Part Twelve
As soon as her mom mentioned that she’d invited the Scoobies for dinner, Buffy knew it was going to be awkward, not to mention so not what she wanted to put herself through. Rushing back into the accepting bosom of her pals was not something she was going to do; every time she said something to Willow or Xander right now, she felt like she had penance to pay for all the worry she’d put them through.
They wanted her to crawl or something; beg their forgiveness for deserting them in order to heal from her emotionally devastating wounds. Every time she saw Willow’s brand new and painted Avoidy Face, she felt like hijacking a loud speaker and screaming that she wasn’t about to grovel. And while she lay in bed at night, Buffy spent hours counting the ways they’d forfeited the right to condemn her for running rather than supporting her.
They hadn’t been there for her when Angel went all damage-bound. And she understood it. Really, she did. She knew that she didn’t have the right to expect sympathy for losing her boyfriend when the monster wearing his face had been off killing certain soulmates and pretty fish. Her pain was less important to what Giles was feeling, or her friends and classmates at the loss of a favoured teacher. At least, it was less important in their eyes. In hers, it took up great chunks of her confidence and screamed at her with pain every day that she had let Angelus live.
They couldn’t empathise with losing a lover—a friend—like Angel. They couldn’t empathise, and even now Buffy didn’t think they were capable of sympathising with her experience. She’d known it on a deeper level of consciousness, and that’s why she’d run. Why she’d ensured time enough to start the process of healing. And now they were punishing her for grieving. Oh, not actively, but she could feel it simmering under all the usual banter and Xanderisms. And it was so close to the surface that she knew she’d be facing it soon enough.
So, she just knew dinner was gonna be awkward. The real question was, why did they agree to it? It had been their recent mission to find as many excuses as possible to get out of quality Buffy time, so why were they choosing now to be available? It wasn’t like her mom’s cooking was that great.
Buffy found herself eyeing the candy pink phone Spike had bought for her, considering why she would have preferred spending her night eating food alongside him without wigging at the image of his consumption of blood. For the first time, Buffy recognised Spike’s level of emotional maturity and realised he was the only one who had let her grieve without condemnation. He’d understood the reason behind her leaving—he’d just decided to appoint himself her purpose for going back.
It was beyond strange to think of a vampire as being mature, but in this instance, Buffy could see that Spike had experienced enough similar pain that he’d surpassed her friends in understanding. He was her equal in this, and Buffy felt no guilt in recognising it. He was her emotional equal and more of a friend than her alleged real friends had not even tried to be.
While a dinner party with her friends as reluctant guests was the last thing she could even imagine wanting, it was so of the preferable to the party of strangers that somehow took over her house. Yet despite the lack of respect for her mom and even her own wishes, Buffy stamped down the irritation with Willow and Xander and tried to embark on a good time. Right up until they decided to not partake in the goofy funness that so wasn’t her right now.
Willow stood in the Summers’ living room, making googly eyes at Oz and Buffy recognised it as the opportunity it was to try and put some of the badness behind them. She loved Willow. It wasn’t the redhead’s fault that Angelus had become Angel again after he’d melted the barriers between the Hellmouth and actual Hell, and Buffy harboured no resentment toward her friend. Which made her confusion over the collective cold-shoulder even sharper. Life was going to get really old really fast if she didn’t make peace with her friends soon, and if she could do it through this stupid party, who was Buffy to object? At least it meant she wouldn’t have to beg.
“This is large,” Buffy manoeuvred slowly.
“You like?” Willow replied, her tone all with the friendliness, but her body language giving the Ice Queen a run for her furry coats.
“Yeah. It’s great.” And it was. In a world where she hadn’t been gone for months with no contact, largely because she’d put a honkin’ great sword through her boyfriend’s belly and sent him on a one way zap to Hell. “I-I was just sort of hoping it would be…us.”
“Sorry. What?” Willow made out like she couldn’t hear, but Buffy couldn’t see any efforts to actually try. Apparently the boyfriend she’d heard play all summer was way more interesting than the supposed bonding session going to waste right in front of her face.
“This is amazing, but I was sort of hoping we could just hang together. The gang.”
Yup, no doubts how interested in the ‘gang’ Willow was. Buffy could have been Harmony for all the attention she gave her. Hadn’t she decided she wasn’t going to crawl back to them? Okay, so she’d left. So what? Was her pain really worth so little to them? Were they that selfish that they couldn’t allow her the time she’d needed to deal?
