I suspect Buffy is dead set on spreading holiday cheer. She has been non-stop decorating, singing Christmas carols, baking – yes, baking – cookies and watching every damn Christmas special that comes on, and better yet, she makes me watch them with her. When I complain she calls me The Grinch. When I handed her her paycheck this week she said, “Thanks Scrooge!” That’s my funny girl.
She’s determined to make this holiday better than Thanksgiving and I’m with her on that entirely. I just wish for one night I could find reprieve from the guilt that plagues me.
I have feelings, strong feelings, for Buffy. There I said it. I admitted it. It’s all I’m willing to admit at this time. I don’t want to get into the nature of them exactly, though it’s pretty obvious.
I’m so sorry, Joyce. I wish they would stop. I wish I could not have them, but they’re there and I can’t stop them. I’ve tried, oh God, have I tried.
She’s still with Angel and I thought that fact alone would aide in stopping them, but really, it only serves to fuel them more since I can’t stand the idea of him touching her.
I met him, once, briefly. It was opening night at the gallery, of which Buffy had put blood, sweat, and tears into – sometimes literally. He had his arm around her when they came up to me and the look on her face told me to be nice, please, for her. So I was, though I felt territorial which I’m sure he chalked up to me taking the stepfather role. God, I wanted that to be it.
Tomorrow she is forcing me out to a Christmas party with her and him and I am not looking forward to it. Do I have to be subjected to their relationship? She won’t talk to me about him, and for a while I suspected he was beating her because she was so quiet about him. I’m not sure if the not knowing makes it worse than the knowing would. She’d learned her lesson from when she told me she’d slept with him and now I just feel I have to know.
Christ. I’m so fucking sorry Joyce.
The party at Angel’s posh apartment was in full swing by the time Buffy and Spike arrived. Buffy had her arm slung through Spike’s the whole way from the car, to the elevator and up to Angel’s door, and the instant they entered his home, Buffy’s hold on him left. That was enough incentive for Spike to dislike Angel and his stupid goddamn party.
Simply put, that had set Spike for the rest of the night. Feelings of jealousy these days over Buffy’s relationship with Angel went hand-in-hand for the feelings of guilt he felt for having feelings for not only another woman that was not his deceased wife, but for his deceased wife’s daughter. His mind these days, he felt, was in a constant torment – a veritable hell that he could not escape from.
He felt at times perhaps he should ask her to move out, to give them both some space for he knew that the dependency they had on one another was not healthy, yet the idea of not having her there, just simply there, drove him mad. He likened the feeling to losing an appendage. Buffy leaving would be like cutting off his arm.
He tried to tell himself that he had felt the same way when Joyce had almost backed out of their engagement because of Buffy, but …he didn’t. He had felt anger and hurt, yes, but he was troubled and plagued by the thoughts that Joyce had represented for him more of a means to find some direction, acceptance and nurturing than a real, true love. Joyce took care of him; he and Buffy took care of each other. Joyce never held him accountable for much, and Buffy held him accountable for everything – everything that was his anyway. And he did the same for her.
He was learning who he was through Buffy and she was learning through him and through her loss. The adage of one door opening after one had closed, was true in this case.
And more and more everyday, Spike found himself pondering at times the idea of what would have happened had Buffy not left, but had stayed around and been part of his and Joyce’s life. And then, his thoughts would take a dark turn: What if he’d met Buffy first?
“Now, I want you to mingle. I want you to have fun,” Buffy ordered him as she fixed the collar on his shirt—the shirt she’d chosen because it brought out his eyes.
He smiled warmly at her, unable to keep the tenderness he felt for her at bay when she was concerned for him and his happiness. “Yes, dear.”
“Listen…one thing…”
“What’s that?”
“You’re not allowed to like anyone more than me,” and she grinned mischievously, though Spike knew there was underlying truth to it.
“Like that would happen.”
“Just making sure, you know how terribly insecure I can be,” and she smiled brightly.
“Don’t you like Angel more than me?”
She smirked and gave him a look that said he was nuts. “Please. Spike, I don’t like anyone as well as I like you.”
“Yeah, right,” he scoffed lightly, willing her to assure him still.
“It’s very true and you know it. You’re my most favorite. The rest of the world can go to hell.”
