Too Many Stories
Elizabeth would rather be anywhere on the planet other than the tiny kitchen in which she found herself. Anywhere. Even work during in the first five minutes after an earthquake. She bit her bottom lip until she tasted blood, her eyes firmly riveted on the stream of coffee slowly but surely filling the coffee pot.
Not even caffeine would make this better.
As soon as she realized where she was and exactly what she’d done, she’d felt like throwing up. More importantly, she felt like would have wanted to throw up even with the hangover and the headache from hell. She never drank, and last night she’d been totally gone. But not drunk enough. She couldn’t even blame it fully on the alcohol, because she had a feeling she just may have gone ahead with it sober. Five years was a long time to go without a date, even when you think you really wanted one. Oh no, she’d just gotten just drunk enough to let herself - do what she did.
If it weren’t for the five minutes this morning before that moment of complete clarity, she would’ve run like hell and pretended it never happened.
It was in those five minutes she’d felt better than she’d felt since her mom died. She was rested. Well and truly rested. She felt like she’d slept for a week, and muscles she hadn’t realized were tense were all liquidy and loose. Apparently she’d been tied up in knots so long that she’d forgotten what relaxed felt like.
She wanted to do it again.
Oh, God. She just had a one night stand, and she was standing in a kitchen wondering how to arrange a few more.
What happened to that girl who believed that such things were reserved for someone that you loved with all of your heart? That girls who did what she’d just done were - not good girls. She was a good girl.
She was.
But she really, really liked the deep sleep without any nightmares and the soft groggy feeling she’d had this morning. She felt better with a hangover than she’d felt in years without one, and she knew it wasn’t the alcohol.
She’d tried alcohol before, and all that made you was sick and more depressed than you’d started out.
Shit.
She didn’t let herself think it was anything more than what he’d said it was at the beginning. Just feel good for a while. Just remembering the sound of his voice saying that made her shiver. She was twenty three years old, no matter how long it had been since she’d been out on a date, and she wasn’t going to make him uncomfortable by acting like a love-struck teenager. He wasn’t one of the boys she’d gone out with before she stopped dating all together. He was - well, he had to be at least thirty from some of the stories he told last night, and he had these cute little wrinkles around his eyes that guys didn’t get until at least then. He was a man. She’d never had sex with a man before. A boy once, but that was - not at all like last night.
Okay, maturity. Adult conversation.
I wonder if I was any good?, she thought. Is it okay to ask him? No! Stop that!
She heard him in the hallway and had to grab the edge of the counter to keep from panicking.
She had no idea how to approach this. Everybody knew Spike would sleep with anyone that would sleep with him. It was almost part of training. Don’t get hung up on Spike, because he never visits the same territory twice. But if that’s what you want, flirt a bit and he’ll rattle your teeth for you. And it wasn’t as if they were bad stories, exactly. The women telling them never seemed bitter or disappointed. Sort of matter of fact, with a little grin that said they’d once their teeth rattled.
He didn’t get the nickname from the hair.
But he’d told her to call him Will. Did he tell them all to call him Will?
Gaaaaaah….stop that! You’re acting like a kid. And if you don’t act like you want him to marry you, he just might help you relax a bit every once in a while, and that’s a hell of a lot more than you’ve ever had before. There, that was logical, sturdy Elizabeth. Unflappable. And apparently, slightly slutty.
“There’s cream in the fridge, luv.”
She jumped, sliding in her sock feet and nearly hitting the floor. He caught her before she could fall, and she found herself looking up at him.
He’d pulled on black sweatpants and a teeshirt, and his hair was wet and rumpled looking. Damn. She hadn’t figured out what she wanted to say yet.
“Thanks.” She shifted away, stepped around him to open the refrigerator, and decided that today she’d have cream in her coffee even though she usually drank it black. It gave her something to distract her from him.
The silence was decidedly uncomfortable.
“You want breakfast? I can do scrambled eggs. Or there’s cereal. I think. Might be out of milk.”
“I don’t eat breakfast. Could use a ride back to my car, though.”
He nodded, staring at his coffee for a second before taking a deep breath. “So, you wanted to talk?”
She winced. Oh yeah. The talking thing. She should have just run.
