Restive Nature
Rated NC-17
Chapter Fourteen
An Empty Ache
"Buffy, hurry up!" Spike called up the stairs. He yanked viciously at his tie, already tired of it and he’d only been wearing it for twenty minutes. Dawn sighed from her place on the couch. She glanced at her watch one more time.
"Should I call the restaurant?" she asked timidly.
"Ya might have to pet," Spike leaned against the archway into the living room. "Your sis doesn’t seem inclined to grace us with her presence. Never mind Giles."
"Believe me, he’ll understand," Dawn snickered. "He’s been dealing with Buffy longer than either of us."
"True," Spike grinned. "I’m just afraid he’ll start without us."
"Since we’ll be his guests, that’d be completely rude," Buffy chimed in as she descended the stairs. "And Giles is not rude." She paused at the bottom landing, gauging the effect on her fiancé. She, Dawn, Willow and Cordy had gone shopping a few days before, when they were sure about where Giles was taking them for dinner. The thoughtful man had had Cordy make arrangements at an upscale restaurant for a few days after his return. He’d made the scheduled stop in Denver to talk to Faith and wanted to give himself a day to recuperate before taking his ‘kids’ out for a night on the town.
Spike felt his mouth go dry as he took in her outfit. When he’d asked, she’d simply told him that she’d bought a little black dress to replace the one lost in Sunnydale. Apparently it was a must for every woman’s wardrobe. But little hadn’t entered his mind until he saw her in it. It wasn’t little, it was miniscule. The bottom barely coming to the top of her thighs, the top was clinging to her womanly curves. Spike’s face began to burn as he realized that she actually meant to go out in public like that. And his heart soared at her daring. She’d never allowed him to dictate what she wore, although sometimes he’d have liked to. He swallowed hard and reminded himself, that no matter how many men looked; she would only go home with him.
Buffy glanced over at Dawn. Her sister also had a new dress, but from the teen’s pout, she gathered that it hadn’t garnered a good enough reaction. "So, do I pass inspection?"
"You look good Buff," her sister smiled. Buffy turned back to Spike.
"Was I worth the wait?" She teased gently. It startled her for a moment when he charged forward, wondering if he was turning Neanderthal on her. But he simply grabbed her around the waist, spun her around and set her on her feet, before kissing her senseless.
"Always luv, always," he whispered in her ear. Buffy inhaled deeply, her slightly reeling senses a-tilt once more from the scent of his after-shave.
They met Giles, who knew Buffy well enough to have actually set the reservation for half an hour after he’d told her. So they ended up being five minutes early. The waiter led them to the table and Giles stood to receive hugs from the girls. Once the greetings were over, he started grilling them on how they were enjoying their current life. The house, their jobs, how slaying was going. Buffy saw it for the diversionary tactic that it was, but every time she tried to get a word in edgewise, one of the other three would be off on a new tangent. They seemed to be unconsciously conspiring together to keep her on tenterhooks regarding their surprise. And when they ran out of things to say, the waiter returned to take their order.
Buffy hurriedly glanced through the menu, her mouth watering at the delectable dishes written out in beautiful calligraphy. She listened absently as Dawn ordered the Caesar and chicken salad. The teen was actually taking more of an interest in Buffy’s healthy eating tack. But she’d had enough of that lately the Slayer decided. Spike of course, ordered his preferred rare steak. Giles, something similar. But tonight Buffy felt like splurging.
"I’ll have the Fettuccine Alfredo with side salad," she informed the waiter. He nodded once and wrote it down dutifully. As soon as he’d collected the menus and departed, Buffy held her hand up. "Okay Giles, what’s up? You’ve held out on me long enough. I want to know what my surprise is and I want to know now!" She ducked her head abruptly, as there was a lull in the conversation around them. She realized that she’d been getting louder. "Sorry," she whispered with an embarrassed glance about her.
"It’s okay luv," Spike chuckled. "I’m kinda wonderin’ what the hell is up with Watcher man myself."
"Me too," Dawn chimed in. Three sets of eyes turned his way and Giles deliberately and calmly took a long drink from his water glass. When he set that down, he fiddled with his utensils. He was enjoying seeing the blonde woman squirming in her seat. He was getting much better about not caving in to her and was enjoying the reaction he was getting.
"Well," he finally drawled, completely in command of the conversation now, "I was hoping that it would be a good surprise."
