Chapter Seven
“Spike? Did you forget—“ Buffy began, startled by seeing him back.
His jaw was clenching and his eyes were like ice. He was angry, apparently. He pushed past her. “Why did you ask Faith to come with us today?”
She opened her mouth but no sound came out. She tried several times to say something, but couldn’t find the words.
That’s when it happened. When he reached for her and hauled her into his arms, wrapping his arms around her like bands and, as if in slow motion, she watched his lips descend to hers.
To quote Xander, Ye Gods!
His lips were hot, firm, and yet soft and full. It’d been so long since she’d been touched, kissed, held . . . oh God, she wanted to weep from the feeling of his arms around her, of his lips on hers, of his sudden hardness pulsing against her stomach. He wound his hands in her hair and tilted her head, deepening the kiss, his hot tongue gliding along the seam of her mouth, demanding entrance. She opened her mouth with a moan and fell into the kiss all over again. His tongue battled hers, and she tasted him. Spicy from the wings he’d had earlier, sweet from the Coke and something uniquely him. My God, he was devouring her.
This is not Doyle! her mind screamed. And what of Anya?
That was like a bucket of cold water and she shoved him off her. He reeled back, startled, panting.
She wiped at her mouth, “What are you doing?” she gasped.
“I can’t – God, Buffy, I’m sorry.” He reached for her and she stepped back, shaking her head.
“Why did you do that?”
“I don’t – I don’t know.”
“Obviously, you do. Don’t play innocent with me! Why did you storm in here and do that?”
“I – I have feelings for you, Buffy. And God help me, I can’t stop them,” he confessed hoarsely.
She swallowed hard, “You can’t have feelings for me.”
“I do, I can’t stop—“
“You have to! You’re with Anya, who just happens to be my best friend. And, Doyle – I can’t,” she shook her head. “I think you should leave. We’ll pretend this never happened.”
“Buffy, wait, please—“
“Why were you so angry with me when you came in?” she demanded.
“Faith, she told me—“
“Told you what exactly?”
“That you asked her to come with us today. Why Buffy? Why did you do that?”
Tears came unbidden to her eyes, and she gestured between them. “Because of this,” she whispered.
His eyes widened, “Buffy, you feel it too, don’t you? I knew you—“
“Spike, stop! This is crazy. You need to go. You need to go and you need to not come back unless you’re with Anya and I just, I just think you should stay away for a while.”
His head dropped in shame and he nodded, “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
When she had shut the door and locked it after him, she slid to the floor and cried.
****************
In her dreams, she was spinning in Spike’s arms, her head thrown back, smiling up at the sky. Spike was grinning down at her, happiness apparent on his handsome features.
Up in the sky, Doyle’s face, resplendent like the moon, shone down on them.
*****************************
It’d been several days since the earth shattering, life altering kiss they’d shared. Spike snorted, life altering. There was a good word. He leaned over the Chevy he was working on and his watch went off.
Time for the meds. The meds that kept his heart in his chest and the meds that countered the side effects of those drugs. It was a process, but honestly, he’d gotten pretty used to it. He wanted to live, ergo; he did what he had to do to make sure his body did not reject the heart living inside him. So, he took his scheduled trips to the doctor, took his temp and blood pressure every day, and kept a log on everything.
He knew how it felt to have the rug ripped out from under you. How your life was going along just fine one minute, and then it fell apart the next. He’d been as healthy as a horse, or so he thought, and then one day, his heart was giving out on him due to dilated cardiomyopathy. Basically, his heart had enlarged and just wasn’t pumping as hard anymore.
It made him think back to all the things he could have done differently to take care of himself, the parties and wild child lifestyle that could have been avoided. However, he was told, it was something that built over time and it would have happened either way.
Then there was the treatments, and spending all the time at the hospital. God, it felt like forever. Then came the news that the best thing that could be done was for him to have a new heart. And one night, lying in a hospital bed, he was told his new heart was on its way. After that, it was all a matter of adjusting to a routine and living with the fear for many months after that his body could reject the heart inside him.
