Somehow Buffy managed to get through the rest of the day on a dazed setting of autopilot. She mechanically recited her lines, feeling herself slip into Shell’s persona as the character schemed and deceived.
Buffy sometimes wondered if it wouldn’t be easier just to be evil, like Shell, than it was to be good. And it had felt freakin’ awesome punching that bitch Harmony.
Yeah…maybe evil would be a fun lifestyle change. Except that wasn’t who she was. At her core she was truly a good person and that made her more susceptible to the pain. It lodged inside of her, eating away at her essence until she was just a shell of pain and hurt.
When they finally wrapped up for the day, Buffy heaved a huge sigh of relief and bolted to the sanctuary of the dressing room. She plucked her cell phone from her purse and sent a short text to Giles informing him that she wasn’t heading back to the hotel, but out on her own. She knew that he’d worry about her, but she couldn’t find the energy to care right now.
Anyway, she was a girl on a mission, and that mission was to drink herself into a coma.
Of course, step number one in her mission was getting out of the studio without becoming dog food for the reporter hounds that would no doubt already be baying for her blood outside. Since her break up with Riley, it had been bad, but she just knew it would be even worse from here on out.
Wearing a makeshift disguise of a scarf, cap and sunglasses, Buffy actually found it relatively easy to slip past the throng of waiting paparazzi.
Maybe fate was finally smiling down on her or maybe she just caught a one-time lucky break, but she was nevertheless happy to get away from them. She strode down the street, feeling a little lighter than earlier thanks to the cool breeze whipping in her face.
Being incognito made her feel like some kind of ninja. She decided that the best course of action was to head someplace no one would expect to find her, still taking care to avoid any stragglers among the journalists.
Pleased that she’d managed to make it past any and all of the reporters, she stood outside the seediest looking bar in one of the more squalid neighborhoods in the city. This was exactly the kind of place that no one would ever expect Buffy Summers to frequent. And that was the reason why she was here.
For just one night, she needed to be someone else.
From the outside, her life probably looked like paradise. She had more money than most people dreamed of, worldwide fame and adoration, a successful career and several handsome men in her past. But inside there was something missing. An essential spark was lacking inside of her, but for some reason she felt it rekindling inside of her.
Unfortunately she’d discovered during the past few days that the man who she needed to stay away from at all costs, due to his innate badness and wrongness for her, was also the only man who seemed to hold the key to inciting her passion.
Pulling her hat farther down over her face and checking that her sunglasses were in place, Buffy finally plucked up the courage and entered the bar. It wasn’t very busy inside. There were a few scattered customers, most of who looked like they spent the majority of their lives in there. A leather-clad couple, both covered in piercings and tattoos, were playing a game of pool and quietly arguing about something.
No one even granted her a look as she shuffled over to the bar, slumping down into a stool.
“Rough day?” the barman asked with a friendly smile. “You look like you could use an ear or two to bend.”
The bartender didn’t seem fazed by her disguise. She guessed that a lot of people came in here because they wanted to hide from someone or something.
She peered at him through her darkened glasses, sizing him up, as she did with most people these days. There was no hint of recognition in his open, puppy-dog face, so he wasn’t trying to kiss her ass because she was famous; and he didn’t seem like he was hitting on her. She relaxed her tense posture and nodded.
“It’s just been…one of those days,” she sighed, purposely deepening her voice in case he recognized it.
“Ah! So you’re here to seek out the universal cure-all?” At her questioning look, he clarified. “Alcohol. You want alcohol?”
She smiled. “God, yes!”
“So what can I get for you?” He ran a meaty hand through his messy, dark curls.
“What’s good?” she asked. Buffy had never been a big drinker, mostly because she was terrified of doing something stupid in front of the paparazzi and ending up face-down, ass-up on the cover of some cheap gossip rag. However, after the day she’d been having, something like that could only be an improvement.
“Well,” the bartender said, thoughtfully, “when I feel like you look, I usually go with the wonder that is tequila.”
Buffy blanched slightly at the thought of tequila, but she was in a throwing caution to the wind kind of mood, so she nodded.
“Rack ‘em up, barkeep,” she drawled, feeling a little better already.
He obliged, passing her a glass and a bottle of tequila, before filling the glass with the liquid and placing the bottle down on the bar.
“Leave the bottle,” she said to him, the set of her lips showing that she was serious, and he nodded.
