“The Book of Life begins with a man and a woman in a garden…It ends with Revelations.” ~ Oscar Wilde
“So, when can I see Alicia?” Buffy asked as soon as they’d arrived at his penthouse. His incredible, bachelor pad, penthouse. Well, now, that wasn’t fair. He had decorated it quite well, there was a definite gothic theme to the place – lots of blacks, reds and silver. There were even a few gargoyles adorning the place. Buffy had never been sure if it was the influence of his character on his show, if it was his taste, or if it was just for ‘effect’, to create that air of mystery and the forbidden about him that he chose to decorate in such a manner.
She kind of liked it though. In a weird way.
The only room in the place that was ‘normal’ was the guest room. In fact, it was obvious that it hadn’t been touched at all. The plain cream walls had no pictures adorning them; and nothing on the dresser and nightstand except for two lamps and an alarm clock, respectively. And then there was the lack of curtains; just shades. It made sense though, considering the overnight guests he usually had stayed in his bed. She shook that thought off, and the images it produced.
He grinned, “I think you’re more excited to see her than me.”
Buffy shrugged, “I love you daughter. She’s just so . . . cute.”
He pouted, “And I’m not?”
She grinned, “I know what you mean now about seeing things up close and personal. Look at that pout,” she giggled and reached out, brushing her fingers across his bottom lip. The action stunned her, and him. He could tell by the look on her face that she hadn’t thought before she acted. He wondered, by the way she jerked her had away so quickly, if she felt the same electrical sparks rush through her as they did him. They locked eyes for a half a second and then she went about her business of unzipping her suitcase and fishing for some clothes. “Mind if I take a shower?”
He shook his head, staring at her, dazed, “Not at all.”
She bounced past him to the shower and he caught the whiff of vanilla. It was the scent he associated to Buffy. Just Buffy. If another female he was with wore it, he still attributed that scent as uniquely Buffy’s and felt almost . . . guilty for it.
He shook his head, clearing his thoughts. Best to call the ex-wife and find out when he could take Alicia so Buffy could have her fill.
*** “Dammit, sir, it is your duty to get married. You can't be always living for pleasure.” ~Oscar Wilde***
Buffy awoke abruptly, followed by the disorientating feeling of knowing you’re not in your bed, but not sure of where you are at first.
Spike. California. Guest room.
I need to pee. Where was the bathroom again?
Getting her bearings once again, Buffy rose from her bed, and stumbled her way to the bathroom that was just off her bedroom, using the moonlight to guide her.
Quickly going about her business, she was on her way back to bed when she heard voices. Spike’s and . . . a female. She froze, trying to gauge who the voices were – was Alicia here? Did she miss that? No, this did not sound like a little girls voice and besides, that was ridiculous. Alicia was ten, she wasn’t going to be coming over at . . . Midnight. Okay…was it his ex-wife, Samantha? No. Sam had Alicia and was home with her new husband. Harmony? Oh god, the thought made Buffy want to puke.
Well, there was only one thing left to do. She was going to make like Nancy Drew and solve this mystery.
Creeping out her bedroom door, she paused to once again gather her bearings. Okay, stairs, there were stairs set in the middle of the hall that led down to the living room, kitchen, dining room and a bathroom. Spike’s bedroom was just down the hall from hers so he had to be downstairs. Plus, she could see light coming from downstairs, so that kind of tipped her off too.
As quiet as a mouse, she tiptoed down the stairs and peered over the stairs to see if she could see him or if she had to move down more. Nope. She had the perfect view.
Of him making out with some blond with big boobs.
The sight of him fondling some girl didn’t make her hot to witness his prowess, no, it made her sick. It punched her straight in the gut, nearly knocking the wind out of her. And her heart, oh god, her heart dropped to the floor and ached, literally ached.
Part of her wanted to run down the stairs and interrupt them, and the other part wanted to dry heave right there on the stairs and then . . . cry. Yes, she wanted to cry. In fact, the back of her eyes pricked with tears. He promised. He told her there would be no girls, he promised. What happened to his word? Oh yes, well, what did she expect? she thought bitterly as she tried to quietly make it up the stairs. This was of course Spike. Spike, who made a million promises to a million different women a day. Why should she be any different? She wasn’t. That was the thing. She wasn’t. She was just another girl in his life that he put on an act for, played a part for. She really didn’t mean anything to him, not at all. Being out here with him was just to stroke his ego that he got her to come out and see him. Being out here was him making sure that he wasn’t alone. Spike hated to be alone. He was never companionless. So that’s just what she was. His companion for the next two weeks. She was sure, whether he realized it or not, that being alone was the same as death to Spike.