“So is that your secret?”
He looked confused. “What secret.”
“For the whole just forget it thing. Because I gotta admit, it kinda worked.” There, that sounded casual.
The corners of lips twitched, making him look like he wanted to laugh at her but was half afraid it would make her mad.
“That’s one form of therapy that actually works better sober.” He blew out a breath, and put his coffee mug on the counter. “Look, Elizabeth, I’m sorry ‘bout how things went last night.”
Well, guess that answers the question of whether you were any good. She smiled at him, shaking her head, studiedly casual. She hoped. She felt like her stomach had just ripped out through her navel.
“Nothing to be sorry for. We were both a little out of control.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “That’s not what I meant. I’m doing this all wrong.”
She held a hand up before he could get any further. She was the one doing this all wrong. “No, you’re fine. I’d just like to get back to my car and get home, okay? I need a shower and I do have actual things to take care of today before I go back underground for two weeks.”
He frowned. “Two?”
“Overtime.” She grimaced. The very thought of having to work two weeks straight had been setting her on edge since she found she had to at the beginning of the month. “Off topic. Or actually, not really. I’d really appreciate it if this didn’t make the rounds at work, okay? And you don’t have to come up with some speech. I know it was just a mutual stress relief thing. I’m not going to get all clingy on you, Spike.” She put just enough emphasis on the nickname to get her message across, to let him know she wasn’t totally out of the loop even if she never took part in said loop. Just because a girl didn’t run her mouth, that didn’t mean she didn’t use her ears.
For a second, he looked like she’d just kicked him in said spike.
“Right then. I’ll get my keys. Give you a ride.” He nodded, and strode back toward the bedroom.
“It really did help. I haven’t slept that good in ages. I guess I’m saying, with the whole no one else ever knows about this thing rule in place, that if you ever need the favor returned you can call me. Maybe see how much better that therapy works sober.” There. That didn’t sound at all desperate, did it? Very businesslike.
He stopped. It felt like it took minutes for him to turn back toward her, eyebrow raised. It had to be just her imagination. She hadn’t realized how much she really wanted him to agree to it. “Sorry, pet. Just one freebie. I think the goin’ rate’s fifty bucks an hour. Better make that an even hundred if you want your itch scratched sober.”
She was still standing in the kitchen with her mouth hanging open when the bedroom door slammed behind him.
Oh, God. That was too businesslike, then, wasn’t it?
Wait a minute. She threw her cup in the sink, ignoring the sound of shattering glass as she marched behing him and flung the door open.
He was just starting to rummage through the piles of crap on his dresser when she caught up with him.
“What the hell was that supposed to mean?”
“Seemed kind of obvious. You want yourself a hooker, there’s a whole passle of ‘em out on Arbor Drive.”
“You know what, you don’t want to, that’s fine. I was just trying to be mature here, and I’d think you’d appreciate not having to find a polite way to get rid of your latest lay. I’m not some naïve little thing that doesn’t know the score. I don’t see why you have to get all pissy about it.” A passle Who says passle?
“Oh, yeah. Sounds like you know everything.”
“Right. Come on, Giles, tell me you were thinking about picket fences and two point five kids when you fucked me on your living room floor.” She sneered.
Every muscle in his body tensed, and when he finally looked at her again she took a step back. Even the air felt dangerous, and she thought for a second he might actually hit her.
“Wasn’t thinking much of anything, was I? Obviously. Sure wasn’t thinking any of the things I’d heard about you were true. ‘Cause I wouldn’t have invited a frigid bitch who thinks she’s too good to hang out with the rest of us into my home. As for what I was thinking when I did that, no - wait. Didn’t ask, did you?” She probably didn’t actually have to duck the keys that flew at her, but she’d never know that because instinct took over and she dropped. “Drive yourself. Just leave my car there. Feel like a good run, anyway.”
She opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. She was sorry. She really was. She’d gotten the whole thing wrong trying not to get the whole thing wrong. She wanted to fix it, even though she wasn’t sure what exactly she was trying to fix. But the words that came out weren’t anything like that.