"Uh oh," Dawn sucked in her breath. "This is not good." Buffy patted her sister’s arm comfortingly, even as she stared at the older man.
"It’s okay Dawnie," she soothed. "If it were bad, it’d be a call in the middle of the night, with panicky, stammery Giles. Not calm, cool, sauvey British man here."
Giles turned to Spike and in a voice like a child’s whispered," She thinks I’m suave." Then frowned at her appalling grammar, "or so I believe." Spike began to laugh hard enough to almost snort his water through his nose.
"You’d better just tell us," he gasped, trying to recover, "before we attract any more attention."
"All right," Giles acquiesced. "Just to preserve what’s left of my dignity. As I told you, the house came from property that was turned over to the Council. One of the reasons I returned to England was to make a case for paying the Slayers."
"Oh!" Buffy’s eyes grew wide. "We’re finally going to get paid?"
"Er, not quite," Giles hedged.
"But still something, right?" Dawn chirped. "You said it was still good news?"
"Well," Giles leaned back in his chair. "The Council feels, and I must agree, that Slaying really isn’t a job. It is more in the nature of a calling. They feel that by paying a Slayer wages, they demean the title."
"Wankers," Spike growled under his breath.
"What’s so good about that?" Buffy grimaced.
"Well," Giles grinned, "even though they are not willing to pay wages, they do feel compelled to set up a sort of stipend for the Slayers."
"A who-pend?" Buffy’s brow furrowed.
"Reimbursement pet," Spike interjected. "It’s sort of money to cover wear and tear."
"Exactly," Giles nodded. "Each month, you tally up what property of yours was damaged, and it must be legitimate, and the council will reimburse you for it." Buffy sat for a moment, taking it in, then turned to Dawn. The teen knew exactly what was on her sister’s mind.
"New clothes!" they laughed together.
Giles explained exactly how the reimbursement would work. Each month, they’d tally up the cost of what had been damaged and submit the report to him. He’d in turn bring it to the council. Luckily, it was Giles’ job to verify the losses, not the Council’s Things would be a lot harder to deal if they had to wait each month for someone to check and make sure that Buffy did indeed get into some demon goo that wouldn’t come out of her sneakers. At the end of each month, the Council would cut a check for them. Buffy grinned more over the idea of being guaranteed seeing her Watcher at least once a month than she was at getting money.
Spike on the other hand was busily calculating in his head how much this might save them from dipping into their savings. Well, more his savings. They’d still need to buy Buffy more work clothes. He was lucky enough to be required to wear the club uniform while bartending. He’d already picked up the pants, two shirts and the tie from Lorne. He’d modeled it for the girls and Dawn made oblique references to some movie he’d never seen. As soon as he’d heard the words "Tom Cruise" he’d dashed from the room, pretending to retch.
Just to get him back, Dawn had rented three of the blighter’s movies on their last movie night. Even though he’d complained the whole time, he secretly was amused by the one Dawn had been referring too. Slayer agility could certainly put on a better show than a two-bit actor with a stunt double. He came out of his musings to hear Giles repeat his question.
"So are you liking work then?" he inquired again.
"Oh, haven’t actually started yet," he shrugged. "Lorne and I just signed my contract a few days ago."
"A contract?" Giles frowned. "For bartending?"
"Yeah," he smirked. "Peaches boys handled the whole thing." Referring of course to the law firm.
"Why did Lorne feel the need for a contract?" Giles demanded. Spike shrugged.
"He’s been losing a lot of bartenders," Buffy piped up. "He told Spike that he’d be willing to pay ten dollars an hour, plus tips if Spike would commit to a year’s work."
"Oh dear," the elder Brit sighed. "What happens if you need time off for an apocalypse?" This time it was Dawn’s turn to snort at the casualness Giles exhibited. She covered her mouth hastily as the waiter brought out some appetizers.
Spike watched with a hardened eye as the man surreptitiously dared a glance down his fiancée’s cleavage. But she arched a look at him that held him back. He knew he’d be in for punishment of the no-sex variety if he pummeled the waiter to within an inch of his life. Instead, he turned back to Giles. "We already worked that out. I’ll be workin’ thirty hours a week at that wage. But instead of owing him a year, I owe him fifteen hundred odd hours. If there’s trouble, I get time off to deal with it. My job’ll be there when I get back."
