And then the door opened and it all went to hell.
"What the hell are you doing here?"
Shit...
Spike panicked. It had not crossed his mind, even once, that Buffy's mom would be the one to open the door. For as long as he'd known Buffy he'd hardly ever seen her mother, she was always so busy with work.
To say he was shocked was an understatement.
"Uh," he muttered, scratching the back of his neck. "I was wondering if Buffy was home."
Buffy tensed the instant she heard his voice. Spike. Spike was here. At her house.
The impulse to rush to the door and wrap her arms around him was instant, but she fought it. They weren't together anymore. And it hadn't been her choice. She had been happy. She had thought everything was okay in their relationship. Little had she known it had all been a ruse. He had been lying to her the entire time.
So instead of flying to the door for comfort she remained where she was, arms wrapped tightly around her torso, and listened.
"You've got a lot of nerve showing your face here," Joyce snapped, glaring at him.
Spike visibly shrank back. Obviously she knew. And that threw a wrench into things, because while he had been confident he could get Buffy to talk to him if she was on her own, trying to convince her mother to let him in might be a tougher task.
Especially when she looked about to go all Momma Bear on him.
"Get off my doorstep, this instant."
Spike sighed, running his hand through his nervously. Again.
"I just... can I please speak to Buffy?"
Arms folded across her chest. "No."
"No?"
"That's what I said."
Spike frowned. "I really need to talk to her."
"You will not set foot inside this house."
He took a step forward reflexively. "It'll only take a min-"
Disgust curled Joyce's lips. "You smell like a distillery, there is no way I am letting you inside this house. If you know what's good for you-"
Buffy's good for me...
"I'm not going anywhere until I speak to Buffy," Spike vowed.
Joyce expression became icy cold. "Leave now before I call the authorities."
When her mother threatened to call the police Buffy almost left the living room to join her at the door. She didn't want to talk to Spike, but she really didn't want to get him in trouble with the law.
And she couldn't believe he'd been stupid enough to drink and drive.
Tempting as it was to point out what an idiot move that was, she didn't move from the sofa. She was barely keeping it together and she knew that if she actually saw him the tenuous grip she had on her emotions would slip.
Spike was astounded. He couldn't believe that Buffy's mom had actually threatened to call the police. All he wanted to do was talk to Buffy. He loved her, and he needed to sort things out. And he couldn't do that if he wasn't given the chance to talk to her.
For a moment he considered pushing his way inside, but he really didn't want to get hauled off in a squad car if Joyce followed through with her threat.
He couldn't just walk away though.
If Joyce wasn't going to let him in to talk, well, he'd just have to get Buffy's attention another way.
"BUFFY! I need to talk to you, please," he shouted.
"I said leave," Joyce snapped. "I'm going to call the police, you obviously shouldn't be driving and I don't want you anywhere near my daughte-"
Spike wasn't giving up so easily.
"BUFF-EEY!"
The door slammed in his face.
When he started shouting her name Buffy felt the tears began to rush.
It wasn't fair; she should be out of them by now.
When the door slammed shut she curled into a little ball on the sofa, wrapping her arms around herself, and let the tears fall.
He remained out there on the porch for several minutes-hoping that Buffy had heard and would come speak with him-before it became apparent his efforts were in vain. With a heavy heart he returned to his car.
Driving home was not an option, for obvious reasons.
So what was he going to do?
He could sleep in his car, had done so before, but he didn't know if he would be able to find something remotely resembling rest knowing that Buffy wouldn't talk to him. Knowing that she was hurting. Knowing that she was right there and yet he wasn't allowed near her, wasn't allowed to comfort her.
So there he sat in his car, in the dark. Moping for love lost.
When Joyce returned to the living room and saw Buffy curled in a ball, silent sobs wracking her body, her heart broke. Because there was nothing she could do to lessen her daughter's pain.
"Oh honey, I'm so sorry," Joyce apologised, sitting beside her and gently rubbing a hand across her back. "I wish that hadn't happened."
"So do I," Buffy sobbed, curling into her mother's side.
"Well, I'm going to make sure he doesn't come back." Yes, there was something she could do, and it would stop a repeat of the recent outburst on her doorstop. "Just let me get the phone and-"
"NO!" Buffy begged, sitting up instantly. "Please don't call the police."
"Sweetheart," Joyce began, only to have Buffy cut her off again.
"No, mom," she pleaded. "I don't want to cause him any trouble."
"Cause him trouble?" Joyce repeated. "And what if he decides to cause another ruckus on the front lawn? The boy has been drinking, he should never have driven over here in that state and it would be safer for everyone if he was off the road."
"I know." Buffy's bottom lip trembled as she roughly wiped her tears away. "But if you call the police and then I have to see him at school knowing I was responsible for-"
"Shhh," Joyce soothed. Buffy's distress was growing at an alarming pace and she didn't want to be the cause of more pain. "It'll be okay."
"No, mom, please," Buffy begged. "Don't call. He won't drive, he'll probably spend all night in the car waiting for me to come out and talk to him. Please."
Joyce hesitated. She knew that calling the authorities was the right thing to do. The safe, the smart thing to do. But the last thing she wanted to do was exacerbate Buffy's anguish. "All right," she conceded. "I won't call." At Buffy's surprised look she continued. "I won't call for now. However, if he gets behind the wheel of that car and attempts to drive anywhere I'll have no choice."