“People think I’m a frigid bitch and a snob?” Well, it was a surprise. No one had ever said anything like to her face or anything. It wasn’t like she had a nickname. That she actually answered to. So her thinking what they said about him was true was totally understandable!
“Well, yeah. Seemed to have missed out on the whole self-absorbed thing, though.”
“Self-absorbed?” She was really sorry before. Now she was mad again. “I’m self-absorbed!?! If I was, I wouldn’t have been trying to make things easy on you in the first damned place! Which is what started the whole yelling thing! If I was self absorbed I’d’ve been all with the when are you taking me to dinner and what are we doing next weekend and all that stuff that has nothing to do with any of this stuff! I wouldn’t have been completely and totally willing to throw aside my value system - because last night? Not something I do! Ever! - But you do, don’t you? Or that’s what I thought. I’m so damned self-absorbed I was willing to just enjoy your way!” Too much information. Oh, God, she had to get out of here.
She grabbed the keys from the floor, stumbling out of the bedroom and trying to just get to the front door. Everything was blurry, and she was truly and royally pissed off that she was actually crying. She never cried. Crying was for wimps.
A hand closed around her shoulder and she tried to shrug it off, to just keep moving until she was somewhere that she could forget any of this ever happened.
“Stop.” His voice was rough, but he wasn’t yelling. She stopped, and didn’t resist when he took the keys out of her hand.
“Just forget it.” She said, “For what it’s worth, I didn’t mean to screw everything up. I just want to go home now.”
“Which part?”
Huh? “Geez, just stop. I’m done, okay?”
“Which part are we forgetting? ‘Cause I know which part I’d vote for.”
“I really and truly don’t care at this point, Spike.”
“Right then. Well, Spike at least takes the girl home when he’s done with ‘er.” The resignation in his voice was worse than the yelling. For there to be resignation, he had to have actually wanted something other than what she’d offered. Something more than what she’d offered instead of the less that she’d been so sure he as planning on.
“What were you thinking when you invited me here?”
He didn’t answer her right away, and she shook her head and started for the door again. She should have just taken the ride home.
“Not sure, really. I pretty much just knew I wanted to see what it was I wanted from you. Thought I might like you, Summers. Self absorbed snobby bitch that you probably aren’t and all. Wanted to see how much I might like you is all.”
“Yeah, well. I just didn’t want to go back to my house yet.” She met his eyes. “I don’t know what you want, I didn’t even know I wanted anything, but since I apparently treated you in a totally crappy way, I guess the question is how much can you forget? And I don’t think either one of us should let you answer that yet.”
“What if I already know the answer?”
“Then I guess you think about some more.” She looked at him hard, “I’m not - I can’t pretend that all those happily ever after stories exist. We both know they don’t. And if you’ve somehow got it in your head that’s what you want…I don’t know. I will say this. I can do dating if that’s what you want, with the hanging out and talking and the sex. I haven’t done that since I was a kid, so I’ll mess up some. Like today. I don’t cheat, hell it’s unusual for there to be one guy, I really don’t want more than that. But that's it. All I've got. I really don’t believe in fairy tales, Will.”
“Just one question, Elizabeth.”
She bit her lip, half afraid she’d screwed up again and the yelling was about to start back up. “Sure.”
“Can I be finished thinking about it yet?” He was laughing at her, the corners of his mouth twitching at a furious pace.
“Yeah, sure.” She sighed, preparing herself.
“Then I say we walk back into the kitchen, have a cup of coffee, and pick up somewhere around how much better we’d be sober.” He waggled his eyebrows, and she really - truly - wanted to smack him. Arrogant ass.
“Or you can give me a lift to my car, and call me later and we can act like nothing after that happened. Compromise.”
“I can do compromise.” He dropped a kiss on the end of her nose, "And fairy tales are for children, luv. But that's a conversation for a hell of a lot later." He held her hand as they walked out the door.
She kept wondering if she was supposed to swing her arm like she usually did when she walked, or just let it hang there. Geez, but she was clueless when it came to this stuff.
She half-wished she was Buffy again. Buffy had been kind of good at this kind of stuff. These were Buffy things. She hadn’t been Buffy for five years. Elizabeth - well, Elizabeth was clueless about anything that wasn’t her job.