Sitting alone, in the dark, swigging gulps from a half empty bottle of Scotch, probably wasn’t the best start to Spike’s ‘I’m-going-to-win-Buffy-back-and-when-I-get-her-I’m-never-letting-her-go’ plan.
She wouldn’t want this... wouldn’t like you doing this...
Part of him wanted to skull the rest of the bottle, just to spite her for the heartbreak she’d caused him. But, even in his intoxicated state, he knew he couldn’t blame her for this. It was all on him.
“Bloody wanker,” Spike snarled, hurling the bottle across the room. The bottle smashed against the corner of his desk, amber liquid soaking the clothes strewn across his bedroom floor.
With a miserable sigh—a sigh which threatened to curl into a sob—Spike flung himself back against his mattress, hands fisting in his hair in frustration.
He couldn’t get her out of his bloody mind, couldn’t take so much as a breath without worrying about how she was doing. The pain sliced into him again when he reprimanded himself for getting into this mess in the first place. He should never have listened to Cordelia. The girl thought of herself, and herself only, and Spike knew that you couldn’t trust half of what came out of her mouth. She’d found his weakness and gone right for it, fed his insecurity, and he’d fallen for it. Believed her, believed Cordelia that Buffy would leave him.
“Well, she was right,” he snorted dejectedly. “Bitch.”
As much as he’d like to, Spike couldn’t put the blame for his current predicament squarely on Coredlia’s shoulders. If he hadn’t listened to her drivel he’d be where he should be right now.
With his girl.
His girl.
Technically, Buffy wasn’t his anymore, but that didn’t stop him from thinking of her that way. There was no one else for him, she was it. Buffy was all he wanted, all he could see when he imagined the future.
They’d be happy, the two of them. Like they had been. Like they would still be if Cordy hadn’t flapped her mouth in public.
If you hadn’t listened to her, more like it.
That was just the beginning of Spike’s fantasies... Buffy with him, the two of them happy. He had it all mapped out. They’d go to college together; on a swimming scholarship, of course. Get a place of their own off campus, somewhere they could make a home for themselves. The details from then on got a little fuzzy but the overall plan was clear. He’d propose—and of course she’d accept—and one day they’d be married with a mortgage and a couple of sprogs of their own, and nothing would spoil their happiness.
This time an anguished sob managed to break free. It was too much... picturing the future they might have had only to have it torn away so violently.
And then it hit him. With crushing clarity.
They hadn’t used protection.
For ten long, drawn out seconds Spike was completely and utterly frozen.
They’d... he and Buffy had... and there hadn’t been...
He had to see her, had to make things right. Who knows what could have resulted from... It was too early, he knew that. It hadn’t even been 24 hours yet.
24 hours... was it really only that long ago we were happy?
Could she be... could they be? Spike shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. If she was, whatever Buffy decided he’d support her, and maybe, just maybe they might be able to work things out.
Spike launched off the bed suddenly… and instantly regretted the motion when the room began to spin. He fell back against the covers of his bed involuntarily. It was probably for the best anyhow; there was no way he could show up at Buffy’s house in the state he was in right now.
Rational thoughts of how he’d be received weren’t enough to calm him however... he needed to talk to her. Reaching blindly, he patted his hand across his bedside table until his fingers found the desired item.
His cell phone.
Taking a deep breath he dialled Buffy’s house, silently praying that she would answer.
The conversation with her mother had been emotionally exhausting. Thankfully she hadn’t had to say a whole lot; Willow and Xander had given Joyce a picture—of sorts—about what had happened. More like a blurry watercolour...
There were some details she just didn’t need her mother to know.
For the past half hour they’d been sitting on the sofa, hot chocolate filled mugs nursed in their hands, making small talk.
Joyce felt terrible for her daughter. One look was all it had taken to realise the extent of Buffy’s pain. She wished she could take it away for her, lessen her suffering. And once again she felt incredible remorse for her absence of late.
Maybe if she’d been around more she would have noticed signs that alerted her to the true nature of that boy’s intentions.
And he seemed like such a nice young man... Joyce thought. It just goes to show that appearances can be deceiving.
She just wished Buffy hadn’t had to learn such a harsh lesson at such a young age.
There was one thing Joyce had been skirting around, one question she’d wanted to ask but had not in fear of upsetting Buffy all over again. Joyce realised it had to be asked, no matter the discomfort it would cause them both. And it might explain the extent of Buffy’s grief.
“Sweetheart,” Joyce began softly. “I know you don’t want to talk about it anymore.” Joyce paused when Buffy stiffened beside her. “But there’s one thing I need to ask.”
For a moment she thought Buffy was going to disappear, her eyes darting toward the stairs before settling on the cup in her hands.
“Okay.”
It broke Joyce’s heart to hear Buffy’s voice so small, so wretched, but she persisted.
“Spi—he didn’t...” Joyce took a breath and rephrased, knowing from experience that any mention of the boy’s name would cause the floodgates to open. “He didn’t make you… he didn’t force you to do anything, did he? Anything you didn’t want?”
