Buffy was streaming into Dunkin’ Donut’s, set on getting an iced latte before she had to be into work. She was wiped from her late night phone sex with Spike, and she felt she needed an extra little kick to get her going. Her days had been busy since coming back, and she knew it was because she had loose ends to tie up before she left, and only a short amount of time in which to tie them up in.
She’d expected an entourage to be waiting for her upon her arrival home – an onslaught of reporters and photographers at least. But, nothing, and for that she was thankful. She hoped that was on omen for how things would now be living with Spike.
Ugh. She shivered, and not just from the air conditioning as she waited in line. Living with Spike. Moving. Leaving Boston…leaving home, safety, that which I know. I am uprooting my entire life and moving across country. Literally across country. Am I ready for this? Can I do this? Picturing Spike’s face in her mind, she knew it was what she had to do…but the unknown loomed in front of her, and it was scary. She was not a person that took risks and made life – altering decisions on a whim, and yet here she was…making life-altering decisions and taking a risk.
Taking a deep breath, Buffy exhaled and glanced around the room, taking in the Dunks she’d been going to before work for years. Boston was all bustle and hustle and she smiled as she saw tourists outside opening maps and stopping in the middle of the sidewalk, and Bostonians around them shaking their head. Sure, Boston was full of pessimists who barely put up with tourists, but it was home to her, and she was part of it. Would she fit in in California the same way she fit in in Boston? Did she even want to? She was a New England girl through and through. She couldn’t imagine not having snow on Christmas or leaves changing in the fall. No matter how much she complained now about them. It was in her makeup to do so. It was a New Englander’s right.
Sighing, her eyes landed on some magazine some girl was flipping through across the room. The picture on the cover had Buffy holding her breath while the whole room spun for a second. Tilting her head to the side, she studied the picture. No, that couldn’t be…
Marching across the room, forfeiting her place in line, Buffy snapped up the magazine.
“Hey!” the girl exclaimed.
“Sorry, just my boyfriend is on the cover and…that’s not me he’s with,” Buffy exclaimed as she stared at the picture, blinking. She shut her eyes for a long time and then opened them. Nope, still there, still not her…still him.
The girl smirked, “Yeah, your boyfriend is William Giles. Please.”
“I—Can you turn to the page the story is on? I can’t seem to make my hands work.”
The girl grumbled but did it, and Buffy stood there in a sever case of denial. She kept shaking her head and muttering to herself that it couldn’t be. She was starting to feel queasy and that exhaustion she’d been feeling had been completely obliterated. In fact, she was finding it hard to breathe.
“Here,” the girl snapped and opened to the page the story was on.
Staring at photo’s of Spike talking to some brunette, his hand on her arm, and then other photo’s of him chatting up other women – and the article heading “William Giles on the Prowl”, Buffy felt sick.
She was going to throw up, and on an empty stomach.
What a perfect start to the day.
“Does she ever answer her goddamn phone?!” Spike shouted, nearly tossing his phone across the room. He’d been trying unsuccessfully ever since Randy had called him that morning to call Buffy, and with no success. He was going stark raving mad.
Randy had come over to show him the rags while Spike tried to ring Buffy. After he’d seen them, Spike had hit the roof. He’d told Randy that he had been out with Xander the night before, and yes, he had talked to the brunette, but that was it. Those other women – he’d never spoken to him.
“Are you sure?” Randy had asked.
Spike leveled him with a glare. “Yes. After talking to the brunette, I went home and called Buffy.”
“Do you remember when you spoke with these other women?”
“I have no bloody clue! Pre-Buffy, I talked to a lot of women! You expect me to keep track?”
“Duly noted. I’m on it. I’ll call around and find out what I can.”
“This is a mess,” Spike nearly whimpered. “If Buffy sees those…” he shook his head, running a hand through his mussed hair.
Randy placed a comforting hand on his back. "If she sees them, hopefully she’ll wait for you to explain yourself. Did you tell her about the brunette when you called?”
Spike looked at him mournfully. “No.”
“Oh, Spike,” he said and shook his head in disappointment. “What did you tell her you did?”
“Nothing.”
Randy sighed, “That was dumb.”
Redialing Buffy and getting her voice mail, Spike screamed, “Answer the phone!”
Buffy was staring off as she sat at her desk. There was a pile of magazines before her, all of them with Spike in them, all of them with unidentifiable women. A couple of them even referenced her and how when the cat is away, the mice will play.
After throwing up the breakfast she never had, Buffy had made her way to a nearby magazine shop on wobbly legs and then went to work. She called Willow. She didn’t know what to do beyond that.
Willow bustled in and threw her purse down on the desk and sat down across from her. “Did you call him?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I – I don’t know. I think I’m afraid to.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s a good liar. A good bull shitter.”
“He wouldn’t –“
“He has before.”
“Before, Buffy, not now.”
“I can’t think. I feel like I’m….I feel like I’m underwater. Logically, it makes sense to call him. I don’t feel…I don’t feel logical. I feel…numb. All these magazines have the same pictures. How could all these magazines have the same pictures and have it not be true? It has to be true…but yet it just…can’t be. I talked to him last night. I talked to him and asked him what he’d been up to. He said ‘Oh, nothing’. Doesn’t that ‘oh, nothing’ mean ‘oh, something’?”
“Has he tried to call?”
“No! He hasn’t. I haven’t heard my phone…” and digging in her purse, Buffy rummaged through it. Dropping it, she looked up at Willow. “I haven’t heard my phone because I left it at home.”
“Oh, Buffy. Call him. Call him now. He’s probably seen it and going out of his mind with worry.”
Nodding dumbly, Buffy picked up her work phone and dialed Spike.
“You’re telling me that those pictures are from three months ago?” Spike roared into the phone. “How is it possible they ended up in these rags after all this time?”
“Because someone paid a hefty sum to get them printed, that’s how. Someone with pull, someone with power.”
“Who?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out. Baby steps, William.”
“I don’t have time for baby steps, Randy! Buffy is – hold on, that might be her—“ Trying to click over, Spike accidentally hung up the phone completely on both calls. Frantically looking through missed calls, he saw that it was Buffy—Buffy’s work number.
“Fuck!” Redialing the number, he reached a receptionist.
“Can I talk to Buffy Summers, please?” he demanded.
“I’m sorry, she’s on a phone call right now, can I take a message?”
“Can you just tell her I’m on the line?”
“Miss Summers is in with a client and does not like to be interrupted when she’s with a client.”
“March your ass in there and tell her William—“
Ring tone. Bloody bint hung up on him!
Buffy looked up at Willow. “I didn’t even get voice mail. He hung up on me.”
Willow sat back, looking at her friend sympathetically. “Oh, Buffy.”