lovetobrag:

Sorry, love.  Can’t let you do that.  For days after, he’d pressed his fingers into the bruises and tried to guess their colour.  How she’d swung, straddling his chest.  That’s my girl.  How the body had dragged in the dirt.  He’d never had to hide a body before.  Too few stones in the pockets, he figured.  Not enough weight for the current.  Just ‘cause they found it didn’t mean she had to hold her wrists out for the cuffs.  You can’t understand why this is killing me, can you? But he could now.  This soul swirlin’ inside was his jailor and his judge.  People like that deserved the big lock-up — people who’d done it wrong.  She hadn’t been one then and she wasn’t one now.  Could they take what he said and put her away? You always hurt the ones. 

He never failed.

She was crying.  Now she wasn’t.  It lingered like left-over radiation, stuck on her skin and in her throat.  When she looked at him, her eyes were swollen.  No mascara clouds.  She hadn’t gotten dressed up for this.  Spike looked at the polish on his fingernails.  Had she come here to fight? To yell and cut him down? Good show.  That low humming in his ears, still: it doesn’t just go away because you’re good now.  But he tried to smooth it out, didn’t he? Every day.

He was angry.  Now he wasn’t.  Nothing but quiet in the space between where her words ended and his struggled to begin, and he wanted to keep the burner on but he couldn’t hear the gas clicking.  All the little nasties she’d said, today or ever — think on those.  You don’t know what feelings are.  There is nothing good or clean in you.  If I need someone to get weepy or wailed on, I can call you.  Girl had a habit of digging deep.  She came to fight, yeah.  She came to hurt him.  Angel the best she had, and he wanted to spit it up when she shoved it down but here he was swallowing it instead, swallowing because who said anything about jail?

Spike started.  ”Xander said—.”  He started, quieter.  He started and didn’t finish.  How could he? Xander said there was a plan.  Didn’t matter anymore.  She was waiting with the top of her lower lip pulled in, and it made the steam hiss out of his ears.  Spike shook his head.  ”Forget it.”  He put a hand out to guide her, to take her by the arm, but those goddamn eyes — don’t you know he can’t touch her anymore when she’s wet in the eyelashes? Brushed her chiffon sleeve instead.  Retracted fingers in a fist.  Looked quick at her jeans, his boots, a crack in the floor.  She was a clever girl.  She’d get it if he just tilted his head a second and walked.

So he did.  Past the armchair and the telly, back to the stone coffin by the windowsill where the candlewax made brittle rivers.  He sat with one leg tucked under and one foot on the floor.  When she took her place beside, he angled to face her.  ”Buffy,” he said.  ”You’re not goin’ to jail.  That what you think? Where you think this ends? We won’t let ‘em.  I won’t let ‘em.”  He wanted to tuck her hair out of her face, or smooth the shirt over her shoulder.  He kept his hands on his knees.  ”Lie detectors aren’t any good without vitals, but we’ll figure somethin’ what’ll put the fakes in their place.  And, look, if they start staplin’ your mug on all the phone-poles in Ohio, I’m a pretty good harbour for fugitives.” The smile was small and closed-mouthed.  It hardly put a dimple in his cheek.

Buffy took in a deep and congested breath, wiping what tears were trying to escape her eyes away before they could get the chance. It was stupid to cry. Spike looked taken aback by what she’d said. But it was true, she’d done things any other person would go to jail for. Hell, in the eyes of “vampire rights activists” she might as well be a serial killer. Her mind couldn’t stop from jumping to that conclusion. From seeing herself alone in a prison cell as the world fell to pieces around her. But she brought herself away from there, back to reality. Back to Spike standing there starting and stopping and generally struggling to speak. He reached out his hand as if to grab hers, and she would have taken it. He was softer now, she could sense it. But he didn’t take her hand. He shied away suddenly, tugging on her shirtsleeve instead. But she couldn’t blame him. Having been pinned to the ground by her only moments ago was bound to make him a little… Skittish.

