replied blithely.
Willow had just stared at her.
She’d sighed. “Wills, it’s…complicated. Something’s happening between us, and I don’t know what it is.”
“It’s a shitload of UST is what it is,” Faith interjected. She’d grinned at the aghast look on her two friends’ faces. “Oh, come on, like you weren’t thinking the same thing. I get the feeling we’re gonna be seeing some blonde on blonde action pretty damn soon.”
Buffy had, of course, vehemently rejected the idea. What was she going to tell them? Oh, yeah, I thought about some blonde on blonde action…dreamed about it, actually. Yeah, that would have gone over really well.
Although in retrospect, it probably would have gone over better than her kissing Spike had.
But how could she have stopped herself? He was the hottest guy she’d ever been anywhere near, and in his own platonic, non-wet-dream having way, he loved her. She’d seen that love shining in his eyes tonight—love and worry, because he felt the same way she did. They were slowly, inexorably being pulled apart, and Buffy knew it was all her fault.
Dammit.
She’d never felt as complete as she had when she’d been kissing Spike, only moments before. Now she felt like she was being pulled into a million pieces. All because of a single, relatively chaste kiss.
No. There might not have been tongue, but no one in there right mind would call what had just happened in the foyer chaste.
“Buffy?”
Buffy’s head snapped up—too late, she remembered that she’d been crying. Shit. “Yeah, mom?”
“Are you—Buffy, honey, what’s wrong?”
Oh, nothing. I just kissed my best friend and he ran away from me. But hey, peachy with a side of keen, that’s me! Buffy’s mind searched for an excuse—one that wouldn’t have her mom hauling her off to the mental ward. “I, um…” she trailed off, sniffling for effect, when an idea hit her. “I was just thinking,” she lied, “About…about Angel.”
If her mom didn’t believe her, she was a really good actress. She came to sit next to Buffy on the front step. “Oh, honey. Spike didn’t mention him, did he?”
She stiffened at the name. She couldn’t help it—any time she so much as thought of him, her body was flooded with emotions she couldn’t name and couldn’t handle. “No,” she said, quietly, when her brain reminded her that she still had some lying to do. “I just…four years, you know?”
Joyce smiled an understanding smile. “I know.”
“And I never thought…I figured I knew him. It wasn’t perfect, but I knew where I stood, and now…now I don’t.” She shook her head; a few tendrils of rumpled hair came loose from the clip and fell onto her neck. “I just don’t.”
“Oh?”
“I mean, he acts one way, but then a different way, and I…I tried to talk to him, but he blew me off, and I’m not even really sure if we’re ever going to talk again, much less be like we were, and then I think maybe we won’t be and it’s all my fault, and it’s just a merry-go-round of badness, and—“
“Buffy, are you talking about Angel?”
“Of course I am!” Oh, great. Now she sounded defensive. “Who else would I be talking about?”
“You’re a teenager, honey—I have no idea what’s going on in that head of yours,” Joyce said, smiling gently at her daughter. “But I do know this—Spike is a good person. I would trust him with your life.”
Buffy looked at her mother and saw nothing but gentle understanding. “But—“
“Now, why don’t you go to bed?” Joyce interrupted smoothly. “It’s been a long night, and I know you need sleep.”
Funny how she was all of a sudden positive that her mother knew a whole lot more than that—and something told her that Joyce wasn’t going to budge an inch if Buffy tried to go all FBI 3rd degree on her. The teenager sighed. “OK, fine, you win,” she said grudgingly. “I’m going.”
They both stood up and went inside. Buffy was about to go upstairs when Joyce enveloped her into a tight hug.
A few seconds later Buffy croaked, “Um, Mom? I kind of need to breathe.”
“I’m sorry,” Joyce said, but she didn’t let go. “You’re just growing up so fast!”
That settled that—Moms were definitely psychic. Buffy detangled herself from her mother’s grip. “But I’m still me,” she said. “Just, you know, a little taller than I was when I was six.”
That made her laugh, as Buffy had hoped it would. Even she herself was smiling when she went upstairs…
But then she got to her room, and memories assailed her. Innocent ones—her and Spike lounging on the floor, arguing about the usefulness of martial arts—and the not-so-innocent memories of the dream she’d had, and the longing she’d felt long before that.
Quietly, so that the two adults downstairs didn’t hear, Buffy lay down on her bed and started to cry.
~*~
“What did you tell her?” Hank asked as he and his wife cleared the dining room table.
“Not much,” Joyce admitted. “I just tried to let her know that it was OK.”
“Does she know we heard her?”
“Well, I didn’t exactly tell them that their moaning carried all the way to the kitchen, if that’s what you’re asking,” Joyce said reprovingly. “Spike practically ran away—that’s the last thing Buffy needs to know.”
“The bastard ran away? Why the hell did he do that?” There was anger in his voice, anger that had never been directed towards his daughter’s best friend before.
“Well, he’s probably feeling even worse about this than Buffy is. He knows that anything he does now will probably hurt her—“
“Which will in turn hurt him, since I’ll break every bone in his body—“
“And so he ran off,” she finished calmly, ignoring her husband’s threatening mutters. She wasn’t surprised; Hank would only like Spike so long as he didn’t hurt Buffy, which was, Joyce knew, inevitable. It made her angry, too, but she had the wisdom to see that that was how it was always going to be. She hadn’t supported their relationship beginning—but now that it had started, she knew everyone involved would only hurt more if she tried to make it stop.
“Damn coward.”
“Hank,” Joyce said reprovingly. “You’re the one who first decided to allow their relationship.”
“But how long, Joyce?” Hank asked. “How many more times are they going to hurt each other before they finally figure out what’s going on?”
Wearily, Joyce sat down at the table. “I don’t know. If I did, I’d be able to—“
She was cut off by the phone ringing. Hank snatched it up. “Hello? Fred! How have you been? Really? Well, my congratulations to you both…he wants us to come visit? This weekend? That’s pretty short notice…no, Buffy doesn’t go back to school until Labor Day…of course I can. Let me ask Joyce.” He covered up the phone. “Rupert wants us to come visit them.”
Joyce perked up immediately. “Really? Why the short notice?”
“Apparently Fred finally got herself a fiancé,” he said, grinning, “And the festivities are this weekend.”
“Well, I don’t know…” Joyce hesitated. “Buffy might not want to go.”
As if on cue, a muffled wail came from her room.
Her mother winced. “On second thought, maybe a weekend trip is exactly what she needs.”
Hank nodded and took his hand off the phone. “We’ll leave tomorrow, Fred. Yep, see you there. Congratulations again, honey. M-hm. Goodbye.” He hung up the phone and turned to Joyce. “Looks like we’re going to LA.”
~*~
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Author's Chapter Notes:
I'm still absolutely floored by the response this fic is getting, guys!! All the reviews I got for the last chapter were astonishing--it's so wonderful to know that I'm affecting you guys like that =) Thanks so, so much!