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Chapter Six

Buffy'd never been much of a drinker, though she was beginning to understand the allure of ‘drowning your sorrows' as she downed her fourth shot of tequila. Hey, she thought, if you're going to get fucked up, you might as well get REALLY fucked up.

"Helloooo Mr. Cuervo," she slurred to the amber liquid, caressing the bottle as she held it against her belly protectively. Not that anyone was going to take it from her. She frowned, thinking, Spike would. Well, she cheered herself up by thinking; I'll just hit him over the head with the bottle.

Currently, he was upstairs putting HIS DAUGHTER to bed. She'd
requested him specifically. She hardly ever requested Angel to put her to bed.
Buffy wondered if somehow Lindsey knew. Or, it was just the novelty of
having someone new in the house. This of course begged the question: Just
how long was the peroxide pest going to stay? He did have a life in Rhode
Island didn't he? He couldn't . . . thinking of Lindsey, she amended that. He
could. But he wasn't going to live HERE. No. She'd give him enough time to
get things in order and then he was OUT. Wondering how the hell she was
going to tell Lindsey about Uncle William really being her father, caused her
to chug another shot.

"Pet?" Spike's voice drifted over to her from the screen doors. Buffy sat in
the dark corner of the porch, tucked away in the shadows for this specific
reason: She did not want to be found.

She held her breath, hoping he'd go away, her drunken addled mind not
letting in room for logic that he wouldn't quit until he found her.

"Buffy, I know you've got to be out here, now answer me."

She glared at his form and pursed her lips together. If wanted to goad her
into an outburst so he could learn her whereabouts, she wasn't going to give
him the satisfaction.

Then his form moved and she watched as he neared, his face hidden by the
shadows. She wondered idly if she could trip him and send him flailing to the
ground. Now that would most definitely cheer her up, and she smiled into
the dark.

"There you are." Dammit, he'd found her.

She looked up to him, this time his face clear in the moonlight. He was
frowning at her. "What are you doing?"

"Making friends," she slurred and gripped her bottle tighter. "And you're
not allowed to meet them."

He raised a brow. "You're drinking."

"That's some good sleuthing there Sherlock. Vanna, why don't you show
him what he's won?" she said sarcastically.

"How many have you had?"

"Fuck off."

"No," he said as if he heard that everyday and instead squatted down
before her. "How many?"

"Why should I answer to you? The only men I've ever had to answer to
was my father and my husband after that. Neither is here."

"That's part of your problem. You shouldn't have had to answer to Angel
either. He should have answered to you."

"What the hell do you know?"

"I know that you haven't been happy these last few years Buffy."

"I'm going to say it again . . . "

"What?"

"FUCK. OFF."

He shook his head and sighed, "No, Buffy. I'm staying. I'm staying here."

"I'm not giving you any," she said, her lower lip jutting out.

"I don't want any."

"That's a surprise. Since when do you not drink?"

"Since I'm thinking you might actually need to more than I do right now."

"I hate you."

"No, you don't."

"Yes, I do!"

"No, you don't. You're angry and you're taking it out on me."

She shrugged. "I still hate you; I don't care about the reasons."

"Don't say that to me," he said through gritted teeth.

"What? That I ha—"

"Yes. Don't you dare say that to me."

"How bout we work on you not telling me what to do? What's the
difference anyway? You hate me too. You just don't want to admit it."

"Why would I not want to admit it?"

"Because you love the misery," she told him. "You love being here to make
my life hell and torturing yourself because the only man I've ever loved
was Angel. It kills you and you hate me for it."

"You're wrong," he said evenly, his voice rich with anger.

"Am I?"

"Yes."

"Though I find it odd that you've managed to make it down here through
the years. Funny though how it was always while I wasn't here. Buffy's
gone for the day -- for the week visiting family – I can come visit! So that
negates my theory, but whatever," she shrugged. She eyed him, her eyes
narrowing suspiciously, "Or maybe you brought your girlfriend around in
hopes to make me jealous. And now you're just sticking around to revel in
the misery because you never had the guts to do it while Angel was here."