Buffy knew all along what her mother wanted to ask, or thought she did until she’d finished speaking. She thinks he forced me to... Buffy shook her head, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. Of course her mother would think that, it was her job as a parent to worry for her child.
“No, he didn’t.”
Joyce didn’t look entirely convinced, concern still scrunching her brows. Buffy realised she’d have to inform her mother of the extent of her relationship with Sp... with him. A rosy blush coloured her cheeks.
“He... we,” she corrected after a moment, wanting everything to be perfectly clear. This was the one and only time she was going to discuss this with her mother, the thought of having to explain it again was mortifying, not to mention painful.
“We were serious, mom. Or I thought we were anyhow,” she added as an afterthought. “We were... I was...” Buffy struggled to find the right words, even though she could see realisation dawning on her mother’s face. Her voice was barely above a whisper as she continued. “We were intimate together.”
“Buffy,” Joyce began, but Buffy interrupted her.
“Only the one time. And we were safe.” Buffy’s gaze dropped to her lap again. “I’m on birth control... so...”
Joyce sighed. Honestly, she wasn’t surprised by Buffy’s confession. She’d seen how they were with each other; the depths of her daughter’s feelings for Spike had been clear as day. And Joyce had thought they were reciprocated, judging by the adoring looks Spike would pass Buffy’s way. It was only a matter of time before the relationship progressed. Joyce had hoped—for her daughter’s sake—that things had yet to evolve to that point.
“Buffy,” Joyce began again, only to be interrupted a second time.
“I so sorry, I know you’re disappointed in me.” Tears glistened in Buffy’s eyes and she didn’t fight them from falling.
“Oh sweetheart, I’m not disappointed in you,” Joyce assured, placing their mugs on the coffee table. “How could I be? You were in a relationship, your feelings were genuine, and you were responsible.”
Buffy bit back a sob, surprise evident in her expression. She’d expected the mother of all lectures and instead she received understanding. It threw her a little off centre.
“You weren’t to know he didn’t feel the same way.”
And then the floodgates opened once more and Buffy found herself wrapped in the warmth of her mother’s embrace.
“I’m not thrilled to hear my baby girl is sexually active, but I knew this day way coming. You’re not irresponsible, Buffy, and I know you wouldn’t have taken the decision to further your relationship lightly.”
Buffy snuggled further into her mother’s hug, finding a minuscule amount of comfort in the soothing motion of the hands on her back.
“I’m just so sorry your heart was broken in the process.”
Buffy bit back another sob, closing her eyes in an attempt to close off the pain. “Me too.”
It became apparent that Buffy’s phone was off the hook after the fourth attempt to call her. He shouldn’t have been surprised really; if roles were reversed he’d probably have done the same thing. Didn’t mean it didn’t hurt though.
Didn’t mean he was just going to give up.
No siree.
Spike needed to speak to his girl.
His plan of just calling to speak to her had flown out the window after the fifteenth attempt to call. The dial tone at the other end taunted him, making it painfully clear that her phone was off the hook, deliberately.
A silent ‘fuck you, Spike’.
Not that his Buffy was that crass, but booze mixed with frustration and a broken heart had twisted his thoughts to that direction.
Didn’t matter though, it wasn’t going to stop him from speaking to Buffy.
Which is exactly why he found himself parked out the front of her house.
And had been for thirty minutes already.
Stupid move really, driving when he could barely see straight. In the heat of the moment his inebriated condition hadn’t mattered, all he could think of was getting to her. And now that he was here he was terrified to leave the car, knowing that it was entirely possible he’d break down the minute he saw her.
God, he missed her. And it had only been hours. A few goddamned hours and he was an utter mess. Couldn’t focus, couldn’t feel, could hardly breathe knowing she was in pain because of him. Knowing that he’d lost her.
Spike punched at his steering wheel in self hatred, startling himself when the horn sounded.
So much for a quiet entrance...
Not that his horn was distinct by any means, but people tended to look out windows when they heard the sound. And it was possible one of the Summers’ neighbours would notice his vehicle and ask about it.
Taking a deep breath and steeling his nerves, Spike finally exited the car. The walk up the path to the front door was slow. He was overwrought. The thought of seeing her was the only thing urging him forward.
He had to see her.
And before he knew it Spike’s fist was quietly tapping on the front door.
Buffy tensed and Joyce frowned when they heard the knock on the door. Joyce assumed it was Xander and Willow; she’d had a trying time convincing them to head home earlier and she couldn’t say she was surprised they’d not listened to her.
They were good friends and Buffy was lucky to have them.
“I’ll get it,” Joyce announced unnecessarily, they both knew that Buffy wouldn’t be eager to greet anyone in the state she was in right now.
She approached the door, a gentle expecting smile on her lips.
When Spike heard footsteps approaching he held his breath, anticipation sparking throughout him.
She’s coming...
If he’d thought he was desperate to see her before, now that he knew only a door was between them he was frantic. He couldn’t help the hope and love that flooded his expression.
And then the door opened and it all went to hell.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
~~~~~~~~~~