She would have reacted the same way. She did react the same way, before. When their roles were reversed and intentions were darker. When he’d pinned her down, overpowered her so easily. He’d made her feel so weak, he’d tried to take away her control. He almost did. And for weeks she’d asked herself how she could have let it happen. And when he came back, before she knew about the soul even she couldn’t find it inside of her to be angry. She shouldn’t have let it happen. Shouldn’t have slept with him in the first place. But she still jumped when he touched her, it had been involuntary. It took a while to know, to know that it was safe. And she didn’t know for sure until she found out, and it had been a terrible way to find out, about his soul. But now he was safe. She knew he was safe. And they’d gone through so much since then. She trusted him. She trusted his soul. She trusted it more than any government chip or relative morality fueled by a twisted love. She trusted his soul and she could touch him again. She felt safe with him, even. So when he went to take her hand, or what she thought was hand taking, she would have taken it.

But he didn’t take her hand. He walked on, leading her toward the coffin with a tilted head. She sat down next to where he’d settled himself on the lid. She didn’t want to look in his eyes with tears in hers, so she just looked down at her feet. They were dangling over the edge of the coffin, legs too short to reach the ground the way Spike’s did. One of his knees was beneath him, poking out and almost touching hers. Not quite, but almost. She’d made sure not to, didn’t think he’d want to touch the woman who’d just bashed her skull into his. That was understandable. You’re not goin’ to jail.  That what you think? Where you think this ends? He had angled himself toward her, was it an invitation to touch him if she so chose? We won’t let ‘em.  I won’t let ‘em. No, his hands were on his knees. That was closed posture. Don’t cross any boundaries. He was all but saying that he would protect her, which she already knew. She knew he would, he’d laid those cards on the table a long time ago. But he was saying it again now and she wanted nothing more than to thank him somehow. To place her arm around his shoulders, they’d be just a little too wide for her to reach. But she would have tried anyways. If she could have. But his hands were on his knees and he didn’t want that.

She stayed where she was, stayed doing what she was doing. A small chuckle escaped her lips at the thought of a vampire taking a lie detector test. And her brow furrowed when she tried to think of anything at all that might be able to actually prove the presence or lack of a soul. And when he told her she could hide with him if worse came to worse, she didn’t even let herself imagine the wanted posters he’d described. The air was silent between them, not necessarily uncomfortable, but Buffy wanted to fill it with something anyways. She looked up to him, into his eyes and said the first thing that came to mind. The truest thing she could think of. “Thank you, Spike. Thank you for understanding. Thank you for not fighting me, even though anyone else would have.” She let out a breath and looked back down again. Suddenly ashamed of the way she’d jumped to conclusions, the way she’d lost control. “I shouldn’t have attacked you that way.” She wanted so much to keep her head hung in shame, to hide her puffy eyes, but she looked up into his again. He deserved to see her face. “I’m sorry.” Apologize with your eyes on his, that way he knows it’s true.

lovetobrag:

Well, ow.  She was shouting, and then there was red white black pain spiderwebbin’ from the center of his hairline.  Blinding.  Staggering.  Moved his hand up to see if he could get any bit of vision back.  Ended up on the ground, eyes shut but opening, focusing, bringing it round.  Buffy on his chest with her knees in the dust and the dirt.  Buffy with her hands pressin’ his wrists down and her hair like a frame for her face.  Baby likes to play, he thought.  And smiled.  And chuckled.  And wriggled a little, strained against her fingers.  This was supposed to be fun.  It’d been a long time since she held him down — he was supposed to say it’d been a long time.  Since they’d fought at all.  Got some tension to work off, Slayer? Come by after-hours for a scuffle and tumble? Always glad to sort out the kinks.  He was supposed to take her arms out, roll her over, and end up the one doin’ all the pinning.  Used to be.  But as he tried shoving his wrists to the side, he remembered.  The tiles peeking out from under the bathmat.  Her eyes big and wet and wide.  All that force trying to force it.  Trying to force her.  

Spike didn’t hit Buffy anymore.  Not since.  Not with his marbles in a row.  Spike didn’t trap her and Spike didn’t shove.  And he could shift hips all he wanted, but there’s nothin’ cute about the other way around.  

