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Author's Chapter Notes:
Previously: Buffy was complaning about Spike and of course he had to stand behind her back and hear her. What did we learn from this? Buffy's timing sucks hairy balls.

Beta'd by All for Spike, whom I thank from the bottom of my heart. And thank you kind readers for your reviews. They always inspire me to write more. ;)
Chapter 10

Were they talking about him? While that happened to be true, that didn’t mean the world rotated around him. How egoistic can you get?

Buffy spun on her heel and blinked when she encountered a cotton-clad chest. He really had a problem with personal space, didn’t he? She would have told him so if it weren’t for her father looking at them curiously from a distance. That look was eerily reminiscent of the one he got when puzzling out the crossword in the Sunday paper. Never a good sign.

“Nope. We were not talking about you,” she said with her chin up. “There’s a buttload of other people in this town that rub me the wrong way, so don’t get all excited.”

She ignored Dad reprimanding her on her choice of language.

“Maybe I could get you all excited if I rubbed you the right way?” he whispered quietly enough so that her dad wouldn’t overhear. And that damn wink made her blood boil.

If she were a kettle, steam would be rolling out of her ears. “Pig!”

“Buffy!” Dad gave her a disapproving glance before rising to his feet from where he was unloading new groceries and approached them.

“I’m sorry, I swear this isn’t how I raised her,” he told Spike.

“Um hello? I’m still here,” she said with a scowl directed at both men. “And he totally deserved to be called that.”

“Buffy here wanted to ask you a favour, didn’t you, sweetheart?” Dad said with mock sweetness.

“No I didn’t.”

Dad rolled his eyes. Was that how she looked when she did it? Boy, did he look aggravated.

“You see, ever since her mom died and after the…. After the accident…” His eyes flitted to the scars on her face. “Well, drawing has become a sort of a refuge for her, if you will,” he continued despite her efforts to shut him up. “And the tree on your property has been sort of her place for years. She loves it, spends most of her time there. It’s one of a few things that make her happy.” Buffy stared at him, aghast at the overabundance of information about her personal life, but Dad apparently didn’t seem to get a clue. “So if you could let her be there, I’m sure she won’t bother you.”

How could Dad do that to her? In front of him? To practically call her a pariah with no friends who hides out at abandoned haunted places? It made her hands shake, made her flame burn with humiliation.

Why did she even care what Spike thought of her?

“You won’t bother him, Buffy, right?” Dad turned to her for affirmation, obviously thinking he was doing right by her. Helping her, even.

Stepping away, she pressed her lips together and gave him a hurt look before walking out of the store without a word.

For the hundredth time she wished she was normal. That she didn’t carry that brand of being a freak for everyone to see. As she rounded the store and slid down the wall to sit on the ground, she wished they had never moved here.

Or that she could let go of that pesky habit of caring what people thought. She told herself countless times that she didn’t, yet every pitiful glance anyone tossed her way hurt her deeply. Everything would be so much easier if she could become the tough front she presented to the world.

“There you are,” sounded a male voice tinged with an accent. “Thought you’d be long gone by now. What with your penchant for running away from me all the time.”

“You’re special like that,” she answered dryly.

Spike sat down next to her, the sleeve of his coat brushing against her arm. His presence was like a yell into the silence. The first instinct was to seek the source. Still, she was determined to ignore him and instead stared stubbornly straight ahead. “Go away.”

“Your dad didn’t mean it like that, you know.”

“I know,” she said, hoping he would just leave her alone to sulk in peace.

“If it means that much to you, I won’t mind you coming over.” He rubbed the back of his neck. Stupid peripheral vision. Who needed it anyway? “As long as you don’t snoop around the house.”

She finally looked at him then, affronted. “I wasn’t snooping. I didn’t know you were still there.”

Spike shrugged and leaned his head against the brick wall. The desire to look at him was like a panther prowling around a cage, a barely restrained sort of hunger. Before she could catch herself, her eyes strayed to the arch of his throat. Unbidden images of caressing the skin there with her lips flashed through her mind.

“I know I’ve been a right berk to you.” He slanted her a glance, breaking her out of the trance. “Didn’t really mean to. Just not much of a people’s person, I suppose.”

“Is this some strange way of apologising?”

He looked almost sheepish when he said, “Yeah. Guess so.”

“You don’t do that much, do you?”

He snorted a laugh and shook his head. “Not really, no.”

Neither did she and the fact they had something in common should have disturbed her much more than it did.

“Does that mean I can go to my spot?” She hated the yearning in her voice. Sure, she could find another place to hang out after school but this was the only place where the outside world didn’t intrude. She needed that. Needed to shrug off that mask and just be. To just breathe.

“Yeah, I won’t mind.”

“Even though you told me to never come near the house again?”

His eyes flicked to the ground, almost as if he felt guilty. “I was… I didn’t mean that, all right? But that doesn’t mean you can poke your nose into my business, got it? The house is off limits.”

