Buffy glanced around, watching as students slowly made their way up the steps. She stretched on her legs, resting her back on the cement block behind her. Suddenly, she felt Angel sit down next to her, sliding his hand in hers, intertwining their fingers.
“Hey,” she said, smiling up at him. “What’d Jason want?”
“He’s having a party tonight,” Angel replied with a shrug.
Laughing, Buffy bumped his shoulder. “You so wanna go.”
His lips curled in a heart-stopping smile. “Is that bad?”
Buffy gave a mock-contemplative look, her glossy pink lips pursed. “Hmm…not if you take me with you.”
Angel leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her mouth. “Of course,” he whispered in her ear, sending shivers up her spine.
With a reluctant sigh, he pulled back. “Have you seen Will yet?”
Buffy shook her head, her ponytail swishing. “Nope. I haven’t talked to him since, like, two weeks ago. I called on Friday, but he just told me he was busy and hung up.”
“Maybe he was.” Angel paused, and then added, “I called on late on Saturday after I got back from LA, and I’m pretty sure I heard a girl giggling in the background.”
“At home?” Buffy questioned, her brow furrowed.
“Yeah.”
“The TV?” Buffy tried, knowing what her boyfriend was going to say.
“I don’t know…I doubt it.”
“Well, maybe he’s gotta girlfriend,” she grinned, thinking of her best friend with a shy girl. “That’s so cute.”
Angel still looked discontented. “Yeah…I guess.”
Rolling her eyes, Buffy lightly swatted his arm. “What? You don’t think Will can get a girlfriend? I think I’ve seen that redhead in his physics class looking at him.”
“It’s not that, it’s…come on, when does Will just ignore us?” Angel asked, and then they both went silent.
Maybe since his two best friends started dating, Buffy mentally answered, trying to look preoccupied studying the masses walking by.
Angel squeezed her hand sweetly. “Buffy, he’s not mad, okay?”
“I know,” Buffy replied quickly, her eyes drawing back to Angel. “But it’s still gotta be pretty weird. I mean, if I—“ she stopped, her gaze sliding over his shoulder. “Who’s that?”
Angel turned around, looking at the guy approaching with bleached hair and dressed head-to-toe in black. A pale-skinned, thin brunette was enfolded in his arms. Frowning, he stated the obvious, “I think it’s Drusilla’s new boyfriend.”
Buffy’s nose crinkled. “Ew, I can’t believe a guy would—oh my god.” Her last three words came out in a gasp. She met Angel’s face with wide eyes. “It’s Will!”
Angel laughed a little. “No, it’s not…” he did a double take as the black-clad pair came closer. “Holy shit.”
They watched in stupefied silence as Will jerked his head in their direction, a vague acknowledgement. Then, Drusilla whispered something in his ear that made him snicker.
Buffy felt her stomach knot in a ball as Will headed up the stairs, his arm wrapped possessively around the brunette’s small waist. She stared at the back of his head, his newly white-blonde slicked back hair gleaming. Instinctively, she tightened her grip on Angel’s hand, taking comfort in his solid presence.
“Come on, the bell’s gonna ring soon.”
Buffy’s eyes fluttered open slowly. Her mouth felt dry and her head pounded viciously. A small moan escaped as she struggled to sit up. She couldn’t remember the last time she had gotten this drunk. Sure, she had drinks, but not enough to pass out or forget patches of the evening.
Her hand slid over silky material as she shifted positions. Frowning, Buffy focused on the bedding, which was far more elegant than anything she would buy or the motel would provide. Her stomach sloshed and churned dangerously as she sat up completely and observed her surroundings with growing panic.
A thick glass paper weight sat on the dark nightstand, and Buffy picked it up, its heaviness giving her courage.
Slowly, Buffy slid her legs out of the large bed and onto the cool wood floor. Ignoring the protests from her head, she walked to the door and turned the knob gradually.
She held the paper weight tightly as she stepped out into the hallway. Unfamiliar framed pictures and posters hung on the walls. A guitar was leaning against a corner. Buffy tried to swallow against her scratchy throat and took another step towards the sunlight.
“Did you sleep well?”
Wincing at his all-too-loud voice, Buffy turned around and saw Spike standing a few feet behind her, arms crossed.
“Fantastic,” she managed sarcastically, relaxing her grip on the paper weight.
Spike’s eyebrow rose, his chin jerking to her hand. “Stealin’ my paper weight?”
“No,” Buffy snapped and then regretted it as her head throbbed. She continued softer, “I didn’t know where I was.”
“Did you see the note under the weight?” Spike asked, emphasizing her stupidity.