So he let her keep him there.  That’s how he saw it, anyway — how he wanted to see it, still petty about strength.  He didn’t even put up a fight when she made her mouth all close and her eyes small.  Thought about kissing her, sure.  Make her quiet.  Throw her off guard.  But he just stayed smiling smug instead.  Didn’t think she was gonna take it where she did.  Didn’t feel his face go blank when she started in, past the crazy-talk he didn’t get and onto the handle where the knife stook out.  It was easiest for her, wasn’t it? No one else knew just how to slide and twist it the way she did, and she did it all the time.  Lyin’ there on his back in his crypt — his goddamn crypt she just burst into on a flight of fists and fancy — listenin’ to her spout all the worst of it, Spike thought up a lot of things to say back.  Couldn’t say any of ‘em.  Had to pay attention, make sure he was hearin’ right.

Liability? Rough talk ‘bout a guy who’d saved the world better than any of them could figure.  Been called a lot of things in his time, and whatever happened to Champion? He hadn’t been a liability since the First quit usin’ his head like an old-timey projector.  Well, up ‘til Alette.  But there’d been time in between.  Do you have any idea what it’s like burnin’ to death? Not much different if you’re already dead.  And he took it brave, didn’t he? He hid out in Europe while his skin grew back and he didn’t ever whinge.  Liabilities got sent to shacks where the walls were lined with crosses. This one, this one took the blade to his chest when he couldn’t stop the screaming. This one sought the screaming out. Won’t go away. Who he’d been. He knew that, knew it now. Could she blame him for seeing a cure-all at first? The only person who cared about Angel’s past was Angel. They all ran ‘round worried what they’d do if he broke out in bumpies, but they didn’t hold him to it. That’d been his model. That’d been his lesson. Having a soul made Angel new again. Spike’s just made him old.

It wasn’t the crying that snapped him back from stunned stupid.  It wasn’t the way her breaths stopped halfway, or how she slackened her grip on his arms.  Spike wouldn’t have jumped in at all if she hadn’t done the thing that came next; he wouldn’t have known where to start when so much of it was private and weak.  But there it was like a papercut that bleeds too much, and there—there was the anger that bubbled up from self-pity.

Why would I use you?

“Wouldn’t be the first time, now, would it?” It was unwarranted, but so were they.  He pulled his wrists out from under her hands.  Buffy wasn’t looking at him.  She always looked away when she cried.  Easy enough to push her back — not hard, just enough so he could sit up and gather himself to standing.  The change in position and the cluster of light from the candles by the window made his head hurt where she’d thrown hers at him.  He touched the back of his hand to his brow.  ”Won’t erase the history books,” he said.  A repeat.  A scoff.  ”Think I don’t know that? Look up Spike in the encyclopaedia, still says ‘see William the Bloody.’  No entry for Angel — just for Angelus.  And he’s had his chest a-glow for… well, he’s had it a hell of a lot longer than I have.  Think I don’t know what that means?” 

It was her turn to be wrong, and she didn’t disappoint.  He couldn’t swallow anything she’d spit out without choking.  ”It’s not supposed to be erased.  I’m not trying to erase it.  I’m trying to live with it.”  He hadn’t raised his voice until now, and even as he talked he kept it even as he could.  Buffy was on the ground.  Spike was looking at her, looking away, pausing the pacing to point in accusation.  ”But you can’t handle thinkin’ maybe for a second, for a second, it wasn’t about you.  Case you haven’t noticed, your life’s not the only one took a nosedive over the Atlantic when you turned your head.  And I can’t sit ‘round with my wrists strung-up watchin’ the killers on the telly hide the blood in their teeth when I’m one of two who’s any good at all.  Least, I ought to be.”

More than he’d wanted to say.  That last bit made him quiet, made him introspective and low.  He took a few seconds of his own.  Ever been in a room where everything’s just got real bad? Those few seconds — maybe less, maybe hardly any time at all — were dead air.  Spike pulled a Lucky out of his front-pocket pack and lit it with steady hands.  ”So, you see,” he said, cigarette bobbing between loose lips, “I was exactly right.  You came over here swingin’ ‘cause I cocked up the plan.  Made your colours bleed.”  The smoke came out of his nose.  ”Hate to break it to you, pet, but you’re not the only thing I think about anymore.”

