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Author's Chapter Notes:
Thank you for the terrific response to the last chapter!! I hope you'll enjoy this one as well. :)
Chapter 12

Spike was acting strange. As in really strange.

Buffy hadn’t talked to him much in over a week. Not after he’d walked her home and left her staring after him dubiously when he’d opened his mouth to say something then abruptly turned on his heel to hurry away.

But now as she sat for the eighth day on the branch of her tree and observed him coming across the clearing looking a bit worse for wear, she couldn’t help but wonder what the hell he was doing every day that resulted in him getting injured.

Jumping down, Buffy ran after him.

“Spike!”

“Not now,” he actually growled at her.

Well, let him, she’d still get her answers. “Gee, someone’s cranky.”

He threw his arms in the air and grunted in what she supposed was exasperation. “Don’t you ever give up?”

She imagined what his grunting would sound like under other circumstances. Where he would be all naked, muscles straining, barely holding onto his control… At that thought, she stumbled and had to grasp his upper arm to keep from falling.

He slowed down and threw her a mocking glance. “Forgot how to walk properly, have you?”

“Shut up,” she muttered, jerking her hands off as if burned. “What happened to you?”

“So do I shut up or answer then?” he said with a pleasant smile and fished out a key to unlock the front door. “Besides, ‘s none of your business either way.”

“Why won’t you just tell me and make this easier on yourself?” She entered, hot on his heels.

“Yeah, come in. Make yourself at home,” he said dryly and shut the door. Ignoring her, he shed his duster and draped it over the opulent burgundy sofa in the living room. She’d noticed that the house had acquired a somewhat lived in feel since the last time she was here. The sheets covering some of the furniture were gone, for once.

“What!” he asked.

She folded her arms across her chest. “You really love being all mysterious and stuff, don’t you?”

He lifted his eyebrow and swaggered over to her. “Mysterious, am I? Never been called that before, that’s for sure. So, what is it that’s got you all wide-eyed and panting, kitten?”

God, the way he said it. Like she was naked and splayed across his bed. It was damn distracting. “W-why… why do you keep calling me that?”

“Kitten, you mean?” he purred and ran his knuckles down her hair. “Do you still like it?”

Did he ask her something? Probably. But her knees were weak and she swayed on her feet as if she stood in the eye of a hurricane, about to lean into the shelter of his touch.

Her half-closed eyes snapped open when his words cut through the fog and she slapped his caress away. “Still? Do I still like it? What’s that supposed to mean?”

He sputtered some sort of excuse that made no sense, so she advanced on him. Funnily enough, Spike backed away from her, his glance shifting to the sofa in surprise when the back of his knees hit the cushions.

She pushed him down. “Explain. Now.”

When he moved to stand up, she pushed him back down again. “You’re not going anywhere, pal. Not until you answer me. And believe me, I’m not leaving until you do.”

“Well, look who’s getting all mistress-like on me.” He slouched back, his thumbs hooking in the belt loops of his tight jeans. “Gets me all hot, that does.”

Blushing but resolute to not give in to his game of let’s-avoid-Buffy’s-questions, she gave him a firm look. “Stop getting all twisty and answer.”

He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees as he regarded her with dangerous, troubled eyes. Before she could react, he yanked her down where she gracelessly sprawled half across him. His strong arms banded around her waist and pulled her tight against him to put a stop to her wriggling.

Straddling Spike? Not the best way to have a serious conversation. “What are yo—”

“You want to know so bad? Want to know why you draw me like you’ve seen me hundred times before?” He saw her gulp at the harshness of his tone but he couldn’t help it. The bint just couldn’t stop poking her nose where she shouldn’t and he neared the already limited reserves of his patience. “I don’t know. I told you!”

He could see the outrage in her eyes, the urge to fight flaring up in them as she struggled to break his grip. “But yo—”

He put his palm over her mouth to muffle her indignant reply. “Would you let me talk before you pull out the blazing torches and pitchforks? I said I didn’t know why and I wasn’t lying. But I do know something and I suppose it might be related.” A sigh of defeat. “We’ve met before.”

He slid his hand away, settling it on her hip and preparing himself for pretty much anything. She was a right spitfire. Wouldn’t really surprise him if she popped him on the nose before the yelling commenced. And he was a sick bastard for being slightly turned on by the idea. If she slid forward a bit, she’d find out for herself.

“Huh?”

Okay, maybe that would come after the initial shock. “We’ve met before. A long time ago. You were a kid then. Hell, so was I.” A kid that had killed her mother, he thought with a twinge of guilt. Not for killing the crazy bitch, only for being too late to spare little Buffy from the trauma.

“What? When? I mean, how do you know? I… I’m so confused.”

He ducked his head, his fingers playing with the hem of her black top that she wore under the unbuttoned shirt a couple sizes too big.

“It was… in LA. About nine years ago. I was walking by a house and heard a scream and I didn’t think… I just…”

Their eyes met and he saw the spark of understanding before his fingertips caressed her scarred cheek, his thumb slipping along the curve of her bottom lip. Oh, she recoiled fast. Just not fast enough for him to miss the shadow of longing in her eyes.

“You… it was… but I don’t remember you. No, you’re wrong, it was the neighbours. Dad told me…”

“Buffy, listen to me.” He swallowed hard at the sheen of unshed tears she tried to keep at bay. “It was me. Why would I lie about something like that? How would I even know? I’m just… I’m sorry. Sorry that I wasn’t fast enough to stop it.” He looked away from her. “That’s all I know. I don’t know what your drawings mean or how you… I can’t tell you how it’s possible.”