A faint flush worked its way up her neck. “Uh no,” Buffy admitted, taking a step closer to him. “What…how did I get here?”
“Well,” Spike answered, his voice still harsh. “Funny thing. See, after I got royally pissed off at this chit, I went home for a bit. A few hours later, I went back to the bar, and I see said chit bloody near passed out at the bar right where I left her. Now bein’ the gentleman I am, I tried to take her home, but she didn’t exactly give me an address. So I bought her here, seein’ as we were once friends and all.”
Buffy flinched at the cold recounting of her drunken evening. She was surprised at Spike’s generosity, and realized she couldn’t just let that go ignored. “Thanks,” she murmured, hoping that sufficed.
“Welcome,” Spike replied dispassionately. He paused for a moment and then asked with a kinder tone, “how’s your head?”
Buffy gave him a look. “There’s a stampede of elephants accompanied by little people with gongs.”
Spike let out a small chuckle. “Want some coffee?”
Buffy astonished herself by accepting. “Yeah, that’d be good.” She followed Spike into a small kitchen, the blinds thankfully drawn shut. Gently, Buffy placed the paper weight on the table.
“Cream? Sugar?” Spike asked, holding the two out as evidence.
“Sugar and a dash of cream,” Buffy replied automatically.
“Hmm, I remember when you would pour a soddin’ cup of each in your coffee,” Spike reminisced, handing her a cup. “Guess things change.”
“Yeah,” Buffy echoed, “I guess they do.” Cautiously, she lifted the cup to her nose, inhaling the smell. Her stomach jostled again, but she was determined to drink it.
A small plate appeared in front of her, scrambled eggs still steaming. “I’m not that hungry,” Buffy told Spike, eyeing the eggs with trepidation.
“Eat ‘em,” he instructed, swallowing a sip of coffee. “It’ll help.”
Her apprehension didn’t waver. “Seriously, I’m really not hungry, in fact, I’m pretty much the opposite—“
“Buffy.” Twin pieces of smoldering ice forced her to halt mid-sentence “Eat.”
With an exaggerated show of reluctance, Buffy forked a tiny piece and chewed it slowly. She repeated her movements after each swallow, finding herself enjoying a semblance to a real breakfast.
“Good?” Spike asked, his tone suggesting he already knew what the answer would be.
“They’re okay,” Buffy allowed, a tiny smile trying to sneak up on her.
Spike scoffed as he poured himself another cup of black coffee. “Yeah bloody right. They’re delicious, Summers, an’ don’t pretend otherwise.”
Buffy rolled her eyes half-heartedly. “Whatever you say, Spike.” Her voice was jokingly patronizing.
Their light banter was more complex than it appeared, Buffy knew that. The two of them were avoiding anything beneath the surface; they were skimming and dancing around what had been said and what hadn’t been said the previous evening.
Or the past ten years for that matter.
And even though it couldn’t possibly be good or healthy, Buffy wasn’t sure she could find the strength to go deeper.
Straightening her spine, Buffy pushed the empty plate away and stood up, suddenly very aware of her morning breath, mussed-up hair and wrinkled shirt.
“I should get going,” she announced, drawing herself back into her comfort zone.
Spike looked startled by her change in attitude. Even the air seemed to have dropped several degrees. “Right, yeah,” he said quickly, “I gotta do some stuff this mornin’.”
Buffy glanced down at her bare feet. “My shoes?” She asked pointedly.
Spike gestured to the room she had woken up in. “They’re in there.”
Nodding, Buffy went in and again noticed the mercifully closed drapes. She bent over, picking up her flip-flops that had been set neatly at the foot of the bed. A blush blossomed on her cheeks. The image of Spike taking her shoes off and setting them there seemed so…intimate.
The thought made her jumpy, and Buffy quickly exited, shutting the door firmly. Spike led her down the hallway to his front door. Her hand was poised over the handle as she looked up at him. “Um, thanks again for…you know,” she said lamely, loosely gesturing to the small house.
Spike opened his mouth and then shut it as if he was going to say something that might disrupt their delicate equilibrium. Instead he nodded. “You’re welcome.”
Buffy was almost disappointed he didn’t say any more. Immediately, she chided herself for the impetuous notion. “Bye,” she murmured quickly, stepping into the unexpected gray morning.
“Summers,” Spike called out as she descended the small porch. “Go to the Bronze on Friday.”
At the random and bizarre request, Buffy stopped, scrutinizing him suspiciously. “Huh?”
Spike shrugged from his position against the doorframe. “Just be there ‘round ten-thirty.”
With a tone that suggested uncertainty, she replied, “I’ll try.” But even as she formed the words, Buffy knew exactly where she would be—curiosity always won out in the end.