Two steps away and Buffy envisioned the scene continuing on for months, with Spike the only one in her corner. And strangely enough, thinking of him gave her the courage to approach Willow head on. Marching straight back, Buffy tapped Willow on the arm and indicated that the redhead should follow her into the other room, all the while mentally gearing herself up for an argument. She had no idea what was going to fuel Willow’s side of it, but she was ready, willing, and able to get things right out into the open.
Once they’d reached the dining room, a little of the puff wheezed off the Buffy Train of Determination. Nervousness was making her feel dizzy, and the clenching in her belly made her want to flee rather than hear whatever grievances the gang felt they rightly harboured against her.
“Is everything okay?” She was officially a wimp. A gutless, little girl wimp that couldn’t face her friends and their disappointments. “You... You seem to be avoiding me, i-in the one-on-one sense.” And her confidence flew right out the window. God, she so needed Spike to back her up here. The weight of her pretty pink phone pressed against her as she palmed it nervously.
“What? This isn't avoiding. See? Here you are, here I am.”
That surprised tone was so fake and Buffy cringed at how awkward this was. She could never have imagined this. Of all the hurdles she’d thought would be in the way of her return, getting back on track with her friends hadn’t been one of them. Nerves had her fiddling with the phone in her pocket and Buffy flipped it open and pressed buttons almost in a daze.
“So we’re cool?” Please say we’re cool. Even if it’s a really big, scary lie.
“Way! That's why, with the party, 'cause we're all glad you're back.” Willow smiled, but she was avoiding again and looking back toward her boyfriend and Buffy couldn’t be bothered doing anymore patch work. All the fight left her and she felt limp and dejected.
“Okay.
“Okay. Good.” And she was gone. Willow beelined straight back to the band and Buffy caressed her phone, tears biting at her throat. She wished she could go hide in Spike’s arms.
She’d already relegated the party a massive disaster as far as ‘Welcome Home, Buffy’ was concerned, so encountering Xander and Cordelia in a sloppy, kissy moment almost turned her stomach. And as her luck would suck, Xander called attention to them as she’d tried to pass.
“Hey, Buff, uh... What are you doing?”
Because that question was just so original and filled with genuine interest. Not. Anger was bubbling now at the resentment that, no matter what she did, no matter how much she didn’t deserve this, she was going to be stuck in the middle of fall out anyway.
“I was just taking a break from all this wacky fun.” She was so tired and her face hurt from all the fake perkiness that had been her all night. The need to be back in her not-so-homey home in LA was building every time one of her friends spoke, and she had no idea how to calm the raging swell of irritation. And why couldn’t Xander even see that she was so far from thinking anything in her house was of the wacky fun, and take a break from being the wounded male for just a second and help her readjust?
“Some kind of party, huh? I guess a lot of people are glad to have you back.”
Buffy could feel the insincerity like a knife in her back. She still couldn’t believe her mom hadn’t burst out of the kitchen in an inebriated frenzy, screaming at all these people to get out of her house and stop touching her things. She was either working up to a massive fit when they’d all gone, or she was lapsing because of the guilt.
“It seems like people I didn't even know missed me.” Her sarcasm totally missed the mark, but she figured it was hard to concentrate with Cordy gnawing on your neck.
A few inquiries about Giles, a reminder of the ewwwness that was Nighthawk Xander and how it was beginning to turn Cordy on, and Buffy had had enough. She was a stranger in her own house, wandering amongst people that had no right to be within these familiar walls, and friends who may have had the right but who she no longer wanted there. Not until they could make the effort to put themselves in her shoes and cut her some slack.
Her aimless search for some meaning in the gathering had her on the edge of rumours—those claiming she was just out of rehab were so not cool—but then she found herself outside the kitchen door just in time to hear her mother tell another stranger how difficult it was to have her daughter once again in the house.
“Having Buffy home, I-I thought it was gonna make it all better, but in some ways, it's almost worse.”
With tears in her eyes, Buffy knew one way to make it all better. No one wanted her here. She was a dilemma that none of them knew how to deal with. And she was different. Being on her own for months and being forced to deal with the heaviness of her grief while supporting herself had changed her—and she thought for the better. But everything here was so negative when it really shouldn’t have been. Giles seemed to be the only one truly happy to have her back, and it hurt Buffy’s heart to think that it might be solely because he had his eye back on her destiny and the aim of his job was once again on an even trail.
With a mind to retrieve her bag and quickly pack, Buffy almost jogged past more people she didn’t know but who were welcoming her back, and clicked her door shut once she made it to her room. Thoughts of packing disappeared the second her eyes fell on Spike, standing straight and sexy against her window.