“Not a problem, darlin’,” he said, grinning at her when she handed him a fifty for his troubles. “Well hello Mr. Grant.”
Still beaming, he tossed her a final wink before retreating to serve someone else on the other side of the bar, leaving her finally alone.
Keeping her head down, she removed the sunglasses from her face and massaged her eyes gently with her thumbs. It was dark enough inside the bar that her baseball cap offered enough protection from curious gazes, and her eyes were aching from all the crying she did earlier.
Peering at the amber liquid, Buffy slammed three shots back without a break, sticking out her tongue in disgust as the rancid flavor of the drink attacked her taste buds.
She felt her body start to relax immediately as soon as the alcohol began to work its magic on her body. Buffy wasn’t a big drinker at all.
The last time she really drank had been at a pre-awards party several years earlier and that had ended in a huge verbal catfight between Buffy and rival actress Cordelia Chase.
Throwing another shot down her throat, she killed that unhappy memory. Oh well, one unhappy memory down, eight million five hundred and twenty thousand to go.
“Now, now, now. I wouldn’t have pegged you for the drinking alone sort of chit. Or the shots sort of chit.”
Buffy spun around to search for the source of the voice, quickly realizing her mistake as a wave of dizziness swept over her. However, the dizziness didn’t compare to the nausea that settled in the pit of her stomach when she encountered the smirking face of Spike Pryce leering at her.
Apparently she’d managed to escape the reporter hounds, but a snake had still gone and found her. A shiver coursed down her spine as he stared at her and she wanted to run or hide. Or maybe punch him in the face. She was getting good at that.
“What the hell are you doing here?” she asked coldly, flashing him her best glare.
Spike chuckled. “Seems to me it’s a free country, Goldilocks.” He settled himself on the barstool next to her, his smirk widening when she glowered meanly at him.
“Don’t you have another country to be in?”
“Why would I want to be anywhere else, when my being here pisses you off so bloody royally?” he chuckled, his laughter only strengthening when she narrowed her slightly glazed green eyes at him.
“If you go somewhere else, you might have a chance of getting laid,” she replied coldly, feeling the alcohol loosening her tongue already. “We all know that’s the one thing you’re good at.”
“Pity you’ll never know just how good,” he smirked, ignoring her glare. He shrugged. “Anyway, maybe I prefer to spend my time with a…hmm…what’s the word? ‘Cold fish?’”
Buffy’s hands balled up into small fists and she wanted to punch him right in the nose and watch the blood cascade down his smug face. It was only the memory of her thwarted attempt at doing exactly that earlier in the week that prevented her. Instead she swallowed back the hurt from his words and leveled him with a steely glare.
“Oh, come on, Spike! Cut the bullshit.” The alcohol imbued her with bravado she would never normally have felt. “As much of an asswipe as you are, you could probably deceive any half-witted, vapid bimbo to go home with you. So, truth time! Why the fuck are you sitting here with me?”
Spike sighed, pilfering one of her shots and knocking it back without paying attention to her halfhearted protest. His posture softened and his eyes glazed slightly as he stared at her.
“I just thought…I thought you might need some company,” he said, almost shyly, his demeanor changing from the arrogant one she was so used to.
Her eyes snapped up to study him and she was shocked to see the way his cheeks reddened at his admission.
“Yeah, well you’re always around when I’m miserable,” she huffed, turning back to her drinks. “How the hell did you find me anyway? Are you sure you’re not stalking me?”
Because she wasn’t looking at him, she totally missed the slightly guilty look that flashed over his face. By the time she was looking at him again, he had managed to school his face into disinterested indifference.
“Got a bit of a high opinion of yourself to even think you’re stalk-worthy, pet,” he said with a slight bite to his voice.
“I’m way more stalk-worthy than you, Mister,” she retorted primly.
“What? You think any girl could truly resist my manly good looks?” he asked with a slight chuckle.
“I think they belonged to Billy Idol first,” she responded with an almost playful smile. “Actually, he called and wanted them back. Until he realized the 80s is over.”
“Hey!” Spike tossed her a frown. “You said it yourself before. I’m irresistible.”
“More like incorrigible,” she huffed under her breath, but Spike caught it and laughed even more heartily.
“Swallowed a dictionary, Summers?” he asked mockingly.