She didn’t look at him, couldn’t look at him, when he finally answered her.  His words stung, there was the trademark honesty she’d come to expect from him.  Her stomach twisted into a knot, she’d used him time and time again.  But he’d never held it against her.  He wanted to be used by her, he made that clear.  But all of that was in the past and she kept forgetting.  He wasn’t hers anymore, was he?  When he broke out of her hold, she didn’t resist in the slightest.  It could hardly be called breaking free.  Her eyes followed his form as he stood up and she stayed down.  She had expected some sort of attack, she wanted him to hit her so that she could be angry.  If she was angry then she couldn’t be crying, but she didn’t have the strength in her to stop and he wasn’t giving it to her.

She just listened it was all she could do.  Her heart dropped when he started yelling, she didn’t know how to react anymore.  Her head was beginning to kill her more than she was letting on, she didn’t try to touch or soothe the way that Spike had done.  The adrenaline she’d been making was all but gone and she was crashing in more ways than one.   But the tears had finally stopped.  It seemed like he was saying that he was trying to help, that it wasn’t entirely about his ego.  No, thinking he was trying to hurt her was a product of her own ego.  Or that’s what he was trying to say, trying to make her feel.  And then he let her sit in silence with all that she was feeling.  He let her suffer.

Finally he pulled out a cigarette and lit it, still he didn’t speak.  The air was dead and it was weighing down on her like some sort of boulder, crushing her.  She didn’t breathe.  The words that did come out reeked of smugness, his presumption that she had any sort of plan would have made her angry any other day.  It should have made her angry this time, especially this time.  But it didn’t make her angry it just made her sad.  Just like everyone else, he thought so much of her.  He thought she had it together, expected her to have it together.  But nothing was together.  Everything was falling apart and what Spike did was only making it worse, it was happening already.  Anonymous internet users were telling her of ensouled vampires already. 

“I’m aware of that, I never said I wanted or expected to be the only thing you think about.” Her voice still cracked a little though she’d stopped crying minutes ago.  "I just thought I was a thing you thought about.“ She finally looked up to him.  She had to make him understand and violence wasn’t doing it.  Only the truth could make him see, she didn’t think he’d agree. But maybe he would understand why she was so upset, why what he’d done was wrong.  Looking him dead in the eye, she took in a deep breath.

"There is no plan, Spike.  There hasn’t been a plan.” The words tasted like vinegar coming out of her mouth.  She swallowed back the tears that she felt coming on.  She wouldn’t cry again.  "This is serious, and it’s bigger than you and I.  This isn’t some sort of game, I’m at a serious risk here.  Every slayer is.“ She took in a breath so she could continue on. "I am not upset because you ruined my non-existent plan. I’m pissed because you just handed those vampires with ‘blood on their teeth’ a whole new set of weapons to use against us.  It’s happening already.  People are telling me that they know vampires with souls, which you know is complete crap.”  She hadn’t noticed herself standing up, but by the end of her little spiel she was on her feet.  She was on his level and looking directly into his eyes, which meant he could read her.  He could feel her weakness, she knew it.  She snapped her head away before he could see it in her eyes, before he could recognize the fear.  "I’m scared Spike.  I don’t know what to do. Know it all Buffy is at a loss. I’m terrified I’ll end up in jail for what I’ve done.“ The turned head had made it’s way back to Spike’s and she was looking into his eyes for something, she knew she wouldn’t get sympathy.  "I can’t do any good from a jail cell, Spike.” She pursed her lips and fought back the tears, but she could feel the wateriness in her eyes.

lovetobrag:

Spike had no idea what she was on about.  Her fist up, his face close, her fist down, and holy hell she’d really been about to take a swing, hadn’t she? For what? Bust the door in and take up all the space she wanted, sure.  Bust the door in and go straight for him without so much as a well-I-never.  She was actin’ like they were back in Sunnydale again with her folded cash and his head full of static.  They were actin’ like it, maybe.  Maybe.  Maybe he’d done something wrong.