“My nose will stay away from your… business. See?” She tapped the tip of her nose. “Firmly attached to my face and all.”

Oh, she saw the way his lips twitched. The way he couldn’t keep a smile at bay.

“Good,” he said in what was probably supposed to be a stern voice. She might have believed it if she hadn’t seen the crack in his tough guy armor.

“Thanks.” The words felt foreign falling off her lips.

“What your Da’ said back there—”

“Don’t.” It wasn’t until Spike said that, that she realised her own walls had inched down. Not until she felt them instinctively slam back into place.

“Look—”

“No.”

“You think you’re the only one who’s had it bad?” His voice was tight, low. As if her denial struck a chord inside him, making him lash out. “You’re not. The way I see it, you’ve got it better than most of us poor buggers. Your old man loves you. You’ve got a place to live. You can eat whenever you’re hungry without fearing someone will take it away if you don’t shovel it in quick enough. So you’ve got a few scars? Who hasn’t?”

His words stirred a violent response, dug right into her flesh and sank in its sharp teeth. “A few scars? You think this is what it’s all about, don’t you? That I’m so vain? That I’m miserable because I can’t be a Prom queen or get a boyfriend?” She let out a choked sound, unsure whether she should cry or laugh or do both as she swallowed the lump in her throat. “You know what? Maybe I am shallow. Maybe I hate the way people look at me and whisper behind my back, that that have a special nickname just for me. Maybe I hate that every time I see myself in a mirror all I can see is her! And how she…”

She made a move to jump to her feet but he clutched her arm and yanked her back down so that she sat right in front of him, their faces so close she could count his eyelashes. Before she could flinch away, he gripped her chin with strong fingers, and for a moment she could see he understood her better than she did herself.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said in a quiet rumble. “You know what I see when I look at you? I see someone scared of letting another person in, hiding behind the excuse of her scars just so she won’t get hurt again.”

Why was it that every time he gazed at her so intensely it felt as if he was staring right into her soul? How did he manage to make her feel so self-conscious? So completely off kilter? The scars on her face practically burned with awareness and it was all she could do not to cover her face and run away.

“That’s not true,” she protested weakly but didn’t fight his hold.

“Oh, I think it is. Because you and me, kitten?” He exhaled a short bitter laugh. “We could be bloody twins.”

She barely registered he’d let go of her and then he was rising to his feet and giving her one last glance. Words flooded the tip of her tongue but her mouth wouldn’t open to give them voice and she could only watch as he passed her by and walked away.

*******

Spike stomped into the old mansion and shrugged off his coat, uncaring where it landed. And he loved that coat. One time he’d punched a bloke’s face so hard he spat out his teeth, all just because he’d splashed beer all over Spike’s coat.

Fucking hell, what had that girl done to him?

Spilling his guts to a stranger, letting his temper flare when she wouldn’t see how brilliant she could be? How well off she was despite everything that had happened. Yeah, he’d told her they could be twins. Too messed up to trust anyone, used to clinging to the shadows and keeping people at arms’ length.

He headed straight towards the drinks cabinet and started pouring whiskey into a glass when he realised one glass wouldn’t cut it. Instead he lifted the bottle to his mouth and drank. Rejoiced in the slow burn. If only he could erase that restless feeling, that thing inside him yawning awake and spreading its wings.

No matter how similar they were, the truth was, she was so much better than him. Despite almost being slaughtered by her own mother—the one person she was supposed to trust to keep her safe—this girl… she was so innocent. She radiated goodness and light without even knowing it and that spark of it within his own dead heart ignited every time he came close enough to touch her.

He hadn’t felt this for anyone… ever. He used to think he did, but now he realised it had never been like this. Not this deep seated urge to wrap himself around her and let her warmth consume him. He took another swig from the bottle and leaned his forehead against the peeling tapestry on the wall.

Fuck, fuck, fuck…

This was wrong. He knew it. Tailing a murderous vampire meant leaving people behind. The life he led, he couldn’t offer her anything even if she could ever want him. But she never would, which was just as well.

He would only get her killed, he thought as he tipped the bottle against his lips again and swallowed another mouthful.

All that life within her would drain out, the fluttering wings coming to a halt like those of a butterfly pinned with a nail. He couldn’t stand actually caring for a human being just to see them die in front of his eyes again. Because he knew that would happen if he didn’t push her away. He knew it. Yet he’d gone and told her she could bloody visit.

And why? Because he couldn’t stand the thought of another thing being taken away from her? Or was he merely being a selfish bastard for wanting her near?

Fuck, he didn’t even know her! And the worst thing? He didn’t need to know what colour she liked or what food made her sick. Not when he’d been a witness to her life going straight down the drain. Not when he couldn’t shake off this strange connection to her, no matter how hard he tried. It was like she was a void and no matter how tight he held on not to be sucked in, he wasn’t strong enough to fight it.

This could only end in disaster.

Spike threw the empty bottle against the wall where it shattered, bringing momentary relief to his fucked up existence.

TBC


Chapter End Notes:
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