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'Interpretations' was updated just a few minutes ago....
Chapter 3

Fourteen hours and forty-three minutes after his plane had taken off from Copenhagen, Spike stepped foot on Los Angeles soil—or Los Angeles cement if you wanted to be technical about it. It was only just past three o’clock in the afternoon, but after twelve hours of flying—with a little stopover in Vienna thrown in for fun—Spike was thoroughly exhausted; to him it felt like it was after midnight. And, to top it all off, he still had a good three hour drive before he made it to Sunnydale.

He knew it would probably have been easier if he had taken a private plane straight to the Sunnydale airport instead of taking this Copenhagen to Vienna to LA to Sunnydale route, but he didn’t want to do that. For now, at least, he was done with that life and everything it included—he wanted things back to how they had been, and the first step in that was taking a regular, commercial flight back to California.

A regular flight and a regular cab.



***|***


Buffy was about ready to go home and cry.

Not only did she still not know what was going on with William, one of the parents had asked her, as they picked their child up that afternoon, if she knew Spike. Apparently there was a lot of talk going around that he was possibly going to come to Sunnydale—his hometown—and because Buffy was around his age, the mother had been curious.

It was an innocent question really but one that had shaken Buffy.

For these past seven years, she had always had to say that yes, she had gone to school with Spike and yes, they had been friends, but they hadn’t spoken in years. Never was she able to say, ‘yes, I knew him; we were best friends since fifth grade and then from ninth grade until he left we dated and he was the first man I ever slept with…oh, and I’m still in love with him’.

She was always waiting, though, for the reporter to pop up who knew about them and wanted her story. It hadn’t happened yet—and not might not ever—and Buffy wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed.

She liked that the world wasn’t picking apart her relationship with Spike, trying to make it into something it wasn’t—she knew it was probably because they figured it was just a high school romance and really of no relevance now. She liked that but she didn’t like keeping what she had shared with and how she felt for Spike a secret from everyone. She wanted to be able to tell someone how much she loved him and how proud she was of him when they asked, wanted to be able to tell them how much he deserved what he had and how truly very talented he was.

But she was forced to downplay things, to pretend as if she had hardly known him. Forced to pretend as if his face was just another picture in the yearbook as opposed to the thing that haunted and comforted her in her dreams every night.

That was all easy enough—okay, so it wasn’t easy enough to do, but she was able to pretend that it was because she could see, nearly every day, either broadcast, photographed, or written proof that Spike was happy with his life; that he truly was living his dream.

But now…

Now that she didn’t know what was going on, now that she didn’t know what was happening with him, in his life, she thought it might be harder to do.

Only time would tell, she guessed.

But, in the meantime, a nice, large glass of wine should help matters along nicely.



***|***


It was coming up on seven o’clock when the taxicab pulled up to the house at 1630 Revello Drive. After a few deep breaths and some mental scolding, Spike was collecting his bags and paying the cabbie; he knew it would have been cheaper to rent a car than to take a hired car such a distance, but he wasn’t sure he had his head together enough to drive himself across the street let alone such a distance.

Even as the cab pulled away and he stood there, on the sidewalk with suitcases piled around his feet, the sun setting behind him, Spike found he couldn’t move. He knew what he had to do, knew that deep down he wanted to do it; but at the same time, he was terrified to do it.

He had done all of this with out first finding out if Buffy even wanted him back…if she even so much as missed him.

What would he do if he walked up there, rang the doorbell and her husband or boyfriend answered the door? If someone else entirely answered the door because she no longer lived there?

If she answered the door and, before she could hide it from him, he saw that look of hers that let him know he had done something she didn’t like? It was never quite disappointment and he knew she wouldn’t be disappointed to see him, but what if…

“William?!”



***|***


Buffy was settling into her chair in the living room, another glass of wine by her side, when she heard the car pull up in front of her house and stop. Everyone on her street had lived there for at least the past five years and, besides the Petersons the year before, they hadn’t bought any new cars, so Buffy knew which cars were her neighbors’.

And the car currently in front of her home, was not one of them. Immediately Buffy’s mind jumped back to the week previous when a reporter from Access Hollywood had been outside of the high school and then on her very street looking for someone who knew something about Spike’s break. Of course, no one in Sunnydale knew any more than anyone anywhere else did, but that didn’t stop them from asking. Didn’t stop people from making up bogus answers just to get themselves on TV, either.

God she hoped it wasn’t more reporters.

The longer they dug around, the more of the truth they were going to find out.

And the closer they got to the truth, the closer she was to having to either lie or share with the world things she would rather not. It wasn’t that Buffy was ashamed of her and Spike’s relationship—she was pretty sure she was on the opposite end of the spectrum there—but she just didn’t feel like everyone in the world knowing about it.

She liked how things were now.

Well, how things were now aside from that little fact that she hardly ever spoke to William, her one time best friend and lover.

The one she still loved and missed.



Five minutes later the car was just pulling away and Buffy felt the inexplicable urge to see if anyone was outside; if the car had left anyone behind.

It was almost as if something were pulling her towards the door—or at least to the window to look out.

Buffy wondered if the wine wasn’t, for one reason or another, going to her head more than normal tonight. It was the only explanation she could think of for the strange feelings coursing through her.

After just over two minutes of fighting the impulse to look out her front door, Buffy finally gave in—rationalizing with herself that she had only heard one door open and close on the car so it was possible that someone had been kicked out of the car and now needed help.

She was just being a good Samaritan, really.

Really.

She was just going to make sure there was no one hurt or in need of a telephone and then she would go back inside, likely have another glass of wine, and watch some television or a movie and go to bed. It was only seven o’clock but she was already exhausted after a day of more questions than normal about William and all her worry over what she might potentially have to deal with in the very near future. So, yes, she was just going to make sure everything was all right and then get ready for bed.

That was all.

With a breath that she didn’t understand the need to take, Buffy slowly turned the knob and opened her front door.


***|***




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