Gee, I never really say anything profound, do I? But I do love and appreciate all of you for giving me a chance, and for the warm reception to this fic. You guys are so awesome.
I should, however, mention that my updates might slow down a bit. Like, rather than updating every 24 hours, it might be every 48 hours. ***hides*** One of my betas, Meredith, is a little behind, and I want to give her a chance to catch up. I also want to maintain a healthy lead in the chapters I have written versus the ones I have posted, so...just a heads up. The speedy updates will continue...just not as speedy.
Angel simply couldn’t take no for an answer. For the third straight day, he was waiting for her in the library after school, and for the third straight day, Buffy had to refrain from popping him in the nose. Not that the idea of punching him didn’t have its perks, and from the ever-ill-humored look on Giles’s face, she doubted her solution would meet with any objection.
Only Giles, with as much as he barely tolerated Angel, still tolerated him. And that meant that something was up.
And if something was up, she was going to be somewhere very else.
“Stalker much?” Buffy spat, turning on her heel.
“Hey—”
“Honestly, Angel, do you not know when to let go? Get a hobby and leave me alone.”
“I want to see your neck.”
She made a face and tossed him a nasty look. “Yeah. Of all the things plausible to happen in this world, can you imagine how far down I’ve put ‘letting vampires check out my neck’ on the list?”
“Spike bit you, Buffy. I know he did. We need you to talk to us.”
The mark on her thigh burned. Buffy stopped short and pivoted, her arms crossing. There was no way in this life or the next that she would ever share intimate details with Angel—not of her bite mark, and certainly not of Spike. It would just add something else to the growing index of evidence that supported the theory that something was wrong with her.
The questions were beginning to drive her insane, particularly the subject of Spike and vampire bites. In fact, so many of their arguments came back to that point that she was beginning to think that they were attempting to blame her strange defensiveness on a vampiric infection. That her unwillingness to say anything negative about Spike was due to the mark on her thigh. And the more Angel asked, the more Giles prodded, the more determined Buffy became to keep her bite mark a secret. It was hers; not theirs. It had significance inasmuch as she rubbed it on occasion to get off, and it tended to hurt during periods of long separation. Nothing totally unexplainable, especially if Spike’s theory of a curse had any ground.
The last thing Buffy wanted was Angel telling her that everything she felt for Spike had been manufactured by a pair of fangs. Her feelings were real. Incredibly real. And the bite was absolutely none of his business. The bite was the one thing that was hers. It was private. It was hers. Completely hers. In the fallout of the confusing forced-sex and the even more confusing pangs of lust, the bite mark was the only thing that had offered some stability. It was hers, and she wasn’t about to stand and listen to how wrong and evil it was.
Not that her feelings were public record, but Buffy wasn’t dumb enough to think that Angel or Giles had accepted her explanation for what had happened the night that Spike had kidnapped her. Angel believed that Spike had raped her, which was completely wrong, only in a way that was not so much. Things had been so confusing after that night—so confusing that she wasn’t even sure when her confusion had turned into pain, or if it had been pain all along. Hell, she was still confused, and the last thing she needed were words of wisdom from her Spike-hating ex-boyfriend.
“Let me see your neck,” Angel said softly. “If you have nothing to hide—”
“You’re not seeing my neck!” Buffy glared at him, shooting a glance to Giles. “Do something!”
Her watcher had a frighteningly pensive look on his face. “Why don’t you want him to see your neck?” he asked softly.
“Because, hello! It’s my neck. And it’s a vampire that, not too long ago, was seriously campaigning for my death.” She turned back to Angel. “What’s more, you’ve seen my neck. It’s not like I’ve gone around wearing turtlenecks and scarves.”
“I want to see it again.”
“Well, I want a pony. Give me mine, and maybe you’ll get yours.”
“Buffy.” Giles’s eyes were trained on the ground. She didn’t like the note in his voice. “Please. Don’t make this more difficult than need be. Just show Angel your neck, and then you can leave.”
“What? No!”
“Buffy.”
It wasn’t as though there was anything incriminating on her neck. Buffy rolled her eyes and sighed. There would be no winning with either of them, and she was tired of having this argument. So, very carefully, she pulled on her collar until her left shoulder was exposed.
“Lift your hair,” Angel instructed.
Buffy huffed indignantly, rolled her eyes again, and obliged.
Giles gasped tightly. “What are those?”
“What?”
“You have a few red marks here,” Angel said, his fingers grazing her skin. She jumped as though scathed, her stomach rolling in disgust. “What’s this?”
Red marks? How would she have red marks on her throat? Spike would have told her last night. Last night…when he was busy giving her those red marks.