He watched her stretch herself out onto the slab where he’d just been sat.  Took her time smoothing herself out.  Good.  Let’s all — just her, really — take a breather ‘fore we do something we might regret.  When she spoke again, she was quieter.  Calmer, yeah? He didn’t have to stay stuck shoulderblades to the wall? Not like he’d actually been afraid of her or anything.  Spike eased himself down off the balls of his feet, shifty and more than a little defensive about what’d just happened.  About what was happening.  What was happening? He crossed his arms tight over his chest.  What the sodding christ was happening? 

“Is this about the rankings?” He didn’t have to stay trained on her face to see her mouth get hard.  Sore subject.  Yeah.  Figured as much.  “‘cause if you came all the way out here to sock me straight on, you can just scuffle home.  Already gave it me good, Buffy. Congratulations.”  And for a moment, it looked like that was it.  They were gonna apologize, each one, and they were gonna admit the hurt, and they were gonna patch it up before it made any more trouble.  If it had cut her deep enough to send her thrashin’ over here, he could tell her he’d gone a bit sick at Angel’s name.  Would you believe he was thinking about pulling over a couple crystal glasses and sharing some whiskey? Been a while since they talked.

Hospitality thinned and scattered when the recognition didn’t flash on her face.  No.  This wasn’t that.  This was something else.  This was — oh.  Oh, this was rich, ‘s what it was.  This was a bleedin’ ball-game.  And he wasn’t letting her walk.

“Oh,” he said.  He held it out, unhooked an arm to wag a finger at her in a dramatic gettin’-it-now.  ”You’re not sore ‘bout me and Dru.  You’re brassed off ‘cause I didn’t send you a transcript before I went on the telly.  That’s it, isn’t it? You came stomping by with your fingers folded to tell me I’m a liability now.”  Not fair.  Over in his head: not fair, not fair.  You don’t get to do this.  You’re the only person who doesn’t get to do this.  Spike stepped away from the wall.  Smooth as possible for a bloke all twisted up in upset, he leaned over where her legs hung off the side of the coffin and he put one locked arm on either side of her knees.  This was angry.  This was starin’ down, every word punctuated hard.  ”Only way I could’ve helped the cause is if I’d gone up there and talked about what a bad boy William’s been.  Can’t use me if I’m any good at all—no, that might mean you’d have to think philosophic.”  

He leaned in just enough.  Just enough.  ”Am I right so far?” 

When he spoke the first thing out of his mouth was of course the thing about who was better than who in the sack.  It was always about sex with Spike, or at least it was mostly about sex.  She started to roll her eyes, wrong again, but stopped herself when she realized the hurt he was admitting.  She knew she’d hurt him, it was kind of the point.  Being told you’re inferior to someone crazier than an entire insane asylum? It was an insult and it hurt. It hurt enough that she impulsively felt compelled to bite back, and she didn’t even have to mention Angel’s name to do the damage.  She looked over at him with his arms all crossed and couldn’t help but feel guilty.  But that wasn’t what she was here about and she wasn’t going to let her sentimental side stop her from doing what she came to do.  She intended to give Spike a piece of her mind.

And like clockwork he seemed to realize that she wasn’t there about that, her face probably gave it away.  It always did.  It wasn’t even a moment before he caught on to what she actually came for.  Yes, the television.  She nodded in response, her lips forming a tight frown.  He shook his finger, the drama of it was like a slap in the face.  He still wasn’t taking this seriously, and he still didn’t get what she was upset about.  He couldn’t possibly not know what he’d done, it seemed clear as day to her.  Obviously he didn’t understand her pain because the look of rage on his face said it all.  Somehow, he was the one being wronged here.  She was just about to get up, to put him right in his place when he all but pinned her to the coffin. She was trapped for the moment by two strong arms, vampire strength and all.  She was trapped and it made her so incredibly pissed off.  She couldn’t help the death glare that radiated from her eyes to his.  And word coming out of his mouth was wrong.  The idiot had it all wrong.

