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Knock me so love if you feel so inclined please! I get all four wisdom teeth taken out tomorrow and could use the love :)
There is only one thing in the world that is worse than being talked about, and that is not being talked about. ~Oscar Wilde


She shouldn’t have woken up. Rather, she shouldn’t have gotten up and found Spike when she heard the muffled yelling he was doing. Her first instinct had been to burrow under the covers and hide, shut out the world just a little longer.

Always follow the first instinct.

She didn’t think it would have mattered if she’d seen the news the night before or not. She slept like crap without seeing it anyway. Maybe in fact she would have slept better had she seen it. Then there would be no wondering what they’d say and how she’d go about defending herself, or if she should. She’d admired how Spike had slept through the night without a problem. She knew that because everytime she’d turned toward him in her efforts to find a comfortable position that would enable her to sleep, he’d been sleeping soundly. A bomb would have gone off and he wouldn’t have been bothered. Course, as admirable as it was that he could sleep through anything, it was also rather annoying because she could not. She contemplated playing practical jokes on him. One involved shaving cream in his hand and then tickling his nose, the other involved sticking his hand in warm water – that would have been simultaneously gross and funny.

It was funny how juvenile her mind was when she was overtired.

So, when she heard Spike downstairs yelling, she’d contemplated ignoring it since she’d just fallen asleep three hours before that. In the end though, she couldn’t ignore it. He was obviously upset about something if he was yelling and she should go see what it was— despite the fact that her body and her groggy mind were begging her to stay in bed.

Climbing out, she didn’t bother to do anything to herself except use the facilities. Her hair was a matted mess, but did she care? Not in the least. Which was really kind of funny. She was with one of the most sought after men in Hollywood, a man that women fawned over and would do anything to be in her shoes – and she didn’t care that she had massive bed head and morning breath. She was friggen tired!

Padding down the stairs, she could hear Spike’s end of the conversation.

“I don’t bloody care what they’re saying about her! Let them dig up what they want. ...That bloody bitch...well, if you know she is then why are you yelling at me?”

She stopped, frozen, staring at him as he paced. He looked so tense. It was coming off of him in waves and traveling straight to her. Swallowing hard, she waited for him to notice her.

“No, I’m not doing that. I told you I’m going to issue a statement. ....I have to ask her. I’m not going to make that decision for her!” Spinning around, hand half way through his hair, he spotted her. “I have to go,” and he hung up.

“Well, that was a quick good-bye. Makes me wonder why you didn’t do that in the first place when he or she started to make you yell, “Buffy said, feeling quite calm despite the fact that she was most definitely sure the ‘she’ they were referring to was her.

Spike sighed heavily, “That was my publicist. He’s all up in arms—how are you, baby? Feeling okay?”

“I slept like shit.”

“Oh. “

”So, um, what’s going on? What’s Randy the publicist all up in arms about? Did he not like your tux?”

Spike rose a brow. “Feeling saucy this morning eh?”

“Not really. Just masking my apprehension through sarcasm. How bad is it?” she asked and flipped on the TV. Regis and Kelly were on and from the looks of it, she was the topic of that morning. There she was in all her glory, trying to explain to reporters how she’d been attacked and she was most certainly not attacking Faith, and then the camera panned to Faith who was spouting big crocodile tears and wailing to the camera about her scratch and how she was just trying to be friendly and –

Spike shut the TV off. “Don’t need to watch that crap, Buffy.”

“Why not? I’m going to be living it aren’t I? Well, I actually already did. I sure don’t remember it happening the way she said it did. And hey—she must really be a good actress to cry on demand like that. . . . Why didn’t you tell me I looked fat in that dress?”

“You’re quite glib this morning,” Spike replied, grabbing his mug from the coffee table and taking a sip.

“I’m exhausted and stressed. This is how I deal with being exhausted and stressed. I get glib.”

“Randy wanted to know what the hell happened. Faith’s publicist called, wanting to issue a demand to me on how to apologize for last night.”

“Apologize huh? That’s interesting. So apparently the publicist o’ Faith is choosing to keep with the lie.”

“Yes, however, there are a few rags this morning – and TV rags as well, who have a different version of the truth. Buffy, one thing you’ll learn in this business, there are several versions of the truth.”

“What’s that saying? There are three versions to every story – his side, her side and the truth? Something like that.”

“Well, it’s all a something like that.”

“Yeah, she sucks, you know that?”

“Don’t I?”

“And how can you apologize to her?”