She sat on her bed and the tears came, rolling down her cheeks and wetting her hands that were clenched on her lap. She wanted to scream at him.
She wanted to break up his little party.
No wonder he’d pressured her to go to bed when she’d started to yawn. It wasn’t because he was concerned about her getting enough rest for their day out with Alicia tomorrow, it was so he could fornicate with the flavor of the week!
She was shaking in anger and hurt. Hurt, hurt why? Why Buffy, why?
Jolting up, she wiped at her tears with a goal in mind. She was thirsty and she was going to get some water.
Striding with a purpose out of her room, she practically ran down the stairs, not wanting to give him any chance to hide his little tramp for the night.
Walking in, the living room, she took delight in the deer-in-the-headlights look Spike was wearing. She feigned surprise, “Oh, God, I’m sorry. Did I interrupt something?”
The blond bimbo looked up at Spike, biting her bottom lip, “Spike? Who is that?”
“Oh, uh, Buffy, hey! What are you doing up?” Spike stumbled on his words, standing up on shaky legs, plastering on a fake smile.
“I needed some water,” she nearly snapped at him and then turned to the girl, and held out her hand in false courtesy. “Hi, I’m Dr. Summers.”
“Doctor?” the girl said, confused. “Why is there a doctor staying over here, Spike?”
“I’m his psychologist. He has trouble getting to sleep at night. He has a blanky still, silly boy,” and she laughed for effect. “And he still needs to be tucked in and sung to. We’re working through it. I come over at night to try a different, more adult routine. I guess you’re part of his routine tonight. The little boy still needs to have his fun,” she laughed, a fake laugh once again, and reached out ruffling Spike’s curls, roughly. “Let me ask you,” she addressed the girl, “Do you know all the lyrics to ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb?’”
“Okay, Laura, I think it’s time for you to go now,” Spike said, reaching out and taking Laura by the arm, hauling her up from the couch.
Laura looked up at him wide-eyed, “I know the lyrics to ‘Ba Ba Black Sheep’, will that do?”
Buffy had to walk away before she blew her cover by laughing, and really, she wanted Spike to stew in the possibility that this floozy could spread some gossip about him. She was so angry and hurt by him at that moment, she didn’t care about his precious reputation. If anything, the consummate Ladies Man needed to be brought down a notch or two.
Or twenty.
Sauntering into the kitchen, Buffy hummed to herself as she got her glass of water. When she turned, she saw Spike standing there, glaring at her.
She set her glass down and pointed at him, “Don’t you even get mad at me for that.”
“How can I not, Buffy? Do you realize that she could blab to the tabloids—“
“Pay her off then. I don’t really care what you do with her!”
“When did you become such a bitch?”
“Probably about the time you started dating fucking twelve –year olds.”
“Such language,” he said sarcastically, tsking her.
“What can I say?” she smiled sardonically, “You bring out the best in me. I’m so mad at you, I could spit nails,” she said through clenched teeth. “You promised me!”
His anger seemed to melt to regret and with puppy dog eyes he came forward, reaching for her. “I’m so—“
“Don’t,” she said through clenched teeth. “Why bother apologizing Spike? Don’t tell me you’re sorry just to pacify me. Just to make yourself feel better. It’s not like I mean anything to you anyway, so really, it’s just an empty apology and you know it.”
His eyes widened, “Buffy Anne Summers, you are something to me, don’t you dare say that –“
“Save it. I want to see Alicia tomorrow, so I’m going to do that, whether you want to come or not. After, I’m going to make arrangements to visit my aunt in Santa Monica. I’ll be out of your hair tomorrow.”
“Buffy, luv, please—“
“Don’t. Call me that. I’m not your ‘love’. I’m just . . . I’m one of ‘them’. Just here to stroke your ego. But, turns out, you didn’t need me after Harmony. You’re doing just fine on your own. So, I’ll be out of your hair so you can continue being ‘fine’.”
She stalked by him, shaking in hurt and anger. The sight of him holding another girl in his arms was imprinted in her mind and she wasn’t sure if it would ever leave her long enough for her to get some much-needed rest.