“Are you kidding me? A “large, super-straight looking "Lone Ranger" type”? Here? I hate to break it to you, Spike, but around here, we don’t get many boys of the straight variety.” Buffy balanced the serving tray on one hand, and motioned around the diner with the other. It was Pride weekend in San Francisco. The diner was crowded with young gay boys in colorful outfits.
Spike laughed, his eyebrow lifting in unison, and shook his head.
Buffy’s heart skipped a tiny beat.
She mentally cursed herself. Spike had only just begun to start stopping by regularly - she liked it, and she didn’t want to scare him off. Last thing she wanted was him suspecting that her feelings for him had returned.
Thankfully, he seemed to distracted to notice the irregularity in her heartbeat. She knew he could hear her heart beating. One of those creepy vampire things.
“Buffy, you’re missing the point,“ he leaned in and continued, “man goes by the name of Garth, and believe me, he’s not the poofter type. He‘s strong - a witch, maybe stronger than you - he’s the leader of a group that wants to kill you, and he knows his way around this city.” He scanned the room, mentally taking in whether it was safe to say what he did next; “He‘s been looking for you, Buffy. He knows who you are.”
The word “knows” was punctuated with such a thick assumption that Buffy stopped and put her tray down on the countertop, her head turning towards Spike, her eyes searching his for more information.
He really could still speak to her with his eyes, couldn’t he?
“Looking for me? He knows I‘m the Slayer and where I work?” she managed to ask.
Spike nodded gravely. Buffy nodded to the other waitress, who smirked at her, and walked towards the storage room, Spike following her. She shut the door behind them. And there, with her back against a pile of brooms, and Spike facing her, one hand on the wall behind her, arm brushing hers, and starting to explain, his head tilted away from the door and towards her in an effort to keep their conversation inconspicuous, the flash back happened, too quick for her to push it away as she had so often had to do lately -
Stop trying to see me. And stop calling me that.
So, um…what should I call you then? Pet? Sweetheart? My, uh…little goldilocks? You know I love this hair. The way it bounces around when you -
She cringed when she remembered what she’d done. In a brazen act of need, she’d grabbed at him - right in the middle of the kitchen, geez! - and yet he’d pushed her away, and that stupid pancake analogy…
“Damn it, Buffy” she said before she could stop herself.
Why was it that, now, after everything, that every damned thing he did reminded her what he used to do to her?
Buffy tensed up, shaking off the flashback, and involuntarily stepped back, knocking over multiple brooms. She cursed under her breath, but made no effort to pick them up.
Spike, sensing her hesitation, immediately stepped back, shoving his hands in his pockets, muttering his apologies about “crowding” her, but it was too late. Buffy's head suddenly started throbbing, the past rushing in at her, and she was desperately unable to stand one more moment that close to him. She ran outside.
“Spike…just, give me a second. I feel kinda sick.”
-
Outside the door, next to the dumpster, Spike found Buffy leaned against it, facing away from him.
“Buffy? Are you…ok?”
Get yourself together, Buffy. Least thing you want is Spike knowing that you're having weirdo fantasy-flashbacks around him...
“What’s wrong?” Spike pressed, his hand cupping her shoulder and gently turning her towards him.
“Nothing. I’m fine. Just overheated, I guess” - she sounded fake even to herself, and taking on Slayer Stance - hands on hips and face tilted to the side, asked “what were you saying about this demon? Gerth? I knew that name sounded familiar, in fact, I think I saw a larger guy in here the other day. Well, he wasn’t very large, more like burly and…hairy. And in fact, now that I think about it, I think he said that he was here for a “Bear” contest, which I had no idea what he was talking about, but it probably had something to do with hunting, so he couldn’t have been the guy you’re looking for, because witches don’t hunt as far as -
Spike cut her off before she made a complete fool of herself, and asked so quietly Buffy wasn‘t sure she‘d heard him right,
“It was a flashback, wasn’t it?”
Oh god, no. He knows. How doe she always know what I'm thinking?
“No..No! It was a….uh, I’m just a little low blood-sugar, that’s all…actually, do you have some candy? I could really use it, long shift and all…” She was rambling, she knew it, but any amount of this was worth postponing how embarrassing it would be once Spike admitted he knew she’d been fantasizing about him…he could read her mind it seemed...
Spike, sweeping his duster below him, sat down on a few empty milk crates that were sitting beside the dumpster. Looking down, he uttered the most unexpected of words,
“I’m so sorry Buffy, I didn’t know you still had those - I thought…” his voice trailed off, and he looked up at her, “I thought you’d stopped having those long ago.” He stood up to leave.
“I should go.”
For a second, Buffy was confused. Then she realized.
He was referring to that day in the bathroom.
“What? No…no! That’s history. I’m over it. Totally. I know you didn’t mean to…,“ she shook her had, “that wasn’t it…” She tried to smile, but it came out crooked. Spike, unconvinced, continued to stare at her, his striking blue eyes narrowed, unconvinced.
“It…wasn’t? You just…I remember that same look on your face the day I came back...the first time we saw each other since I got my…my, soul.”
Was it her imagination, or did he say that last word with a hint of strain, as if the utterance of that very word reminded him of the pain he had endured to receive it?
“No Spike, really, I’m fine. Just tired. Double shift and all that.” She knew he didn’t believe her.
“In fact, I should go, I left those milkshakes on the counter, and I have more orders I’m sure.“
Good job, Buffy. Too chicken as usual to tell him how you really feel. This is why you'll be single forever.
Spike stood up. “Ok, well, I guess I’ll let you get back to the daily grind then. Listen, if you need anything, give me a ring. If Garth shows up, I got your back.” His hand brushed his coat pocket. “Your sis gave me a phone, so I could you know, keep in touch with you more easily about business. You know, to inform you of big baddies and whatnot, I suppose.”
“Thanks, Spike.”
When she looked up, he was gone, his leather-clad back disappearing behind the corner.
-
Author's Chapter Notes:
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