“By escorting her out to the world premier of some movie that’s opening next week.”

“Oh Jesus. What is she thinking?”

“That we’ll take a few pictures together, she’ll get to make me feel like I crawled on my hands and knees for her forgiveness, thereby denouncing you, and she’ll try to seduce me.”

“That fucking—“

“I’m not going, naturally.”

Buffy nodded, “I know.”

“Randy called because I never called to tell him what happened last night, and he had to wake up to Faith’s damn publicist issuing demands. Figured speaking with Randy would pave the way for me to agree to go. He was more upset about being left in the dark and having to muddle through the mess this morning than anything else. He went on about how they’re going to dig up your background—“

“My-my background?”

“Everyone wants to know who you are now. They want the scoop.” He said it so casually, as if it were an everyday occurrence, as if it happened all the time that random strangers would be digging up your past and your life and – in his world? They did just that. She was new blood. They wanted to dig deep, find any scandalous morsel they could retrieve and exploit her—exploit them.

What would they find anyway? That she slept with a stuffed pig named Mr. Gordo that she’d had since she was five? That she stole once, but then her mother made her bring back the stolen candy bar and apologize? Buffy had seen it before, and scoffed at it. Like what someone did when they were younger had any bearing on where they were now. Unless you had ties to the mafia, stealing at the age of ten was not a big deal, and no reason for Spike to not love her any longer. It was also no reason for the world to deem her unworthy to be with him. They probably would twist any piece of information, twist it all and blow it to make it bigger than it was. Her ten-year-old stint at stealing probably would tie her to the mafia in some way. Or that shopkeeper would be paid off to squeal to the world that she stole plenty of items to feed her starving family --

“Stop.”

Buffy blinked and focused in on Spike, “What?”

“You’re staring off, I can see it all over your face. You’re not even here right now.” He came over to her and held onto her shoulders. “Buffy, it’s okay. They’ll run with this for a bit and then something else will happen and they’ll be on to something new. Remember that.”

“They—they won’t go after my mom will they?”

“No, Buffy, they won’t go after Joyce. Just calm down. Breathe, baby.”

“What else?”

“I’m issuing my statement. Randy is going to stop by later and we’re going to work out my statement.”

“Work out your statement? Don’t you just say it? Wait, no, of course you don’t. You know I’m actually jealous. You get all these people to help you live your life. A publicist to present you and protect you, a stylist to make you over, a driver to drive you to fancy functions, a decorator to decorate your house...I’m jealous. Think maybe I could get all those things after? Or do I have to write a book first? Isn’t that the way it’s done? I ride your coattails and then I write a book – with a ghostwriter of course because why would I write my own book? – And then I’m catapulted to fame for something I never did. I have no talents anywhere except for selling houses. Oh Jesus, what if they get a hold of Riley and –“

“Buffy!”

She stopped abruptly. “I just went off didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did.”

“My mind is in a dark place right now. My mind is reeling, it’s actually reeling. That’s what it means when you think a thousand thoughts at once right? My brain is going to explode—“

Spike kissed her hard to stop her tirade. She tried to speak in the kiss and he kept right on kissing her through it. She gave in – why the hell not just give in to his talented mouth and tongue?

Wrapping her arms around him, he held her close to him, and hungrily kissed a path down her neck. His hot mouth felt as if he were going to devour her.

”Allow me to distract you, Goldilocks,” he murmured against her skin.

Buffy knew she was in big trouble the minute she felt his lips nearing her tank top covered breast. Oh God, she thought, that feels so good . . .

“Can I?” he whispered huskily, as he slid her strap down her arm. He looked up at her in question, his blue eyes looking full of innocence. Funny, that.

“Spike...” she breathed.

“Mmmm? Talk to me, Buffy,” he whispered huskily and kissed the tops of her breasts.

“I – I’m not showered.”

“So?”

“I want to make love with you when I at least feel clean.”

He stopped, groaned and straightened. “Got it.”

“Spike, I want to,” she said passionately, feeling the loss of his touch. “God, I want to so bad right now. But I just feel....”

“Dirty?” he smirked.

She grinned, “Yep.”

“Maybe I can clean you off? Tongue bath?” he suggested.

She giggled. She was just about to suggest a bubble bath when the phone rang. Alicia. Buffy smiled and pecked him on the cheek. “If you’re done in time with Alicia, come meet me in the shower,” and she winked saucily before running the stairs. She smiled victoriously when she heard the sharp intake of breath and the groan that followed. She wondered how much hot water he had . . .





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