Thankfully, he’d gone without incident.
He supposed he felt impaired somehow because of the huge scar on his chest, a constant reminder of his heart problems, a constant reminder that he’d been literally fighting for his life because something in him had failed.
Failure had always been a touchy subject with him after his parents died. Probably because he’d felt for so long that he’d failed them by not being with them. To what, Spike? He asked himself. To maybe, possibly die along with them?
His aunt and uncle told him how lucky he was after the transplant, and that he should be happy for the things he had and he was; he was thrilled to be alive. The euphoria he felt when he came out of surgery was indescribable.
He was just afraid he’d receive the look of pity he’d seen so many times when his parents had died and when he was sick. He wasn’t much for drawing attention to himself. He bore things on his own, kept them in. Except when it came to sharing with Buffy it seemed.
Truth be told, he was also vain concerning the huge scar the transplant had left. He was afraid of the rejection he’d receive if a woman – Anya – saw the scar. She was all about ‘pretty things’ and what if she thought him hideous? What if she molly coddled him the way she did Buffy? He knew how to take care of himself just fine; he didn’t need her to do it. Or anyone for that matter. He didn’t want to be treated with kid gloves, even he contradicted himself and treated himself with kid gloves by feeling ‘impaired’.
“You make sense, mate,” he muttered as he swallowed down his pills.
So, he sometimes missed his wild, teenage ways. Like now, when he was missing Buffy and feeling guilt over Anya, over pushing Buffy to admit something was there between them, for pushing himself on her—he wanted a drink. But he wouldn’t indulge.
The phone ringing took him out of his deep thoughts. Picking it up, he said “Hello?”
“Hi honey, it’s me.”
“Hey Ahn,” he muttered.
“Are you very busy?” she chirped.
“Yeah, kinda, what’s up?”
“Well, I have an idea and I need you for it.”
“I already don’t like the sound of this.”
“I want to introduce Buffy to someone.”
“Who?” he barked into the phone.
“His name is Riley. He just lost his wife, Samantha, a year ago. I figure it’d give her someone to relate to. Aren’t you proud of me? I took your advice!”
Spike bit his tongue. He wanted to shout at her and tell her that he was doing just fine relating to her and that Buffy would whole-heartedly reject this idea. She’d see ‘Set Up’ all over it and go running for the hills.
“Anya –“ Spike began.
“So, come by after you’re all clean and get me. No later than five. I’m not going to give Buffy a chance to back out. I’m bringing him with us.”
“Anyanka Jenkins—“
“Bye honey!”
Spike flung his phone, breaking it as it hit the wall. “Fuck!”
************
Spike was gritting his teeth as he followed Anya and Whitebread, his nickname for Riley Finn, up the walk to Buffy’s door.
He’d gotten to Anya’s after he’d showered to rail at her for setting up her friend in this manner, but he found he couldn’t since the man she was setting Buffy up with was already there and they were waiting for him, patiently.
He was an all right looking bloke, sandy brown hair, kind eyes, he didn’t have an oppressive presence, but he rubbed Spike the wrong way.
Because he was meant to be Buffy’s date that evening.
He didn’t engage the man in much conversation if only because Anya seemed to dominate all the talking. That was fine, he thought, I’ll just bide my time.
When Buffy opened the door to let them in, he saw the surprise pass over her features at the introduction of Riley. He studied her for signs of distress. At the first sign, he was bagging this whole thing and sending Riley packing. No offence to the man, but Jesus. .. Buffy was -- no Spike, he thought, Buffy is not yours.
His girl -- dammit -- Buffy rolled with the punches though. She smiled politely at Riley and took his arm when he offered it and allowed him to lead her to the car.
Anya went on and on in the car, highlighting all of Riley’s good –but in Spike’s opinion, boring—features. He was an army recruit, he was first of his class in college, and he could hop up and down on one foot blindfolded with his arms tied behind his back. Okay, so that was what he added in his head, imitating Anya’s feminine high pitched voice, but with the rap sheet Anya had on the guy, Spike wanted to ask if she could do a Powerpoint presentation on him.