"Ooh," Dawn giggled. "Tell him about the immunity clause." Spike grinned back.
"An’ there’s a special two block radius of immunity for the demons that are leaving when I get off work. I catch ‘em one foot out o’ line and I go Slayer on their asses." Giles couldn’t contain his mirth. They continued to chat through their meal, once it arrived. Giles very sweetly asked after their wedding plans. Buffy was chagrined to admit that she’d made no definite plans yet. But she was eager, now that they were working, to get started on it. The men commiserated over the event as males tend to do, while Dawn and Buffy defended the ideas they came up with. Talk moved on to the interesting finds Giles and the Council team had found during their spell casting. And then the subject of Max and Angel came round. Giles pulled out the postcard he’d recently received and passed it around the table.
It was a good evening. As they prepared to take their leave, Buffy invited Giles to come over to their new place when he had the chance. Aside from helping out Wesley, he had plenty of time on his hands. Giles agreed to call her and arrange something, even though he had an open invitation, just like the rest of their friends. Once the Summers-Worthington group reached home, they moved into their pre-bedtime ritual. In other words, Dawn disappeared downstairs while Buffy and Spike locked up.
The days and weeks continued much in the same order. Spike got used to working at Caritas. It was an easy slide for him to make. The past few years of being Dawn and Buffy’s sounding board and gossip buddy had prepared him to listen to those customers inclined to talk. And recalling Angelus’ rare singing performances about their hideouts kept him in the frame of mind that the current crop of karaoke-ers were truly gifted. He, due to his long enough Vampiric lifestyle, was able to mix and present a wide range of drinks when needed to. And his devastating cheekbones and luminous blue eyes kept the tips rolling in. Unfortunately, it wasn’t just tips that he was receiving.
It had been a fairly slow Monday night. Which according to Lorne was something of an oddity. Caritas was popular no matter which day of the week it was being it was a haven to many. After the initial wariness of having a Slayer tending bar, business had boomed as usual. Especially when the patrons saw that Spike enforced the no violence rule of the club, even on himself.
Tired, wanting to get home and snuggle with Buffy, Spike had simply dumped his tips into his coat pocket and headed out, not even bothering to change into his street clothes. Of course, hyper efficient Slayer gal had insisted on cleaning the pockets out before hanging it up for him. And what she saw made her explode. She stormed into the bathroom after him, yelling through the shower curtain.
"What the hell are these?"
Spike stuck his head out from the stream of water and glanced at her hand. "’S paper luv, thought you’d recognize it."
"I recognize the paper dumbass," she seethed, one hand settling on her hip. "What I’m wondering about are the sequence of digits written on them that look suspiciously to me like women’s phone numbers!" She yelled the last part. Spike hid a grin. Lorne had warned him, he truly had. But Spike had been so tired that this evening he hadn’t bothered disposing of the numbers as he usually did before getting home.
"Not just women," he grunted, returning his head to the relaxing flow of liquid.
"Huh?" came her stupefied answer. She glanced suspiciously at the four slips she’d found. "What does that mean? Are they special women in some way? Insane like Dru perhaps? Ditzy like Harmony? Maybe they dress like that chick from Xander and Anya’s not a wedding?"
"Dunno," he called out. "Maybe. I think though that some are from guys."
He said it so casually that Buffy was stunned enough to shut up. Her eyes widened as she glanced anew at the papers. She’d gone ballistic when she’d seen the numbers. She hadn’t even taken in the messages written above or below said numbers. She took a moment now and sniggered as she realized what he’d said was true. "Oh my God," she giggled. Pulling the curtain back, she recited one for him, "hey man, if you want to see how good I can shake things up, give me a call, Tony." She collapsed against the wall, laughing so hard she snorted.
"Ha ha," Spike growled. He quickly rinsed off and shut the shower off. Buffy handed him a towel, which he quickly wrapped and secured around his waist. "Not my fault everyone finds me sexy."
"Especially Tony," she grinned. He stepped out into her embrace. He held her for a moment then plucked the papers from her hand and threw them in the small trashcan nearby. He straightened up to see the contemplative look on her face.
"What is it sweetheart?" he asked gently.
"Do you ever think about… you know?" she shrugged helplessly. He understood.
