Buffy was annoyed; just plain annoyed. The song on the radio was annoying her, the heat in her car was annoying her, and the fact that it was dark out at five annoyed her . . . and William. William was annoying her. She wanted to grab her cell phone and call him, wanted to yell at him that his damn cryptic nonsensical mutterings meant nothing to her and that she didn’t want to figure herself out anymore. She wanted to be in the dark forever and see how he liked that!
God . . . her thoughts annoyed her.
“I trust you, he says.” She snorted, “Trust this.”
She had to ask herself the question: What had she expected him to do when she put it in his hands? What had she been thinking when she put it in his hands? It sure sounded good at the time. That way she could prove to him she did trust him and she wouldn’t have . . . I’ll be damned. He was right.
By putting it in his hands, she didn’t have to make the decision. She could put it his hands and wipe her own clean of it. Because she could trust – goddammit! – trust someone else to make the decision for her. Okay, let’s be real here, Buffy, she thought. Maybe not exactly trust someone else to make the decision. Despite your attempts to prove just that, ya loser. But asking him to make the decision meant she didn’t have to.
It muddled her brain, it really did. How she’d gone from being so certain of her future and herself, so certain she could taste it, to suddenly not being able to see or taste anything about what was ahead of her.
She felt William though. Felt him there with her despite the fact that he’d kept their break up on. Felt him there despite how annoyed she was with him at the present moment. If only because he was right.
So, he trusted her to figure it all out. And she felt there was definitely more to figure out. God, cracking the DaVinci code was probably easier than figuring this mess out.
This mess that was her head and her life. And oh yes, according to William, her heart.
*******************
“I’m telling you B, men suck ass,” Faith said loudly over the music and knocked back a shot.
Buffy eyed her, wondering how in the hell the girl managed to get liquor the way she did. Did she know every bartender from here to Connecticut and up to Maine? Honestly. And the girl could pound them down as if they were nothing.
She looked over at Willow and Anya who were with their respective boyfriends on the dance floor. Wrinkling her nose, she turned back to Faith, the only one she grudgingly felt a bond with at the moment due to the girl’s also single status, “Are you a professional drinker?” Buffy blurted out.
Faith at first looked pissed and then laughed, “Something like that. I don’t see you complaining missy. You’ve taken a couple of mine.”
Buffy shrugged, “What can I say? I live in a glass house and I cast stones. I like to live life on the edge.”
Faith snorted. “That’s all part of your problem. You don’t live life on the edge.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Buffy asked indignantly. She waved a finger at Faith, “I’ll have you know I have done some daring things in my time.”
Faith leaned forward, “Like what?” she challenged.
“I moved to California to go to school,” Buffy said proudly and sat back.
Faith rolled her eyes. “Big deal. Plenty of people do that shit. Give me something else.”
“I . . . I once ran naked down my street while playing Truth or Dare,” Buffy said triumphantly.
Faith shrugged, “So has anyone who has ever played Truth or Dare.”
“Okay, listen, you can’t knock me for those. I mean, everyone’s done something before someone else. The fact is I did them.”
“All right, I’ll give you those.”
Buffy rolled her eyes, “Gee, thanks.”
“Look, all I’m saying B is that you’re so . . . contained.”
Buffy froze, “What did you say?” And Jesus, where have I heard that before?
“I said you’re contained. I mean, you let loose a few times, but it’s always so much work and you have to be completely hammered for it to all hang out. You’re just . . . you’re too much in your head.”
“How did we get on me anyway? Why are we picking on me now? What have you done that’s so bloody amazing?” She cringed as soon as she said it. She was now using William’s lines. Great.
Faith sat back and raised a brow.
Buffy shook her head, “Never mind. I don’t want to know.”
“How are things with Willy anyway?”
“Just forget it.”
“He come crawling back?”
“No, not at all actually,” Buffy replied dryly.
“Then?”
“He thinks it’s for the best that we split.”
Faith snorted, twirling her rum and coke on the table, leaving wet figure eight’s. “Of course he thinks it’s for the best. You know why? He’s just like Robin.”
Buffy shook her head, “No, he’s not.”
“Yes, he is. Setting you ‘free’ for what he says is your own good. Because he wants you to figure it out on your own, right?”
“Yeah,” Buffy said slowly, and then shook her head, “But it’s not like that. William didn’t set me free to have me find someone else or ‘live my life’. He set me free because . . . he wants all of me and is waiting until I can give him that.”