She was about to speak, she even took the breath.  But it was cut off, stiffled, when she found herself face to face with two very smug blue eyes.  He was invading her space, and it felt so incredibly wrong.  He had the upper hand and he thought he’d won.  She would have spoken, would have leaned her head back and away from him and told him just what she was thinking if she thought that it’d work.  But she knew better, she couldn’t stay there contained. Not when she was this angry.  "No!,“ she yelled in response to the question of whether or not he was correct.  In one swift movement, she leaned forward with all her might and head-butted him.  

A jolt of pain shot through her skull, but the rage she felt was so strong that her head remained clear.  She had one laserlike objective and a headache wasn’t going to stop her.  Spike was jolted for a moment, and a moment was all she needed.  His arms were weaker because of the fact that she’d just made scrambled eggs of his and her brains less than a second before. She pulled her knee caps to her chin, her feet firmly placed between the two of them and kicked as hard as she could. An inhuman growl sprung from her lips and her teeth bared themselves involuntarily as she hopped off the coffin.  Only a few seconds had passed and Spike looked like he was still trying to recover, perfect.  She sped toward him, crashing into him with her body weight and toppling him down to the ground.  She swung one of her legs on either side of him and grabbed his wrists, pinning him to the ground. She wasn’t certain how long she’d be able to hold him down so she spoke quickly, trying to get as much of her own opinion out before he reacted. Which wouldn’t be long.

"No, Spike. Not right. Not really.” She moved her face in close to his, mimicking the way that he’d taunted her only moments ago.  "Everyone thinks they know me so well, that they know just what I’m thinking. How I’ll react.“ Spike sort of did know her pretty well, but she wasn’t about to admit that. And this wasn’t just about him anymore.  Everyone around her was lying to her, she pretended she didn’t know.  Everyone thought she was this volatile person, so liable to fly off the handle at any second.  They treated her like she wouldn’t understand if they came to her with the truth, which pissed her off.  She could understand, if they’d give her the chance.  She’d been a big girl and gotten over (or at least for all intents and purposes she was past it) the time travel delimma and the messed up little sister that was going through something she knew all to well.  She was a trying so hard to be what everyone wanted her to be and nobody even noticed.  

"They think they know what’s going on in my head but they don’t,” she didn’t move any closer but she took a few deep breaths, regaining her focus and strength so she could hold him down even tighter.  She wasn’t done talking just yet. “Going on tv hasn’t made you a liability Spike, you’ve always been one.” She knew the words would sting the moment they came out, but she couldn’t sugar coat the truth. Not with Spike, she trusted him to be honest with her and always returned the favor.  No matter how painful it was for either of them.  "Think about who you were, it doesn’t just go away because you’re good now.  The history books don’t get erased because you’ve go a soul now.“

She took a few more breaths, this time trying to breath through the urge to attack without explaination.  He should know this stuff.  Why didn’t he think about this stuff?  He was so careless.  And she just wanted to hurt him for it, why couldn’t he just care?  She cared. He’d said he cared about her.  She did things, she helped him, because she cared about him.  But he didn’t seem think that he needed to show that he cared, no.  He just got to do whatever he wanted without worrying about who or how it might hurt.  It was too much, she was so angry. So upset.  She took a couple more breaths holding him down even tighter, she didn’t know if he was resisting anymore.  The air went into her lungs with the telling hitches that said she might cry. She wouldn’t cry, she wouldn’t allow herself to cry.

"I’m not upset because now I can’t ‘use’ you. I wasn’t trying to use you. Why would I use you?” She had to stop herself. She was getting carried away, getting huffy.  Tears were welling up in her eyes despite the fact that she was trying desperately to hold them back. This is not what she was here for. She was here to punish him for his insensitivity not to cry on his face.  She turned her head so that gravity would have the tears stream down her face and into her long blond hair. She forced them to fall anywhere but onto him. She stopped talking all together. She didn’t care if he broke free and threw her across the room at this point. Maybe then she’d snap out of her stupor, she might be able to get her point across if she was angry again. 

lovetobrag:

Spike was just sittin’ there, picking at his nail polish, when the door shoved open.  All he did now, really, was sit there.  Cross-legged on the cover of one of the coffins, cultivatin’ his image and considering a Damned record.  He minded his own business.  He did! He never stuck his nose when he could pretend he hadn’t heard, instead.  He helped when he could.  And what’d he get for his efforts? Couple brassed-off undeads and a door no one bothered to knock on.  