“I don’t need a dictionary to find words to describe you, Spike. Somehow insults just roll off my tongue when I picture your face. And I know you’re definitely not irresistible. See, I’m sitting here all resist-y.”
“Picture my face, huh? Do that a lot, Summers?”
“Eww! You wish.”
He chuckled. “Maybe I do wish. You know, if you ever saw one of my movies, you’d be well and truly in the ‘irresistible’ camp, pet,” he drawled, voice thick and rich as molten chocolate.
Buffy unconsciously shivered as she recalled the movie of Spike’s that she watched, and her subsequent solo activities. Her skin flushed with a red blush of embarrassment and the actress was just glad that it was too dark in the bar for Spike to notice.
Breaking his probing gaze, she poured herself another shot of tequila and knocked it back, grimacing as the burn seared the back of her throat. It was like liquid fire inside of her, heating her up, melting her senses.
“Wanna be careful with those, pet,” he warned. “Wouldn’t want to let yourself get out of control would you?”
“Oh, I’m sorry I think you’re confusing me with someone whose life is actually your business,” she replied with a calm timbre to her voice. However, Spike could already hear the almost imperceptible slur in her speech, and he figured that the full effects of the beverages she’d already consumed hadn’t even properly hit her yet.
“Maybe I’m making it my business.” He shrugged.
“If you want to take care of my business then order me another drink. I think I’m done with the tequila hype.” Buffy scowled at the bottle and it seemed to glare back at her with equal contempt.
She blinked rapidly.
“What do you want, pet?” Spike inquired without resistance. He knew better than to argue with a woman like Buffy at the best of times, never mind when she was inebriated.
And maybe drunk-Buffy would be more fun than stick-up-her-ass sober-Buffy.
“Rum and D.C. You’re paying.”
Spike clicked his fingers to summon the barman over and ordered a whiskey for himself and some rum and diet coke for Buffy.
He huffed as he warily eyed the barman when he saw the lusty way that the brunet was studying Buffy. The beautiful blonde was blissfully unaware of the dark haired man’s obvious attraction but Spike was tempted to tear his throat out with reckless abandon.
“Thanks ever so,” he said less than sincerely to the brunet. “You can bugger off now.”
The dark haired man looked a little offended but clearly didn’t want to start a fight with the mean looking, tipsy punk.
“Here you go, Goldilocks.” Spike handed her drink to her and she sipped leisurely at it.
“Mmm,” she hummed, savoring the taste. “Soooo good!”
“Keep on making noises like that and I might think you’re after something a little more than just a bloody drink.”
Buffy giggled, feeling the alcohol well and truly working its magic on her system. She turned to Spike and winked at him.
“Maybe I do want something…more,” she whispered.
“Yeah?” He cocked his head to the side and studied the tiny girl in front of him.
She didn’t stand at more than 5’3 and her frame was incredibly slight, yet her presence seemed to fill the room, like a light shining into a black void of darkness. Her head was concealed with a cap but he could see the blonde strands of her hair peeking out from underneath like liquid sunlight.
She leaned forward and placed her hand on his thigh, laughing as he shook slightly under her touch. “I really really really might want something more.”
He inhaled sharply as he caught sight of the look in her eyes. “What might that be, Kitten?”
“Maybe I want one night of passion with a man that can drive me freakin’ wild.” She tilted her head as she heard his breathing become ragged and saw the bulge emerging from under the thick denim of his jeans.
“What if I said I know a man who could oblige every bloody little whim?”
She grinned. “You know a guy that can make me wet with just a look before he makes my body all tingly with his hands and with his mouth?” Buffy asked with exaggerated innocence.
“Gah! I…uh…bloody hell!” Spike was never usually lost for words. He prided himself on being the epitome of suave, but Buffy seemed to have stolen his voice. He hand was creeping up his thigh and his brain had done a disconnecting act.
“Tell me Spike. Do you think I might be the kind of girl who wants a rough fuck that just never seems to quit.”
“Buffy…do you…?”
“Maybe,” she giggled, but her laughter stopped almost as soon as it began. Her face morphed into revulsion and she removed her hand from him, wiping her palm on her pants. “But not from you Spike.” Her face twisted in disgust. “It’d never be you. I don’t fuck liars.”
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Thank you so much for the reviews. They make me happy! :) Here's the next chapter so I hope you all enjoy!