Chapter Three
“Women represent the triumph of matter over mind, just as men represent the triumph of mind over morals.” ~Oscar Wilde
“So, you’re really going huh?” Willow asked later that week when Buffy showed her the tickets she’d gotten in the mail.
Flopping down dejectedly in her sofa, Buffy nodded and moaned, covering her eyes with an arm. “Yeah, I’m really going.”
“Why don’t you sound happier about it? I remember a time when you couldn’t wait to see him.”
“I know, I don’t get it.”
“Hmm…don’t get it, or don’t want to get it?”
“Cut the crap, Willow. Just tell me what it is you’re thinking.”
“That you have a thing for Spike and that’s why this is bothering you so much.”
Buffy dropped her arm and peered over at her friend, “I thought when one had a crush on someone they wanted to see the object of their affection.”
“Not when said object of their affection is always putting his attention elsewhere. Like, oh, on meaningless bimbo’s.”
Buffy put her arm back over her eyes, “It’s his life.”
“Doesn’t mean you don’t care about him. Or Alicia.”
“You’re absolutely right, it doesn’t mean I don’t care about him, but it doesn’t mean that I have a thing for him either. It just means that I . . . that I hate seeing such destructive behavior in someone that I consider a friend.”
“Right. And the fact that you basically told him you don’t want to go out there and witness him with other women doesn’t mean you’re jealous at all.”
“Exactly. Wills, I’ve never told Spike directly what I think of his man whore behavior. I’ve indirectly told him only; through jokes and brief comments or silence . . . it works for us that way. Why complicate things by telling him?”
“Because maybe he needs to hear it?”
“It’s not like he’ll change.”
“Why do you suppose he does it? Because he can? Because being famous as he is, and desired by women everywhere, he’s living out a youthful fantasy?”
“I suppose that’s part of it, and because he’s a man and any man faced with the prospect of having meaningless affairs and a string of one-night-stands would do it. I mean, it’s every man’s fantasy isn’t it? No strings attached, and if there are strings becoming attached, then they’re snipped away and it’s on to the next Mindy.”
“Huh?”
“Nothing; just the name of Spike’s latest conquest.”
“Stewardess or ice skater?”
Buffy giggled, “He didn’t stick around long enough to find out. She only, you know, slept in his bed for the night.” She let out a tremendous groan and flopped her arm over her head and stared up at the ceiling. “I don’t want to go!”
“Then don’t.”
“I can’t not go. He’d be crushed and really, I mean, I do want to see him. I do. I just . . . I just. . .argh!”
“You just don’t want to have to witness him with other women while you’re there.”
“Yes.”
“Because….”
Buffy looked over at her friend warily.
Willow grinned, “That’s what I thought.”
*** “I can resist everything except temptation.” ~ Oscar Wilde***
“Well, luv, I’ll be free tonight if you want to stop by,” Spike purred at the attractive blond across from him. How good was he finding someone at the airport?
The leggy, blue eyed blond with the incredible rack fluttered her fake eyelashes and giggled, looking at him coyly as she took the piece of paper with his address and number on it. “I’d love to Mr. Giles.”
“Now, now, none of that formality. Call me Spike, I insist.”
She smiled broadly, “You’re so handsome in person!”
“What are you saying? I’m not handsome on TV?”
She looked dutifully horrified that she’d implied such a thing and rushed to explain herself. Spike chuckled and patted her arm, “It’s all right, luv. I’m just teasing.”
She looked up at him from under her lashes and bit her lip, “So I can come over after ten?”
“Yes, after ten. Come right up and I’ll be waiting for you.”
“Don’t forget me.”
He placed a hand over his chest. “You wound me, pet. I would never forget such a lovely woman as yourself.”
Giggling, she stood, grabbed her rolling suitcase and walked away, waving coquettishly and swaying her hips. Spike bit his lip, thinking about all the wonderful ways he was going to enjoy that pretty piece of flesh. He was just going to have to make sure that Buffy was tucked away in her bed by the time . . . shit! What was her name? Oh yeah, Laura. So, Buffy was going to have to be in bed by the time Laura came by. That shouldn’t be a problem though; Buffy never did deal well with jet lag.
Looking down at his watch, he guesstimated that Buffy should be arriving at any moment. He was more than a little excited to see her. The last time they’d seen each other in the flesh was a good six months ago. Talking to her on the phone, over email and through IM’s was all well and good, but it was nothing like having her there, right in front of him. The idea warmed him and made Laura flee his mind in an instant.
Sitting up straight, he stretched out his arms on either side of him and slouched slightly. He wanted to be the first thing Buffy saw when she came off the plane.
He watched anxiously, feeling his heart jump in anticipation as the throng of people started coming out. Passengers hugged families and friends, kissed lovers and genuinely looked thrilled to see each other. Watching the display made Spike yearn for someone to welcome him in such a manner. For someone to want him that much; miss him and need him that much.
And then he saw her. She was walking down, purse slung across her shoulder and a duffel bag in hand, chatting with some tall, oafish bloke dressed all in black. Honestly, what kind of wanker dressed all in black like that?
Looking down at himself, he groaned inwardly. Oh yeah, wankers like him, that’s who.
He smiled at the vision of her, opting to stand and greet her instead of waiting for her to see him sitting there. Her blond hair had grown longer, past her shoulders and was darker now, more honey blond than bleached blond like himself. She was dressed for the weather in green capri’s, sandals and a white cami. Her toes, he noted, were tainted pink. Her face was clear of heavy makeup, instead she kept it simple and her lips matched her pink toes.
It hit him with force that he could not wait to envelope her in his arms, and know that she was there, finally, with him.
The oafish man departed from her, but not before handing her a card of some sort. Buffy smiled at him and waved as he trekked off. Spike scowled, and that, unfortunately, was the sight Buffy got to see of him first.
She smiled first, caught the scowl, and halted. “What?”
“Who was that?”
“A guy I was talking to on the flight.”
“What did he give you there?” Spike asked, nodding towards her hand that held his card.
“Oh this?” she held up the card, and then slipped it into her purse with ease. “His card.”
“Why is he giving you his card?”
“To call him, I imagine.”
“For what?” he demanded.
“Can we try this over again? I haven’t seen you in six months, I just spent six hours on a plane, I’m hot, sweaty and gross and since I did travel all this way to see you—“
He cut her off by wrapping her up in his arms. “Hi, Buffy.”
“That’s better,” she said, beaming up at him. He felt something squeeze his heart at the sight. He was hit with the urge to reach up and caress the side of her face, and started to lift his hand to do just that when she pulled away from him. “Luggage, Spikey.”
He smiled at her, “Of course, luv.”
“So, I expected to see a gaggle of girls around you. What happened? You laying low?”
He grinned, “I made a promise to a lady to behave while she’s visiting me.”
“Be still my heart,” she said, placing a hand over said heart and laughing.
He beamed at her, “You know, luv, nothing beats seeing your smile up close like this. I missed it.”
She swatted him playfully, “Charmer.”
He held out his arm, “Mi’lady?”
“Ah, a lady,” she said on a wistful sigh and took his offered arm. “That must be a change for you.”
He bumped her with his hip and they both laughed as they set off for her luggage.
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