The truth in her voice and in the expression on her face set him straight. “I feel the same way about you, luv.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“I have someone I want your stepfather to meet,” Angel told Buffy, following her into the kitchen while she got Spike a beer.
“Angel, I wish you wouldn’t call him that. He’s not really my stepfather and it gives me the wiggins when you call him that.”
“It makes me feel more comfortable and secure to call him that, so I think I’ll stick with it.”
Turning from the fridge with beer in hand, she raised a brow, daring him with her expression to explain that one.
“Buffy, come on. You guys live together, work together…when you’re not with me, you’re with him and if I didn’t know any better, I’d think something was going on.”
“Well, youdo know better and you do know that nothing is going on. Spike and I are…”
“You’re completely dependant on one another. Buffy, you have to clear it with him before you can do anything with me!”
“That’s not true; I just don’t like to leave him alone… Angel, he lost his wife.”
“And you lost your mom and you’re still living your life.”
“Do it,” she challenged. “Be an asshole so I can tell you to fuck off.”
Angel sighed, “I’m not trying to be. I’m sorry. Look, I just want him to make a friend—don’t you want him to make a friend?”
“Who?”
“My cousin, Winifred. Well, Fred is what I call her.”
“Oh. She the one I’ve seen in pictures?”
“Yes. She’s a nice person and--”
“And I’m not?”
Angel pointed at her. “You’re doing that thing again.”
“What thing?” she asked innocently.
“When you twist my words around and make be an asshole.”
Buffy smirked, “Aren’t you clever?”
“Don’t you want Spike to make a friend? A friend that will keep him company when I take you out of town for New Year’s?”
Buffy started to reply, when what he said registered. “What?”
Grinning, Angel came over to her, taking the beer bottle out of her hand and placing it on the counter. Pulling her into his arms, he nuzzled her cheek affectionately. “I have a week off. I want to take you to away to Hawaii for a few days.”
“What?” she was having a hard time wrapping her mind around this.
“Merry Christmas,” Angel said grinning down at her.
“Angel—“
“Don’t tell me you can’t because of Spike.”
“But—“
“Buffy, please!”
“I can’t just leave him like for New Years!” Buffy exclaimed and pushed Angel away. Grabbing the beer for Spike, she stalked off, Angel at her heels. He was yapping, she was ignoring— she found it easier to tune him out at times. She stopped in her tracks when she found Spike chatting up a brunette that looked somewhat familiar to her…
“Well, seems Fred and Spike have already met then,” Angel said, smiling proudly.
Buffy wanted to hit him.
Chapter Fourteen
Buffy had no right to be upset with Spike for talking to a woman. Yes, a woman. He was a widower and he was in fact alone, save for her, and it wasn’t even that she felt he was betraying her mother. It wasn’t that at all. She wished it were that.
And besides, she was the one who told him to mingle. She wanted him to make friends, wanted him to go out and live his life. Buffy understood he was still grieving, but she figured if he went out at least maybe it’d help. Course, she didn’t expect it to be a woman.
Double standard? Totally.
“Hi!” Buffy greeted the pair all too cheery, all too saccharine sweet. Spike would see right through it. In fact, he gave her a questioning look. Ignoring him, she stuck out her hand to the woman with the waist length brown hair and eyes as warm and as friendly as Angel’s. “Hi, I’ve heard a lot about you. I’m uh, seeing your cousin. I’m Buffy.”
Fred smiled, somewhat shyly and nervously, darting a glance to Angel.
“Hey Fred, glad you could make it,” Angel said happily, hugging his cousin.
Buffy rolled her eyes and Spike nudged her with his elbow.
“I was going to introduce the two of you anyway,” Angel was saying, “So it’s good to see you two talking.”
Buffy looked up at him, “Do you want me to call you ‘Emma’?”
Spike nudged her again and Buffy started to laugh.
Angel took her elbow, “Come on, Buff. Let’s go have a drink, all right?”
Buffy looked to Spike, awaiting his green light before she went. He nodded and she allowed Angel to lead her away.
Angel spent the rest of the party convincing her to go away with him, and her answer was the same each time: “I have to ask Spike first.”
He didn’t seem to get that holidays were a big deal when you’ve lost a loved one, and she knew he had never lost anyone close to him and she also knew that just based on her, he didn’t get it. She didn’t let anyone but Spike know that she hurt. Angel never knew what happened on Thanksgiving. He’d asked how it went, she’d said fine, and that was the end of it. In that respect, she could understand how Angel might think she was doing just fine, and yes, she was doing better, everyday was a step toward healing, but this was the holiday season, and therefore not necessarily a happy time after just losing someone you love.