Buffy just smiled, a fake smile, couldn’t Anya see that it was a fake smile? How was she missing it? He’d known Buffy for a hell of a lot shorter time and he could see the smile was fake!
At dinner, at of course the poshest restaurant Anya could choose, Spike sat directly across from Buffy, studying her. “So, Buffy, how are you? Haven’t seen you in a few days,” he said casually.
Buffy looked up at him, but without meeting his eyes. “I’m good, thanks. You?”
“Bloody wonderful,” he said, not able to keep the sarcasm out completely. She kicked him under the table.
He tried to keep his surprise at that down. Grinning to himself, he ran his shoe covered foot up her leg, delighting in her gasp of surprise before she moved away from his reach.
“You okay, Buffy?” Anya asked.
“Just the, uh, prices,” Buffy covered.
“Don’t worry, Elizabeth, I’ll take care of it,” Riley assured her.
“It’s Buffy, mate,” Spike corrected him.
“Well, I feel that I shouldn’t call her by her nickname unless she says it’s all right,” Riley explained politely.
Spike rolled his eyes behind his menu.
“You can call me Buffy, Riley, it’s all right. Everyone does. I barely recognize ‘Elizabeth’. It sounds so stuffy, don’t you think?”
“I think it’s a perfectly beautiful and respectful name,” Riley told her sounding like a sodding schoolmaster.
Spike wanted to throttle him. Even more when he laid a hand on Buffy’s arm to show her something on the menu. He didn’t need to put his grubby paws on her, he could have just pointed. He felt a growl itching to surface. Buffy’s head shot up as if she sensed it and gave him a warning glare. He smirked back at her. Closing the menu, she told Riley what she wanted and excused herself to the bathroom. Spike waited for a hint from her, all he needed was a look, and he was going to follow shortly after.
Only she didn’t even glance in his direction. Hell, I’m going anyway, he thought. “Buffy, I’ll go with you. You’ve been here before, right? Maybe you could show me where the restrooms are?”
She looked trapped, “Uh, I – yeah. Of course.”
Bloody bint practically ran to the bathrooms, rushing ahead of him to get to the ladies. With a growl, Spike reached out and grabbed her arm, hauling her back to him and pushing her inside the men’s room.
“Spike!” she exclaimed in protest.
He brought her against him and kissed her, hard. He want to possess her, wanted to mark her as his, wanted Riley and every sodding wanker that passed by her to know that she was his. His.
She struggled against him for a minute and he held her tighter against him, not giving her room to move, letting her know he meant to have this and have it, he would.
Finally, she relented, melting against him.
He parted slowly, knowing it wasn’t wise to deny himself air for very long. “Buffy,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to hers. “Open your eyes and look at me, luv.”
She shook her head and single tear dropped from her closed eyes. He cupped her cheek and wiped it away with his thumb, “Buffy, baby, please. Please look at me. Why won’t you look at me?”
“I’m betraying him,” she whispered.
He knew she didn’t mean Riley. Doyle. Of course, Doyle. God, how insensitive could he be? This wasn’t easy for her and not just because of her loyalty to Anya, but Doyle, her husband. Her latehusband.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered hoarsely. “I’m sorry, please Buffy. Forgive me, please, don’t hate me, I couldn’t bear it—“
She surprised him by kissing him quickly, but soundly. She finally opened her eyes, her beautiful green eyes swimming in tears, “I don’t hate you. It would be easier if I did, but I don’t.”
“What does that mean, Buffy?” he rasped.
She shook her head, “I don’t know.”
“I won’t force you for anything –“
“You can’t force me at all -- ”
“I won’t, I won’t,” he breathed and kissed her again, slowly and softly this time. He just held her then, held her in his arms and tried not to let her tears over Doyle bother him.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Thanks to Mari!! :)