“So he says now. Until he finds someone else.”
“He won’t. Wait, that sounds bad. I mean he could, but – h-he loves me.”
Faith raised a brow and sat back. “You might want to think of back up in case this blows up in your face.”
Buffy shook her head, “William is not Robin.”
“I never said he was.”
Buffy stared at her, “Yes you did, you said he was –“
“All’s I’m saying is that he’s good. He tells you he’s doing it for your own good, for ultimately your own good as a couple, but what he really means is that he’ll just twist it on you later and turn the tables and make it seem as if it was all your idea and for the best in the long run that he found someone else.”
“Faith, stop putting—“
“Come on Buffy, let’s dance!” Willow came over, tugging Buffy by the arm and hauling her out of her seat.
Buffy sent a silent thank you to Willow. Faith was muddling her brain and she was sure the alcohol wasn’t doing any good in helping her straighten out the mess Faith was spewing. The girl’s logic – or lack thereof, Buffy wasn’t sure – was making Buffy’s head reel. William, she affirmed to herself, was not Robin. William had made it clear that he didn’t want anyone else, that he was pretty much waiting for her.
Faith didn’t know what she was talking about. As usual.
*********************
“Goddammit, that bitch knew what she was talking about,” Buffy muttered to herself as she practically threw the papers she needed to copy into the copier.
Her day hadn’t gone well. It was just one of those days when little things slowed her down and try as she might, she couldn’t get back on track. After having a hellish day at school, she had come to work fighting a throbbing headache. She’d dug in her purse for the ibuprofen she usually carried with her for such an occasion and found nothing but an empty bottle. Such was the story of her day.
Then, there was Fred. Or, rather, Winifred. William’s new assistant and Buffy was sure, his future concubine. Buffy’s replacement was what the perky, too- nice- to- be true- brunette with the- oh- so -delicate and cute features was.
Wesley came in, heading for the coffee, “You all right, Elizabeth?”
“You don’t mind if I take a bat to this thing do you?” she asked him as she hunted for the so called paper jam. “Because honestly, I never see this thing give anyone a hard time but me. I’m convinced it’s me.”
Wesley chuckled, “I’m sure that’s not true.”
“Oh, but I’m sure it is.”
“You’re looking a little pale. Do you feel all right?”
“I have a headache.”
“Oh, I believe I have some aspirin. Will that do?”
Buffy smiled, “That’d do wonderfully. And you know, I haven’t had any caffeine today either. I might be having withdrawals.”
Wesley chuckled, “Sad how we become dependant on such things isn’t it?”
Buffy nodded, thinking she hated the word ‘dependant’.
“I’ll get the aspirin, you get your coffee,” Wesley said and strode out of the copier slash coffee room.
Leaving the offending machine for a minute, Buffy went for the coffee and started fixing herself a cup.
“There you are.”
Buffy turned slightly to see William striding in. She looked at him, but said nothing.
“Not talking to me?” he asked, leaning his hip against the copier. Immediately it started beeping and spitting out the rest of her papers.
“How did you do that?” Buffy demanded, setting her coffee down. “I’ve been fighting with that thing forever!”
William grinned, waggling his eyebrows. “I have the touch.”
Buffy rolled her eyes and grabbed her coffee, the cream having made it warm and easier to chug.
“Have you met Fred?” William asked, watching her.
“No, I’ve been fighting the copier. I . . . I spied her from afar.”
“You should meet her.”
“I don’t want to meet her.”
“Why not?”
“I can’t stand it when girls have boy’s names.”
“Well, it’s technically Winifred—“
Buffy waved him off, “I know, I know.”
“You wouldn’t be jealous would you?”
She guffawed, “On the planet ‘You Wish’ I’m jealous.”
William laughed, which just stuck in her craw. “Oh baby, I think you are jealous.”
“I’m not your baby, remember?”
William moved toward her and she took a step back. “I have work to do,” she told him.
He acted as if he didn’t hear her and when she put her cup between them, he took it out of her hand and placed it on the fridge. He leaned in, just ghosting his lips across hers, making her want more. She nearly stumbled forward to get more and then wanted to kick herself for doing it. Thankfully, he didn’t laugh at her or acknowledge it. Instead, he reached out and tucked some hair behind her ear. “You are my baby,” he whispered before walking out.
She stood there for a minute. Her headache was gone. “Dammit. He does have the touch.”