Buffy’s first thought upon waking was that the same qualities that made her butt look so good in these pants also made leather the absolute worst choice of material for pajamas. Lifting her head from the pillow into which she’d cried herself to sleep, Buffy rolled over and carefully began to peel the offending garment off her legs. Finally free of the unpleasant constriction, she flopped back onto her bed and stared at the ceiling.
Reviewing the events of the previous night in the light of a new day, everything looked different. ‘I might have over-reacted just a little,’ she thought. For the next several minutes Buffy tried to come up with anything truly nefarious she could blame on Spike.
“I’ll make a list,” she said, sitting up to open the drawer of her bedside table and pulling out a notebook and pen. “He was reading in the library,” she said aloud, writing the first item into her notebook, her expression serious. Staring at the entry for a moment, she shrugged and wrote “Not evil.” next to it.
“Okay, what else then? He listened to me like he really cared.” Again Buffy scribbled in her notebook. When she’d finished the second entry she shook her head. “Definitely not evil,” she said, checking off item two.
“He offered to help me with school,” she continued, again recording the non-offense on her list. “That wasn’t evil either,” she admitted, exasperation beginning to build.
“Okay, what else? He read poetry to me,” Buffy recalled, writing just two words, “read poetry” on her list. “That was so very, very not evil.” At this point the whole list idea was looking like a complete bust, but she persevered. Nobody does perseverance better than a Slayer.
“He didn’t take unfair advantage of me when I landed on top of him,” she said, but she wrote ‘no groping’. She smiled slightly thinking about how Spike’s hands had felt on her waist, how close their lips had been and the way he tried to hide his erection when they stood up. Writing ‘not evil’ in large letters, she said, “Both surprising and not evil.”
Buffy grimaced; realizing the slim possibility her behavior had been warranted was growing slimmer by the second. “He agreed to tutor me in exchange for being allowed to call me Buffy. Okay, that was odd, strange, bizarre, but not evil.”
Lifting her pen, Buffy added another item to her list, “He walked me home like a proper gentleman. Okay, that was confusing as all hell, still not evil. But he had followed me home the previous night after patrol, kind of stalker-like. Only he said it was ‘To see that you got home alright.’ So I’m going to have to go with confusing, again, not evil.”
Pursing her lips and squinting slightly at the less-than-convincing proof of Spike’s evil intentions, Buffy added the last thing she could think of that could, perhaps, maybe count against him. “He followed Dawn when she snuck out. That was what really creeped me out. But then he waited so he could make sure she got home safely. Kind of sweet, actually. Not evil.”
As hard as she tried to find something, there simply wasn’t anything he’d done that qualified as remotely bad, much less truly wicked. “Oh god,” she said, “I am such a paranoid jerk! I’ve got to fix this.”
Grateful the bright sunshine outside her window would probably keep Spike from wandering far, Buffy sprang from her bed, pulling her sweater off as she headed into the bathroom for a quick shower.
**********
Still conscious after consuming two fifths of bourbon, Spike remained determined to best his vampire constitution and drink himself into a complete stupor. Unfortunately, the means to that end was in the lower portion of his crypt. Making his way laboriously across the room, Spike noticed with satisfaction that the alcohol had impaired his motor skills to the point of lurching and staggering. On the third try he succeeded in moving the stone away from the opening to his subterranean boudoir. Exhausted from his travels across the floor, Spike decided to take a short break before descending to retrieve the bottle destined to complete the job of numbing all his pain.
***********
The late morning sun danced across the tombstones of Restfield Cemetery lending it an almost cheery air when Buffy arrived. She had to stop herself before she barged into Spike’s crypt as usual. ‘That probably wouldn’t be the best way to begin,’ she thought. ‘I’m just not very good at this whole “treating Spike like a person” thing. I guess I should knock.’ Buffy’s first tentative rap echoed mournfully. The sound reminded her that the sunshine would most definitely not be following her inside, literally or metaphorically. This thought threatened to make her turn tail and run, but she pushed it out of her mind, made a fist again, and knocked once more. The expression on her face betrayed a now grim resolve to see through her intention to mend the relationship with Spike. She waited for a response with her mouth pressed into a straight line. ‘I’m going to make this right,” she thought. ‘I blew it big time and I have to figure out a way to take it all back. I don’t know how, but if I think about this too much I won’t go through with it.’ Instead of thinking she simply waited, shifting her weight nervously back and forth, from one foot to the other. Nothing. Buffy knocked again, this time hard enough to rattle the hinges and send several spiders scurrying. Still nothing.
Buffy slowly pushed the heavy door ajar and stuck her head just inside. “Spike,” she called out. “Are you in there?” There was no response.
“Come on, Spike, I know you’re mad at me. You should be mad at me. I was a jerk! I’m…I’m…you know, I wish I didn’t say all that…you know…stuff.” Still nothing.
“Spike! I know you’re in there.” Buffy could feel the tingly sensation telling her a vampire was nearby. And even more, she could feel that Spike was nearby. His particular signature was now familiar, indeed unmistakable to her. “Come on Spike! What do you want me to say? That I’m sorry? Okay! I’m sorry! There, I said it! Now you say something!” Nothing but resounding silence. Sobered by Spike’s lack of response, Buffy’s voice softened and her tone turned to pleading, “Can I please just come in?” But there was still nothing.
The crypt door squeaked loudly as she pushed it open just far enough to slip through. “Oh man!” she said. “What a mess!” Even in the dim light of only one candle, Buffy could see enough to know Spike had been there, he’d been drinking, and he was royally pissed off. Scanning the room, Buffy saw many signs of a struggle. Spike struggling to destroy his TV, Spike struggling to knock over his couch, Spike struggling to break, bend or at least overturn everything not bolted to the floor of his crypt. The remains of two whiskey bottles lay on the floor at the foot of the wall against which they’d been thrown. Buffy inspected the shattered glass fragments confirming the bottles had been empty. “Hmm, I know he can hold his liquor, but two bottles? That’s a lot of alcohol, even for a vampire.”
Completing her survey of the damage, Buffy noticed a dark spot on the floor. Encouraged by the steadily increasing intensity of her tinglies as she approached, she came right up to the edge and peered down into the opening.
When Buffy first arrived at his crypt, Spike had lain peacefully unconscious at the foot of the ladder. He’d tripped at the beginning of his descent and the resulting abrupt landing on his head knocked him out. Without tasting so much as a drop of the reserve whiskey, he’d reached his objective – oblivion. But the longer Buffy remained in close proximity the more awareness of her presence began to intrude on his tranquility. Rousing from his coma enough to draw a deep unneeded breath, he winced in pain. “Bloody hell!” he muttered, eyes still closed. “Now I’m dreaming I can smell her. I really must get away from here. Somewhere I can forget everything about her, including the fuckin’ brilliant way she smells.”
Spike took another deep breath. ‘Aww,’ he thought, ‘at least it’s a wildly implausible dream. She’s here is she? All clean smelling with her bouncy shampoo commercial hair and her shiny berry flavored lips? Well, that’s just fine! At least it’s a bloody entertaining dream. After what she’s put me through I deserve a good fantasy sequence or two. Maybe she’ll come down here and tuck me into bed all cozy like my Mum used to do when I was small. Too bad I didn’t save any of my nursery books or she could read me a bedtime story!’ Lulled by the comforting narrative, as well as the persistent effects of his old friend Jack Daniels, and significant blood loss from a gash to his head, Spike slipped once more into unconsciousness. By the time Buffy stepped off the last rung of the ladder -- nearly planting her foot on Spike’s neck in the process -- he was out cold again.
Tbc…