"I do," he admitted candidly. But continued quickly at the hurt look on her face. "I think about how much it would hurt you if I were to fool around. I remember that night with Demon-girl, and even if you hadn’t wanted anything between us and wouldn’t admit that there was, I still remember the look on your face. And I don’t ever wanna see that look again. So when these women slip their numbers in my tip jar," he refrained from mentioning the hand in his pocket incident, "I just think o’ that night and I know they’d never be worth it."
"That’s so sweet," she smiled. "Cliched, but sweet."
"What about you luv?" he asked softly, not sure he wanted an answer. "Do you ever wish…."
"Not anymore," Buffy pouted. "Tony there broke my heart. I was hoping he’d shake his thang for me." She giggled as he rolled his eyes.
"It’s not my fault he’s got superior taste," he teased; glad the storm had passed so quickly. "But honestly?"
"Sometimes," she shrugged. "I think about what could have been in the past. But it always seems like all that was a fantasy, a dream. It’s like you said, I want the life we have. With everything that gets messed up and the stuff that seems perfect, only to get better the next day. I want to see how this turns out, so I’m not going to risk it for something fleeting. If I want some thrills, I’ll just go kill something."
"As long as it’s not me or the Nibblet, that’s fine then," Spike smiled.
"So by that account, Dru, Harmony and that ditz from the wedding are fair game for Buffy-rage?"
"Perfectly," Spike laughed, although he felt an odd tinge at the thought of Dru’s passing. If it ever came down to it, he’d destroy his Sire to protect Buffy or any one of their friends. But it would be one of the hardest things he’d ever have to do. He shook his head, focusing himself back in the present. Buffy was trailing her hands along his chest in an enticing manner. He followed behind as she led him to their inner sanctum, muttering about getting him a ring to warn off others. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that Lorne had warned against that as well. It was just a bigger challenge. One he didn’t feel he needed to deal with. Not when he had something so delightful to occupy his time away from the bar.
*****
"I hope you realize you’re pissin’ me off," Spike growled as he crept along the dune filled stretch of beach. "Stupid wanker. Can’t even come out and face a Slayer properly." He’d just gotten off work and had been heading home. Surprisingly, Wes had stopped by Caritas that night, ostensibly to talk with Lorne. While waiting for Spike to pour him his drink, he’d filled him in on the latest of Cordy’s visions. And had mentioned that Max and Angel’s imminent flight was delayed because of bad weather on their end. The family was taking a later flight, but would still be home this evening, just at four in the morning. So he wondered if Spike could take care of the roving demon that was hanging out at the beach. If Spike didn’t catch it tonight, Wes figured the AI team could handle it when Angel was rested up the next evening. Spike hadn’t minded. It was his other job after all. He just didn’t like the inference that this thing would slip by him and mighty Angel would clean up the mess. So he was determined to catch this thing and effectively dispose of it.
But like the sissy it was, instead of facing the male Slayer like a real demon, it had run from the teenage couple it had been stalking. So Spike had to give chase. And all that was doing was keeping Spike from getting home to Buffy. Warm, snuggly, extremely horny Buffy. Finally spotting the few shallow caves under a pier structure, Spike decided to check them out and if he found nothing, give up. He could return to the house, make love to his fiancée and return in the morning, and hopefully get the drop on the thing while it slept. He’d have to call Wes though and make sure that the thing did sleep though.
As he reached the second last cave, he felt the telltale tickle at the back of his neck. He tensed his hand around the stake he held and slowly eased the short sword from his weapon bag. He wanted to be ready for anything. And just as he imagined it would, the demon burst forth from it’s hiding space. It had had to crouch to fit in, so it’s attack was low. Spike jumped into the air, allowing the beast to dive cleanly under him. He spun around once he’d landed, dropping the stake. It would be no use to him. He brought the sword up before him, kicking the thing in the lower back to try and keep it down. Didn’t quite work as he planned as the beast already had its momentum going, causing Spike to falter backwards. But he was quicker and lighter on his feet and was able to get in a good shot to what would be it’s kidneys, assuming it had any. The beast howled as it spun around, yanking the sword from Spike’s grasp.
But Spike was nothing if not resourceful. He’d learned that much in his years of fighting. He twisted around, letting his bag slip loose and caught the strap before it could fly free. He kept it moving, knocking the beast upside the head. It was stunned enough that Spike could continue his frontal assault. The thing, obvious to Spike now, a natural coward tried to turn and run. But that just presented the Slayer’s sword to its owner. Spike pulled it free and tackled the running form, ramming the sword with sickening finality through the back of its neck.