Which, she found it funny. She spent five years without her mom at Christmastime, but just like Thanksgiving, it was with the idea that she could go if she chose to. And, her mom always called at least three times that day, irregardless if Buffy answered the phone or not.
It was with those thoughts plaguing her that she started to feel she needed to get out of the damn party and away from Angel and his nonstop blathering about New Year’s, about her and Spike’s dependency on one another, and how he really thought this was a good thing for them as a couple.
She started to feel as though she couldn’t breathe and when Angel tried to gather her in his arms, she shoved him away with all her might. “I don’t want you right now!” she screamed at him. Somewhere in her mind, she was aware that this was going to cause a scene and she felt embarrassed by it, slightly, the other part of her not caring. When he suggested they take a walk out onto his balcony, she told him she’d only go without him there and he told her that was not an option.
“I don’t trust you alone, Buffy,” he told her.
“What? You think I’m going to kill myself or something? Are you fucking nuts?”
She could see from his face that he thought she might be and that only served to anger her further. Pushing her way through the party, she had one intent: The Door. The Exit. A way out. And she made it, finally, running down the hall with the walls closing in around her, and someone shouting her name. She opted to use the stairs instead of the elevator and when she finally made it outside, she heaved the deepest breath she could, feeling light-headed.
“Buffy.”
And then Spike was there: Gathering her in his arms, holding her close, helping her breathe.
Maybe she was too dependent on him.
“Baby, what happened?” he murmured, brushing hair from her face as strands clung to her wet cheeks from the salt pouring from her eyes.
“I’m home and she’s not!” she managed to get out through the sobs that wracked her body.
“I know, I know…” he murmured and held her tightly.
“He thinks I’m crazy,” she whispered. “I think I am.”
“What?”
“Angel thinks I’m crazy. He thinks you’re crazy. He thinks we’re crazy together.”
“Did he say that?” the tightness in his voice indicated his defensiveness on the matter.
“He said we’re too dependent on one another.”
Silence.
Buffy pulled back, looking up at him. “Do you think we are?”
He met her eyes, gazing at her imploringly, willing her to understand. “Yes.”
That felt like a slap. She pushed at him, breaking free.
“Buffy, I won’t deny that I need you that we need each other, but I think he’s right. We are dependent on each other in a way that borders on unhealthy. At least for me.”
“How?”
“Buffy, you’re the only one I trust, the only one I count on, the only one I can talk to-”
“It’s the same for me!”
“And yet you have Angel.”
“Angel,” she spat, “He’s just--”
“Your boyfriend.”
She clamped her mouth shut.
“Buffy, I can’t bear the thought of being without you…how is that healthy?”
Her eyes welled up in tears. He was right. She hated it, but it was true. Hearing her feelings spoken from Spike’s lips finally pounded it in her thick skull.
“He wants me to go away with him,” she told him, “For a week. During New Year’s.”
Spike visibly froze. “And?”
“I…I told him I’d ask you. I don’t want to leave you alone on New Year’s, Spike--”
“Go.”
“What?”
“You have to go.”
“No, I really don’t.”
“Yes, you do. I want you to go.”
“You—you want me to?” she asked meekly.
“Yes,” he said resolutely, on a sigh, meeting her eyes.
“What will you do?”
“Fred was talking about going into L.A. for First Night. Maybe I’ll go with her.”
Buffy nodded, fighting back tears. “Okay.”
“Buffy, pet, I…” he said impassioned, “It doesn’t mean I don’t need you or want you here, it doesn’t mean that at all.”
She nodded, “I know.”
“But you were right about needing other things, too.”
“I know.” I just didn’t want to be.
Spike held out his hand. “Come on, luv. Let’s go back to the party, okay?”
She nodded, taking his hand and allowing him to lead her back inside. Just when they were about to re-enter Angel’s, Buffy turned to Spike. “Do me one favor?”
“What’s that?”
“Don’t call me ‘luv’, ‘pet’, ‘baby’ or ‘kitten’ if you plan to call her that,” and she opened the door and stepped inside, heading off to find Angel before Spike could get a word in edgewise.