Buffy groaned inwardly. Great. Found out by a hickey.
It must have hit Angel at the same time. An odd look of betrayal and horror flashed across his face. “Where were you last night?”
Getting pounded into a wall. And yourself?
“None of your business.”
Giles sighed. “Buffy—”
“No. Since when do I need permission from either of you to have a social life? I went out with Willow and Xander. We danced. We partied. We did the teenage scene to death. You want Willow to vouch for me?” Oh God. Not a good idea. While she was certain that Willow wouldn’t say anything that Buffy didn’t want said, there was no way that she would do it convincingly.
Which meant it was best to vamoose and get her cover story settled with Willow before Angel and Giles took her up on her bluff. “Look,” Buffy said, turning to reveal the other side of her neck as well as her right shoulder, also doctored with hickeys but no fang marks in sight. None aside from the Master’s, of course. “There. Are you happy?”
“Not even close,” Angel muttered.
“Good,” Giles commented, turning his eyes back to the text he’d been reading. “Be sure to stay as miserably unhappy as possible.”
“Not much of a stretch.”
Buffy spread her arms. “Is that all? Can I go?”
The confusion on Angel’s face was panoramic. She wished she had a camera. “There were no bite marks,” he murmured. “No bite marks.”
“As I’ve been telling you for days now. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna tend to the matter of my job.”
Buffy spun around and was out the door before either of them could respond.
“So this plan of yours?”
Buffy scowled at her reflection and tossed yet another blouse to her growing pile of clothing rejections. “The plan is in full motion,” she said, waddling over to her closet. It was surprisingly difficult to rummage for non-date attire for what was essentially a patrol date, especially with the phone wedged between her cheek and shoulder. “Last night was…”
“A glitch?” Willow supplied. “He actually called it a glitch?”
“It was a glitch of epic proportions.”
“You did seem kinda dazed when you came back to the table.”
Buffy flushed in spite of herself. Dazed was putting it mildly. She was amazed she’d had enough strength to walk, almost as amazed as she was that Xander and Cordelia had barely noticed her rather considerable absence. It had taken several minutes to finally get Spike to go home—wherever his home was. Since last night had been a glitch—a wonderful, earth-shattering glitch—he’d utilized it as an excuse to do some of that inappropriate fondling she loved so much. The night had been a failure, after all. The plan officially restarted tonight.
“The plan is totally on,” she affirmed with a nod. “Completely on. There will be no more glitches.”
“Uh huh.”
“No more glitches to speak of.” Buffy sighed and held up another top. Mmm. Potential. “Hey, Will. You know that burgundy camisole that I bought last Christmas?”
“The one that’s totally a date top and not for patrol? Sure! You look awesome in it.”
“Shut up.”
“Yeah, that’s happening.” Willow giggled conspiratorially, then singsonged, “Buffy’s got a boyfriend.”
“God, what are you, three?”
“And a half, thank you.” She giggled again. “So, once this plan of yours completely blows up in your face, are we gonna be able to come clean?”
“You make it sound like I’m keeping it a secret. Everyone knows that I slept with Spike, and that I’m not particularly apologetic about it.”
“Yeah, but I’m the only one who knows how much you’ve slept with Spike.”
“Unless you decide to give Cordy a ring, you mean.”
“Hey…” Willow trailed off helplessly. “Shut up.”
“So the cami and my gaucho pants? You think that’ll look good?”
“So good that Spike won’t be able to keep his hands to himself. That is what you’re going for, right?”
Buffy flushed and rolled her eyes, tossing her selected outfit onto the bed and planting a hand on her hip. “What do you know?”
“That you’re secretly dating Spike.”
“I’m hanging up now.”
“To go on your secret date?”
“You know, there are times when I violently dislike you.”
Willow laughed. “Only because you know I’m right.”
“You are in no way right.” She shook her head. “I gotta go. I’m meeting him in fifteen.”
“Okay. Have a good date.”
“Good patrol.”
“That, too.”
Buffy made a face at the phone and switched it off. “You’re wrong,” she said weakly, tossing it onto the bed. Right next to her total non-date attire. “I am not secretly dating Spike.”
No. She totally wasn’t. And she wasn’t dressing up for him, either. Just as she hadn’t shaved her legs today knowing that they might end up around his waist. Just as she hadn’t stopped by the lingerie shop in the mall that afternoon so he’d have something frilly to pull off…just in case.
Buffy sighed and pressed her palm to her brow. God, she was hopeless. There could be no dating Spike. There could be no sleeping with Spike. There could be no touching, aside from the aforementioned handholding, of any kind.
The plan officially began tonight.
To be continued…