With a satisfied grunt, Spike pulled the sword out, cleaning it with a handful of sand. His mind absently noted that he’d need to sharpen it soon. Picking up the few weapons that had fallen from his bag, he replaced them, donned the bag and cheerfully dragged the demon back to the cave it had recently departed from. Now he could call Wes and brag a little. Leave a mess for Angel to clean up in the good sense for once.
Since he was on the beach, Spike decided to take the shortcut and come up through the backyard. He could see a light on in their home and figured Buffy was waiting up for him, even though he was later than usual. He smiled as his feet picked up the pace a little. He swung open the back gate, noting that someone; probably Buffy had oiled the hinges. He’d protested of course. In his opinion, the squeak was a good warning against intruders. But Buffy, in her homemaking mode had rolled her eyes and insisted that the neighbors wouldn’t like it.
Just as he moved up the steps to the deck, he caught sight of a familiar flash of red hair. Willow was over. He grinned, glad that the Wiccan was keeping her friend company. He just hoped she’d get the hint and leave quickly. But some sense, some intuition caused him to stop short of opening the French doors to the living room.
Buffy was seated on the couch, Willow beside her. But that wasn’t the right term. Crouched was more appropriate. She was huddled in her spot, Willow’s arms around her, comforting her. Even from across the room, Spike could see the track of tears down his lover’s face. He watched he didn’t know for how long until finally Buffy lifted her head and wiped her eyes. He stayed silent and unmoving as the two women rose from the couch. Buffy followed Willow to the door. The redhead said something and Buffy turned back to look in the living room. But it wasn’t to the doors that she looked. Spike followed her line of vision, seeing a plain white paper bag. He glanced back up as Buffy shook her head and continued to the door.
When she returned, after hearing the roar of Willow’s car departing, Spike continued to watch. Something warned him to stay as he was. He’d seen Buffy in all her moods. And right now, everything about her body language was screaming that she was at a breaking point. She returned to the living room and stood before the coffee table. Whatever had pushed her too far was centered in that bag. She stood still for a moment before forcing herself to snatch up the bag. She strode over to the computer desk and knelt before it. She yanked open the door to the little cubby cupboard that they had no use for yet and shoved the bag inside.
Spike expected the tension in her shoulders to ease some after slamming the door shut. But if anything, it was worse. She stood again, wiping away more tears that seemed determined to fall. But her nimble fingers couldn’t keep up with the seeping liquid and Spike watched, his heart thudding in his ears as she leaned against the wall, shaking uncontrollably.
It was perhaps fifteen minutes later that she was able to collect herself. With a fearful glance at the basement door, Buffy moved around the living room, turning off lights. She still hadn’t noticed Spike. And he still hadn’t moved. He couldn’t help her, he knew, until he knew what was wrong. And thinking on that little bag, he had a dreadful suspicion of what it might be. Finally, she’d turned off all the lights, but for the hallway and porch lights. But with the moonlight aiding him, he caught her stealing up the stairs, most likely to cry herself to sleep.
Once he was sure that she’d made it up, he quietly let himself into the house. On silent feet, he crept towards the desk. He slid to his knees and carefully removed his weapons bag. He settled it under the desk, out of the way. He pulled open the cubby door, wincing at the little popping noise it gave as the magnet holding it shut released. His hand reached in for the solitary occupant of the nook. The papers crinkled some as his fingers closed around it and he withdrew slowly, bag in hand. Rocking back, he stood and moved to the light the hallway offered. With a sharp breath of apprehension, he pulled open the top and glanced in.
His eyelids fluttered down, feeling the sharp tang of bitterness in his throat. He clenched his jaw, willing his own tears to stay back. It was as he’d suspected. Willow had come, like a good friend at Buffy’s bidding. But what she’d brought was not needed. Tonight it was a slap in his fiancé’s face. A spear through their hearts. A simple box. It’s content’s so much more. With an aggrieved sigh, Spike returned the bag to the hiding spot Buffy had chosen. It wouldn’t do for Dawn to accidentally find it and inadvertently make her sister feel worse by asking about it. So in the desk’s cubbyhole, the pregnancy test would wait for another day.
Broken
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