He wondered if it had something to do with the forgetting spell. Magic, after all, always came back later to bite you in the ass. It was the only explanation that made sense. The only explanation he couldn’t give her because she’d think him insane.

“Okay,” she whispered, her slight frame becoming somewhat heavier on top of his. As though the newfound knowledge had added weight on her shoulders rather than taken it away.

She didn’t ask about her mother and he was grateful. Evil or not, she’d been Buffy’s mum and he couldn’t stand the disgust on her face if she ever found out.

“I hate that you saw it,” she whispered almost too quietly for him to catch it.

He knew how she felt. He’d felt it too, once upon a time. That all consuming need to hide, to turn away from the devastation that had brought him to his knees. It was a strange kind of shame. Despite not being able to influence the event, he didn’t want others to witness the devastation of it personally. The fact he hadn’t been able to stop it.

Rationally, he knew he’d been too young and too weak to stop the slaughter of his family but that didn’t stop him from blaming himself.

“It wasn’t your fault, you know,” he said, wishing he could believe it as well.

She shook her head and inhaled a trembling breath. “Maybe if I’d done something different. If I’d locked myself in my room and never come out. I wouldn’t… look like this. And she wouldn’t have had to die. You know, sometimes I hate her so much… I hate her for what she did to me. I don’t feel guilty about it and then I feel guilty for not feeling guilty. And I blame myself because what if I’d done something different? I think she’d still be alive.

“I think… I think she killed herself because she felt guilty for doing that to me. That there still was some part of my mom in there. And maybe she could have gotten better, you know.”

Was that what she thought? Did she honestly believe her mother had killed herself out of remorse? Had Buffy been carrying the burden of that since she was a kid? It hurt him to think he held the power to dispel that notion but he was too much of a coward to admit the truth.

“She was sick in the head,” Spike instead. “You couldn’t have stopped it. And I know you won’t believe a word I’m saying, but… it’s true.”

She sniffed and tried to smile but failed. “Thanks.”

That word cut him deeply. He didn’t deserve her gratitude. And he most certainly didn’t deserve it when she leaned into him, her arms circling his neck as she sought comfort. He didn’t deserve it, but he couldn’t help but return her embrace anyway.

*******

Buffy’s mind was reeling all the way home.

Ever since she’d met Spike her emotions constantly veered off track. It was as if she had no control over what she did anymore. Hugging a virtual stranger sure ranked at the top of her list of things she’d never thought she’d do.

He was way too talented at smashing her carefully constructed composure to pieces with a few words and touches. God, his touch. She’d never let herself get close to any man this way even if they’d actually been interested. Which they hadn’t been. It felt… good. Strange and exhilarating and she was still trying to calm down her heartbeat when she entered her home.

She was so out of it her dad had to call her name twice to get her attention.

“Come into kitchen and get some food in you, will you? I just heated it.”

“Uh huh.” She walked into kitchen and slid onto a chair. “Hi.”

He gave her a puzzled glance and put a plate in front of her that was piled with something smelling way delicious. “Yum. What’s this? It looks good.”

Dad scratched his ear and sat down next to her with his own plate. “It’s lasagna, I think. A new neighbour brought it over.”

“Oh? We have a new neighbour? Since when?”

Dad shrugged and spoke with a mouth full of food. Guess she knew who to blame for her lack of table manners. “Since yesterday, apparently.”

“Why would anyone want to move in here of all places?”

“Beats me.”

Well, whatever the reason, Buffy was glad because that lasagna was probably the best thing she’d ever had in her mouth. “This is really, really good.”

“It is, isn’t it? Ellen said cooking was her hobby. Guess she was telling the truth.”

The fork dangled in front of her open mouth. “Ellen?”

Did her father just blush? Eww.

“Yeah, she’s a real nice lady.”

“Oh. That’s nice. I guess.” Weird was more like it. He better not have a crush on some married woman.

“Come on, stop pulling that face.”

“What face?” She innocently met his eyes. “I’m definitely not pulling anything. But you are, Hank. What’s up with the blushing?”

“I’m not blushing!”

“Right,” Buffy drawled and kept eating. Because she was hungry, not because it tasted good. Not when some flirty, skimpy Ellen the homemaker cooked it to make her father act like a lame teenager with a crush. Uber-gross.

“Don’t look at me with those judging eyes. I saw the way you looked when you came in. Where were you anyway?”

Her eyes widened. “Way I looked? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You had a dopey smile on your face. I know that smile. It leads to being pregnant and you’re way too young to make me a grandfather, young lady.”

She almost choked. “What! T-that’s so completely off it makes vampires look real!”

“Right,” he echoed with a wink that made her cheeks flush.

“Shut up.”

“So who is it?” He squinted at her while chewing. “It’s that punk, isn’t it? I knew he’d be trouble. He better keeps his hands to himself or I’ll pull my shotgun out of the shed. I haven’t used it in a while but I’m sure I haven’t got too rusty.”

Buffy dropped her forehead on the kitchen table with a sigh of defeat. “It’s not like that, believe me.” She lifted her head to look at him. “No need for any pregnancy scare or getting all shoot-happy. I barely even know him.”

“I still don’t like this.” He pointed his fork at her to underline the seriousness of his tone. “If he pushes you into things you feel uncomfortable doin—”

“Dad! Please, stop right there.” Talk about excruciating embarrassment. “If you start discussing methods of protection, I’m so out of here.”

“Well, you had to go and remind me, didn’t you?”

She gave him a horrified glance and promptly bolted out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

“This conversation isn’t over!” he called out.

Maybe she’d find that shotgun and shoot herself with it to avoid that particular talking to. And here she thought things couldn’t get any more awkward after he’d talked to her about becoming a woman.

Guess I was wrong. Yay.

TBC





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