“I’m in the middle of something,” he said, eyes cast down on torn cuticles.  It wasn’t a lie.  Few rewatches yesterday and a picture someone’d taken at the butcher’s showed his nails were too clean.  Prom queens get manicures that stay smooth; Spike needed ‘em torn-up and wearing off.  He slid his right thumbnail under the thin layer of polish on his left.  It pushed up and ripped away easy enough.  Intentional chipping.  Get all the ridges right.  “‘ppreciate the house call, but you oughta just come back another…” 

He looked up.  She’d bolted in and taken off, straight to the west end of the crypt, standing with her fingers pedaling through the air at her sides.  This was no Buffy he’d seen in a long while.  Her anxiety was adorable.  Brought a little smile to the side of his mouth.  ”…time,” Spike said, finishing the sentence and leading quick into the next one.  ”Somethin’ crawly in your knickers, Summers? There’s an easier fix than dancin’ around with your—”

Another sentence cut off.  She was rushing at him.  All right, touchy.  Won’t make jokes like that when we’re all raw and new.  Didn’t think it was a threatenin’ offense.  At first, Spike thought she was just gonna get close and roll her eyes, wag her finger in his face — any number of scoldings she reserved for off-coloured nonsense when she was frettin’ too much to be fun.  Was it too much to ask that they just went back to where they’d been sittin’ when the music ended? 

It was.

He got what she was goin’ for maybe a foot away, and then Spike scrambled to move out of her path.  He pushed off the cover, legs uncrossing rapid-fire, shoulders near his ears and one hand palm-first.  ”Woah, woah, hold up,” he said.  He only made it a few paces before his back hit the wall behind him.  Damn it.  All these people bustin’ in whenever they felt like it and he still didn’t check his exits when he sat down.  Her mouth was doing that flat-lipped thing.  Angry Buffy wasn’t any friend of his.  ”I—what?—so we won’t talk about your problems, then, all right? Christ.  Just tryin’ to help.”

As she rushed toward Spike she noticed a couple of things about him, what with her incredibly keen slayer sensibilities.  He was just sitting there, messing with his stupid nail polish, just chipping away like nothing was wrong.  He told her she ought to come back another time, that he was busy.  Busy with what?  Redoing his manicure the caveman way?  For a guy who spent more time on this planet using traditionally feminine beauty products (hello bottles of bleach and vial after vial of the same black nail polish…) she thought he might have discovered nail polish remover by now.  But he hadn’t, no, he instead felt the need to sit there highly absorbed in his fingernail maintenance when he should be paying attention to her.  He should be cowering or possibly bracing himself to fight back, but he was ignoring her.

And then he looked up with a grin she couldn’t stand.  Ugh!  Smiling in the face of her frustration? It only goaded her on. She rushed forward, and yes those were indeed fists she felt herself forming.  Suddenly, there it was.  The realization of what exactly was about to happen to him.  Spike finally reacted to her.  By running, or at least trying to.  But he ended up at a wall.  "Can’t get away that easily,“ she said under her breath.  He could definitely hear her, she knew that much.  She didn’t need to yell, not yet.

Hold up? No. Talk about our problems? No. Wait. Yes. That’s what she was here to do.  Talk and maybe yell about her problems, vampires couldn’t read minds.  At least not that she knew of? She stopped dead in her tracks with her fist about three inches from Spike’s face.  He had that dear-god-no expression on.  She took a couple of deep breaths and lowered her fist, untightening her tense fingers with a few good shakes of the wrist.  "Actually, we will talk.” she said through clenched teeth.  She was still incredibly angry despite not actively committing a violent assault.  "I’ll go first. You don’t mind do you?“ She paced away, if he knew what was good for him (which she honestly wasn’t sure he did) he wouldn’t answer.