"Buffy," he said, clenching his jaw and turning his head from her.

"Push a button there?"

"You're pushing a lot," he stood. "I'm going to walk away."

"Because I'm right."

"No, because I've never hit a woman before but you are lining up to be the
first," and he stalked off, lighting up as he went.

"Don't smoke in the house!" she yelled after him. The slamming of the door
was her answer.



FLASHBACK

"I think you'll really like Elizabeth," Angel gushed to Spike as they weaved their way through the Boston University quad.
"You talk about her so much, I'm sure I will," Spike assured his new friend.
"She's just so sweet. I haven't met anyone like her since . . . " Angel trailed off and shook his head. "You ever been in love Spike?"

Spike raised a brow, "You're in love now?"

"No, well, not yet. I think I could really learn to love this girl though."

"Learn to love? Isn't that something that just happens, not something you
control?"

Angel didn't respond to that.

"Angel—"

"So have you?" Angel asked again.

Spike sighed, "Yes."

"With who?"

"This girl in high school; the most POPULAR girl in high school. I was a
geek; she was the star of the school."

"That's the end of the story? Give me more here. How did it end?"

"Tragically. She moved away."

Angel's grin faded to one of sympathy. He stopped and stared at Spike.
"I'm really sorry—"

"Hey, there you are!" a voice chirped behind Spike. A voice so familiar he
froze and his heart jump started.

"Hey, Elizabeth, there you are," Angel smiled broadly and reached past
Spike to grab her hand.

She moved around Spike and stood by Angel, beaming up at him.

"Hey, this is my best friend, Spike," Angel said, nodding toward Spike.

Elizabeth turned her head and Spike stared at her. She was there. God, she
was standing right there. The love of his bloody life.

"Hi, Buffy," he finally managed to get out, calling her by the name she went
by in high school.

"William, is that you?"

**********************************************************************************************

Buffy's eyes fluttered open and she found her face full of pillow. She worked her jaw, feeling the dryness in her mouth. Brushing her hair away from her face she squinted in the dim light. Okay, she was definitely in her room. The last thing she remembered was sitting on the porch yelling at Spike to not smoke in the house. She sniffed the air. There wasn't a lingering odor of cigarette smoke in the air.

"How do you feel?" Spike's deep voice asked her from across the room.

She rolled onto her back, intent on sitting up. The motion caused her to
grow nauseous however, so she stayed down. "I feel nauseous. What time is
it?"

"Eight. Lindsey's up and downstairs watching her cartoons. I came up to
check on you."

"How long have you been sitting there watching me?"

"Don't flatter yourself."

"She shouldn't be left alone for too long."

"She's fine. She knows to call me if she needs me."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Aiming for that Father of the Year award are you?"

"Buffy, shut up."

"No."

"Seein' as you're the one who's sick, I don't see how you're in any position
to argue with me. Especially since I'm the one who carried you in here last
night and held your hair back while you vomited everything you've eaten
for the year. I also got you aspirin and water and took your shoes off. Got
you all right and comfortable in that enormous bed of yours, so tell me
again how much I hate you, please."

Buffy didn't say anything. Her eyes prickled with tears, but she didn't way
a word.

She heard him stand and she closed her eyes as he neared the bed. "I came
up here to see how you were doing because I was concerned. You drank a
whole bottle of Cuervo last night, Buffy, and you never drink. I know you.
You pour a glass of wine for yourself and you have three sips tops before
your cheeks grow flushed and you get giddy. You have no tolerance for
alcohol at all.
Which is why I was in and out of here all night checking on you. Because I
was worried about you. Now TELL ME how much I hate you, please."

Tears leaked out, tickling her skin, but she did not move, did not open her
eyes.

"Right now, you're nursing a hang over and havin' yourself a pity party. I
get that. I'll take Lindsey out for the day, with me, so you can rest. When
you're feeling better, we're going to have ourselves a chat. You got me?"

Still she said nothing.

"You are the most stubborn woman I have ever met," he whispered and she heard him walk out the door and close it behind him.

Rolling onto her side, she let herself sob into her pillow. How did her life get so fucked up, so fast?





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