She didn’t question the urge that had her in his arms, shedding her tears of disappointment against his shirt. She didn’t care that he’d risked revealing his presence by visiting her when her home was filled to the brim with people. All that mattered was that he was there when she needed him, and it was a trend she was more than happy to accept.
“Thank you.”
His arms tightened around her and Buffy decided once and for all to ignore any new claims he might make to being evil. He may say he didn’t care, but the strength of his arms told a different story; a story that Buffy wanted to read until her eyes closed for good. That realization came as less of a shock than she might have expected, but within a very short time, Spike had become the only solid thing she could depend on. The only friend who could bear to be near her. The only presence that could make her feel anything but hurt.
“No need to thank me. Told you I’d come.” His voice was clipped with barely repressed fury and it was the first indication that Buffy had that his appearance wasn’t so simple.
“What?” she started before pulling back and seeing the strain around his mouth and recognizing how livid he was. “What’s wrong?”
“Turn off your phone, Slayer.”
Buffy flushed and reached into her pocket to snap off the signal that had brought him to her, and wondered again at how fast he could move. And at how automatic it had been to call for him by any means necessary when she’d been feeling weakened and uncomfortable.
“Oops. Sorry.”
He kissed her fiercely and Buffy forgot what she’d been running to her room for in the first place. Forgot everything until the music from downstairs broke through and reminded her of her original plan, and she pulled away. All this kissage was playing havoc with her emotions and Buffy realised she’d have to take time out soon to assess what exactly it was that she was doing.
“I want to leave with you.” She licked her lips and ducked her head, suddenly shy in the face of asking a vampire if she could come be his live-in-buddy. “I mean, is that okay? Can I stay with you for a while?”
The relief Buffy felt at his smirk was profound and her shoulders sagged.
“You mean, we live together, save the world together?” He tilted his head, looking at Buffy’s frantic nod while he contemplated the idea. “Sure. Sounds bloody brilliant. Not to mention convenient.”
Convenient? She so hoped he was referring to the world saveage with that remark.
“Okay, good. Thanks.” And then she was a whir of supernatural speed and action, snatching out her bag from under the bed and loading it up with freshly piled clothing. Buffy nearly fell over her feet as she saw Spike sifting through her underwear drawer, his hands filled with multi-coloured lace and cotton. “What are you doing?” she squeaked, embarrassed as he held up a scanty piece of nothing that she often wore as a bra.
“Saving you time by helping you pack. Put some backbone into it before I go down there and rip the heads off all your supposed friends.” The amber was flashing in his eyes, but Spike remained gentle on her underwear. He shoved handful upon handful into the inside pockets of his duster and Buffy’s face flamed even hotter. There was no stopping the internal movies that had her naked, freshly showered and searching those pockets while his duster remained on his back.
“O-okay.” That husky, breathy compliance meant nothing. Really.
Before she could zip her bag shut, Willow was behind her and the guilt that she shouldn’t be feeling surged up and brought the emotions back full force.
“You’re leaving again?”
Buffy flinched at the look of betrayal, but her hurt weighed heavier. If Willow didn’t want her to feel so unwelcome that she chose to move on, she should have been more…well, welcoming, just for starters.
“What, you just stopped by for your lint brush and now you're ready to go?”
“Now, there’s an idea. You got one of those, Slayer? No matter what I do, my tees always get fluff on them. You’d think I’d be safe with an all dark wash.” Spike stepped into the limelight and a feral growl of satisfaction rumbled in his throat. His fangs were itching to slice into the neck of this one, and it had nothing to do with hunger and everything to do with vengeance. He’d worked hard to get Buffy to want to come home, and now these idiots were doing everything to remind her why she couldn’t have stayed and played out her grief for losing her wanker boyfriend the old-fashioned way. Making his life Hell.
“Spike?”
Her eep of terror was satisfying, and even Buffy’s tears stemmed the flow for a little before starting up again.
“The one and only. Now, if you don’t mind, the Slayer and I have somewhere to be.”
She ignored him, even though her heart was pounding hard in her chest. “You brought Spike home with you? You’re with Spike now?”
What words were there to get her out of this situation? Buffy felt herself succumbing to a panic attack. She’d been caught leaving, and now everyone would know that she’d chosen to leave with Spike. At least no one had seen that kiss or him stuffing his coat with her underwear.