"He won't," Buffy promised, even though she had her own reservations. "Thank you."
They sat like that in silence for a few minutes. Buffy was certain they'd know if Spike tried to leave, his car wasn't exactly discrete. And so far all was quiet outside.
She stifled a yawn, exhaustion from the day's dramatic events hitting her.
"Why don't you head off to bed, sweetheart," Joyce suggested.
Buffy nodded, the prospect of curling up in her bed with Mr Gordo was a tempting one.
"Goodnight, mom."
"Goodnight."
For the better part of the last twenty minutes Spike had been trying to compose an apology letter. It was hard to do considering the lack of light and something to lean on, and countless attempts were scrunched into balls at his feet. He had to do this right. It had to say what he needed to say, not everything though... just enough to convince her to talk to him. He didn't want to cheapen the apology by laying it all on paper. She deserved to hear it from him.
And he had every intention of doing so at school the next day.
In the interim though-between sleep and that first bell of the day-this letter would have to suffice.
Which is why it had to be perfect.
Sighing in frustration, he tore out the latest effort and crumpled it, throwing it down to join its friends at his feet.
He paused in his writing endeavours when he saw a light come on in the Summers' house from the corner of his eye.
A second story light.
Buffy's room.
And when he saw her pass by the window all thoughts of waiting patiently till morning fled.
He had to see her.
Now.
And the way of how he would do just that suddenly came to him...
Buffy had only just climbed into bed when she heard a noise down the side of the house. It was probably just a neighbourhood cat, or a raccoon getting into the trash, but it had sounded awfully close. For a moment she listened intently, waiting for the sound to repeat. When several minutes passed and all was quiet, she snuggled further into her blankets and closed her eyes, arms clutched tightly around her stuffed pig.
There was another thump, followed by the sound of branches scratching against the weatherboard side of the house.
And then... "Bollocks."
Now that was most definitely not a raccoon.
Buffy's heart began to race. She would know that voice in a crowd.
Spike.
When a knock on her bedroom window drew her attention she almost screamed when she saw him perched precariously on the edge of the roof, clinging to her window ledge.
Diving from the bed, she lifted the window.
"Are you seriously that deranged?" she hissed. "You're gonna break your neck!"
"Well, I guess you'd better let me in then, pet."
Buffy frowned, arms folding over her chest. "Nah uh, I don't think so, mister."
"Oh, come on, love," Spike began, the rest of his plea silenced by the harshness of Buffy's rebuttal.
"I'm not your love," she spat out.
Yes you are... Spike silently argued.
"Can I please just come in? This roof is slippery and my co-ordination's not the best at the mo-"
"Well, you should've thought of that before you drank yourself stupid," Buffy snipped.
"I wasn't exactly plannin' on having to sneak into your room tonight, love. Would've happily walked through the front door," Spike pointed out.
Buffy huffed, her frown deepening. "So this is my fault now?"
"I didn't say that, what I meant was-"
Spike's hand slipped from the ledge and he scrambled for purchase as her hand outstretched before she could think.
"Give me your hand, you idiot, before you fall and hurt yourself." She stuck her hand out toward him in an almost defiant manner.
Spike couldn't suppress the smile that crossed his face the instant her hand found his. Yes...
With Buffy's assistance, he climbed into her bedroom, as quietly as an intoxicated person could, and then leaned against the window frame. Buffy moved away from him the second he was safely inside... and it hurt. The urge to smother her in his embrace was killing him, but he refrained. He'd managed to get inside and he wasn't going to have her tossing him out on his rear before he had the chance to talk to her.
"Thanks, pet."
Buffy shuffled uncomfortably, wringing her hands in front of her nervously, and it only made him want to hug her more. He stood there, basking in her presence, a goofy smile on his face. He felt better already just being near her.
Obviously Buffy didn't feel the same way, judging by the pained expression on her face.
"Well, you got what you wanted. You're inside. Say whatever it is you need to say so I can get some sleep."
"Oh, right," Spike mumbled, having momentarily forgotten he'd interrupted her. The confidence he'd had from being in her presence rapidly fled when he remembered why he was here.
When he didn't speak for several minutes, just stood there staring at her with that forlorn lost puppy look on his face, Buffy couldn't take it anymore. This is what she'd been trying to avoid all day, she could already feel her resolve begin to crumble.
"Just spit it out, would you."
That's right... get angry. If you can stay angry then you won't cry.
Despite outward appearances, Buffy was a bundle of nerves. She was desperate to hear whatever Spike had to say, and she'd be lying if she didn't admit that she just wanted things to be right between them again. But it wasn't that simple. And she couldn't just forgive and forget.
The fierce expression Buffy now wore was glorious, and he fell a little bit more in love with her. Couldn't she see how much he needed her? Couldn't she tell how he felt?
No, you git. She doesn't trust you anymore.
Spike gulped nervously, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. This was harder than he thought it would be. He didn't know how he was going to start, how to explain in a way that she'd listen and understand and realise that, while his actions were foolish, he'd done them out of fear of losing her.
He'd done them out of love.
He was beginning to think that maybe he should've kept one of those letters. Realising he had to say something before she kicked him out, Spike blurted out the one thing that was on the top of his mind, and had been all afternoon.
"I miss you."
~~~~~~~~~~