Even on Anya’s best day, she failed to make him feel anything but annoyed. When he said callous things like that in front of her, her method of dealing with it was to scream and nag. He couldn’t decide which she sounded like after a while: the adults in the Peanuts cartoons, or Dino on The Flinstones.
Little Buffy Summers though, with a few carefully crafted words had managed to verbally slap him. Well, he conceded, I did insult her brother. He knew family (except for his) was a line one did not cross. It angered him that she was able to do that to him, but at the same time, how could he really be angry with her? It wasn’t as if what she said wasn’t true, he just wasn’t going to admit it. Instead, he sat there mutely, trying to keep his conflicting emotions under control.
“Do you mind if we stop at the grocery store? I have a craving for mangos. I’m thinking I’m going to put them in the fruit salad I’m going to make,” Buffy continued, not missing a beat.
God, how did she dothat? That was another thing he was learning from her. Bumps in the road were just that, bumps. And once you got over the bump, you continued on. Did he do that? Or did he just sit at the bottom of that little bump and wallow in it, allowing himself to be beaten down? Considering the fact that he was pouting, sulking really, he figured that had to be his answer.
Damn her.
“Sure,” he mumbled by way of reply, not even bothering to look at her when he said it.
She touched his arm. “What did you say?”
Looking up at her, he felt another slap. God, how could be angry with her? Look at her, so beautiful, so sweet and so…right.. He cleared his throat. “I said, sure.”
She smiled at him and nodded. “Thank you.”
After a quick trip to the grocery store, she asked if they could stop by the book store, and he obliged. They split up and he found himself in the poetry section, feeling like a ponce. He kept darting a glance to see if anyone was watching him. Pulling some Plath off the shelf, he engrossed himself in trying to decode her.
“So, my brother is gay for liking art. You like poetry –what does that make you Mr. Stereotype?”
He froze. He just had to head for poetry. Bloody ponce… When he turned, he found her bubbling over with mirth.
“Spike, you really are full of contradictions, aren’t you?”
He glared at her, “Look—“
“Spike, relax. I think it definitely shows a softer side that you like poetry. And you know what?”
“What?”
“I think it’s sexy.” She slid the comment in so easily with a sly wink, and before Spike could even respond, she was asking who he was reading. Thus began a conversation about poetry. Buffy admitted she hadn’t read much poetry, but liked a few of the Romantics and Victorians, and Spike launched into discussing his favorites and why. She listened to him with rapt attention as they walked around the bookstore, and he felt like a God. The only other person he’d been able to talk poetry with, well, two people, was his father and his ex. She had taught him a lot about it, he had to give her credit there. And that’s pretty much where it ended.
“You’d be a great teacher,” Buffy mused.
He blinked, “You think so?”
She nodded adamantly, “Oh yes, you would. And you know what’s really cute?”
“What?” he asked, not sure if wanted to be likened to ‘cute’, but somehow coming from Buffy it worked, and made him feel even more like a God.
“How animated you get when you talk about it. You really like poetry and it shows.”
“I got into in college, but I wanted to be a cop like my dad, so I didn’t pursue it any further. My ex, Drusilla, she was an English major. She taught me a lot.”
“I’ve never heard about her,” Buffy said, settling down on the puffy green-striped couch in the middle of the bookstore.
He shrugged, sitting down next to her, and turning his body towards hers. “That’s because I don’t like to talk about her.”
“May I ask what happened?”
“She was my first love. My last love.”
“Your only love?” Buffy teased.
He had to grin. He did make it seem so grim. “Well, I don’t know about that,” he drawled. “She would always tell me how I was the love of her life, her Prince Charming…problem was, she was telling at least four other guys the same thing.”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah, pretty much,” Spike muttered, running a hand through his hair.
“Hey, look at the bright side.”
“What’s that?”
Buffy grinned. “At least you didn’t witness her getting her head blown off while she was cheating on you.”
Spike barked out a laugh. “You have a twisted sense of humor, Summers.”
She shrugged, “Can’t help it.”
“Buffy…how is it that you don’t mourn Parker?”
“How do you know I don’t?”
“I’ve never seen you do it.”
“Just because I don’t cry at every moment doesn’t mean I don’t mourn him.”
“Do you then? Mourn him?”
“Yes and no.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean…I mourn that he had to die that way. I mourn that he had to die at all. I think it’s horrible what happened to him and no matter what, he didn’t deserve it. But, I guess my problem is that I feel guilty.”
“For what?”
“For never having loved him. I feel like I should feel more for his death, and I don’t. I feel like somehow my life should be on hold and I should be that grieving girlfriend that pines and wallows…but I don’t. I feel like that makes me an awful person.”
“I don’t think it makes you awful. You can’t control how you feel about another.”
“Don’t I know it,” she muttered.
“And what of Gwen?”
Buffy sighed, “Oh, that’s a good question. Gwen had been my best friend for so long and…” she shook her head. “I never thought she’d do something like that to me. I think I spent most of my life being jealous of her.”
“Why?” he asked incredulously. He found it hard to believe Buffy being jealous of anyone, which seemed sort of funny to him to think.
“Because she was so…audacious. Everyone flocked to her. She was always the center of attention. She was beautiful and had all the boys wrapped. I was always the one they came to for advice on her. I was the one that became ‘one of the guys’, their best friends, while they lusted after Gwen. I loved her, but I resented her. I wanted to be in the spotlight too once in a while. I have mixed emotions about her demise. On the one hand, I mourn her because I knew her for so long and I loved her like a sister, and on the other hand, I’m so angry with her for doing that to me. And that’s the thing with Parker too. Coupled with the guilt I feel for not mourning him as I should, I am so angry at him for doing what he did. He used me…he used me and I let him. I get so angry when I really stop and think about it and there’s nothing I can do about it. It’s not like I can let them know. It’s not like I can gain any closure for it.”
“Jesus, and here I am wallowing in my own shit,” Spike, said, shaking his head.
“Everyone has problems, Spike. It doesn’t make your problems any less when you find out about someone else’s. It just reminds you that you’re not alone in having them. And as sick as it sounds, it’s comforting. When you feel all alone in your problems, you feel isolated, but being able to share them and hear about others’ problems, it makes you feel less alone.”
“So, you’re saying I should open up more?”
“You don’t have to do anything you don’t feel comfortable with.” She jumped up. “You know, as far as Dru’s concerned…and your mom…Women always say that it’s always the men that do stuff like that, but it’s not true. Just as there are bad men in this world, there are bad women too. I’d like to think though that for every bad person out there, there is someone nice to make up for it. I mean, look at you this morning. There I was feeling sick about those robbers getting killed and you took me out. You wanted to make me feel better.”
“It doesn’t erase what happened.”
“No, it doesn’t. But it makes me feel better to know that someone was there for me.”
Spike gazed up at her, thinking she had to be an angel. His angel, perhaps.
“Come on,” she said grinning and holding out her hand to help him up. “I want to go for a run now.”