She walked to the coffin Spike had just been resting on, taking the time to readjust the cover which had moved ever so slightly during Spike’s rapid takeoff to the wall.  She took another few deep breaths, she’d learned somewhere that it helped angry people to breathe sometimes, and then jumped up on the coffin.  She sat there with her legs crossed adjusting her clothes so they fell just so, and then she was ready to talk. She wet her lips before speaking, because being rabidly angry always made her mouth a little dry. Probably due to her increased breathing rate which tended to near hyperventilation.  

"You’re aware, I’m certain, that my life is a living hell as of right now.” She looked over at him, gauging his reaction and then continuing on. “You’re also aware of the fact that you supposedly care about me at least a little.” She spoke without really paying attention to him.  She was trying to work all of this out in her head.  Trying to piece together why he would do this.  She understood it on a base level.  He was an egomaniac who honestly deserved his fifteen minutes of fame, she knew this.  She could see the allure of being on television for him.  The adoring groupies that had probably been contacting him left and right, he must feel like a rockstar.  He was accustomed to a certain amount of infamy in his soulless days, so naturally he’d be seeking fame once he came over to the good side.  It had only been a matter of timing.  "What I don’t get is why now? Why now, when I’m fighting tooth and nail for my right to do the right thing, would you decide to intentionally do something that would make my life all the more miserable?“ The questions were rhetorical at the time, she was just thinking out loud.  Did he just not care?

"Do you just not care?” She looked to him through squinted and inquisitive brows.  For the moment she’d actually calmed down and the time had come for Spike to say his piece. Defend himself, or do attacking of his own.  It was time for him to say something, time to offer some sort of explanation   And quickly before she exploded.  

Buffy let out a huff that bordered on a growl as she slammed her laptop lid shut. There was an unexpected crack that came from the machine and she stared at it with a seething rage. “Great!” She stood up, storming across the room and away from the damned thing. Who knew a computer could cause so much trouble, could bring annoying anonymous askers of questions into her very home. There really wasn’t an escape. She couldn’t walk around town without someone noticing who she was and she couldn’t go on the internet without being harassed either.

She started putting on her shoes and jacket without even realizing what she was doing. By the time she was out the door, down the stairs, and in her car she was certain of where she needed to go: Spike. This latest barrage of questions was almost entirely his fault and he somehow though he’d done something good? He had to know that what he was doing would cause her problems, he knew and just didn’t care. How could he not care? He was supposed to be nicer with his soul, or at least nicer to Buffy. He had been before. Sure he was always a little snarky, that’s just the way he was. But he hadn’t intentionally done something to cause her trouble in quite a long time, and it pissed her off.

But now that she was driving to his crypt (house?) she wasn’t really certain of what she’d do when she got there. Only that she needed to be there. If she followed her gut she’d walk in there and give him a hard slap right across the face (so much for the firm talking to she’d promised Faith), but that wasn’t right was it? No, mature Buffy didn’t use violence to solve every problem. And using violence with Spike wouldn’t solve the problem anyways. Maybe yelling? Yelling sometimes did something. She was still trying to sort out what she was going to do, what she was going to say, when she parked the car and opened ever so swiftly and quietly his gate. She walked with haste and purpose to his front door and began knocking loudly and rapidly on his front door. Take the violence out on the inanimate object, not the annoying vampire.

She didn’t stop knocking until she felt and heard the slight movement behind it that meant Spike had in fact noticed that she was there. She withdrew her fist down from the door before it had a chance to open and grabbed her clenched fist, both arms behind her back. Self control. No punching. Maybe a little yelling, maybe a lot of yelling. Get your point across clearly, don’t let him argue. You’re right, he’s wrong. It was simple, easy even. When the door opened to her she didn’t bother looking at him, not yet. Instead she stormed in and as far across the room from him as she could, that way she couldn’t attack if she lost the self control she was clinging to with desperation. Once she was safely away she looked at Spike and opened her mouth to speak, but words didn’t come out. She took a couple of deep breaths and tried to keep her cool, to speak instead of act. Instead she found herself rapidly approaching him. Hopefully those weren’t fists she felt her hands forming.