“You wouldn’t understand,” was all she had. But it was the truth. Nothing she could say about this would be comprehensible for any of them. Oh, Giles might have tried, but she was pretty sure he was still freshly wounded and unreasonable on the whole ‘vampires kill people’ gig.
“You know, sure, this would take a lot of effort to understand, I admit that. But you could have tried me. Maybe I don’t even need to understand. Maybe I…I just need you to talk to me.”
“How could I talk to you when you were avoiding me?”
“This isn't easy, Buffy! I know you're going through stuff, but... so am I.”
She knew it was unfair, but Buffy had nothing left in her to care about hearing her friend’s pain. She had great gaping Angel holeage in her heart and she was only just beginning to sew it shut—and strangely with the help of Spike’s presence and his kisses. He’d given her meaning each and every day she’d woken up breathing, the sun shining, and him just being there. For her.
And world saveage.
“I know that you were worried about me, but—”
“No! I don't just mean that. I mean, my life! You know? I, um... I'm having all sorts of... I'm dating, I'm having serious dating with a werewolf, a-and I'm studying witchcraft and killing vampires, and I didn't have anyone to talk to about all this scary life stuff. And you were my best friend.” The tears did it. Willow’s sobs and tears broke Buffy’s resolve to defend herself and she felt the guilt leak into all the cracks in her self-esteem and sting.
“Boo-bloody-hoo. Do you have any idea how self-centred you are?”
Both girls looked at Spike in shock, Willow flinching at his obvious disgust while Buffy couldn’t help stare at him as if he were her saviour.
“So you’re dating a werewolf. Has he gone all shaggy the morning after? Has he told you how worthless you are in bed? Has he been out killing your friends? Have you put a whopping big sword through his gut and waved him off, all soul-having, as he got sucked into the great gaping maw of Hell? Have you watched him die knowing that your friends couldn’t be bothered telling you that he’d possibly be getting his soul back beforehand?”
Willow slumped against the door in devastated shock. “Buffy?” She shook her head, an argument obviously going on behind closed doors as she tried to resolve the pressure of Spike’s words. “But…I told Xander. He said he caught you before you went inside. He was supposed to tell you.”
“I guess he forgot that part when he told me to kick Angelus’s ass.” Buffy was shaking, new and sudden fury making her fists clench and unclench, but before she could release any of the tension, her mom was in her face and just as accusatory and ignorant as Willow had been. And still her panties were bunched up in Spike’s pocket. The knowledge was the only thing that kept her from losing it completely and screaming all the way to a straight-jacket.
“What is this? Is this some sort of a joke?”
Spike stood back and watched how easily these humans could become unglued, but he kept his arms folded and tried to hold his tongue, suspecting the Slayer would be happier if he stayed out of this meltdown. It wasn’t easy, though. Not by a long shot. He’d overheard all the slights and the things that had been hurtful and his first thought as he’d raced over to save her was how much he’d enjoy seeing the exact shade of their blood. His rage had calmed only slightly as he waited for her in her room, but as they piled up their arguments against her again, he wondered if they had even one tiny clue how bloody grateful they should be he’d convinced her to come back at all. Right now he had half a mind to take her back to LA. Tossers were emotionally manipulative to the last and needed a lesson or two in humility.
“Mom, please, could you, could you just—”
“No, Buffy. I can’t just. What is this?”
“She was running away again.”
Spike really wanted to snap the little redhead’s neck, but before he could give into that overwhelming impulse, he stepped up behind Buffy and took her hand and grabbed her bag. There was no point arguing the point. He’d take her away, put her up for the night, and then when everything had settled, he’d bring her back to talk sense with her mom. Though Joyce was heading to the top of his list of revenge munchables. He settled for glaring at Red as he tugged on Buffy’s hand.
“No, I wasn’t.” Buffy looked at her hand in Spike’s almost in a daze. Her eyes were blurred, her feet were cold, and things were very much out of control. “I’m not sure.”
“Well, you better get sure and explain yourself right away! If you think you can just take off any time you feel like...”
Spike wasn’t listening to any more. Buffy babbled behind him, hardly knowing what she was saying in an effort to both explain herself and please everyone, but he’d had enough. She was the Slayer. She shouldn’t have to explain herself to anyone. She provided a world for these people to live in, breathe in, sleep in.
“Just bloody fuck off, the lot of you.”
And then they reached the downstairs.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Thank you so much for everyone that read and commented on the last chapter. I hope this one is the start of feeding some inner vengeance you had about events that ocurred on Buffy's return to Sunnydale.