Chapter 6 - Dances

“Spike! Doorbell!” Buffy yelled up the stairs. “It’s probably that girl with your food!”

“It is!” Buffy heard the faint voice from the other side of the door.

Looking through the peephole and seeing that it was indeed the delivery girl, and that she was alone, Buffy opened the door herself and took the bag. “Here,” she said, handing it to Spike as he came down. He took the bag from her and went upstairs again.

When he entered the kitchen moments later with container in hand—popcorn chicken, this time—Buffy asked, “Why do you always go upstairs before you eat? What else is in there, booze?”

“That too,” he said. “You know what curiosity killed, don’t you, love?”

“The Buffy?”

He grinned. “That too.”

“And how do you get by with so little to eat? All you had at breakfast was some bacon.”

Spike shrugged and opened the container, glancing at Buffy as he picked at the chicken. She’d hopped up on the adjacent counter, feet dangling as she swung her legs. After spending three full days with her, he had to admit that she wasn’t what he’d expected. Sure, she was blonde and rich, but she was hardly a whiny Valley brat.

Today in the parking lot, as she’d gathered up her things before class, she’d suddenly turned to him and said:

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being here. I know it’s your job and all, but you’re the only reason I can do anything. Go to school, leave the house—feel like me. Otherwise I’d just be at home going crazy.”

He’d muttered something about ‘don’t mention it,’ but she’d gotten to him a bit. His mind had intermittently wandered back to her as he’d sat behind her in the lectures that day, tuning out information he’d nearly forgotten.

Buffy noticed him staring at her. She tapped her nail on the counter to get his attention.

“What?” she asked.

“Hard to believe you’re nineteen is all,” he said. “You look younger.”

“Tell me about it.” She sighed. “The other day at the bank, someone asked me what grade I was in.” At Spike’s blank look, she continued. “That automatically means they think you’re in high school.”

“I thought birds liked to look younger.”

“That’s later. Right now we like to look older.”

“Right. Been outta that loop a while, myself.”

“How old are you?”

Spike smirked, putting his hands together as he leaned on his elbows. “How old do I look, pet?”

“Oh no, I’m not playing that game. Another guy asked me that once, and I said ‘nineteen,’ and he was twenty-five. He got really put off. And then Cordelia got mad because he refused to buy her any drinks.”

Spike was still looking at her.

“Thirty-one,” she guessed.

“Close enough.” He went back to his meal.

“What? You’re not even going to tell me? That’s not fair.”

“I’m thirty-one if you think I am,” he said, still smirking.

“But are you really thirty-one?”

Suddenly Buffy’s phone rang, and she pulled it out of her pocket. “This isn’t over,” she said to Spike. “Hello?”

“So are we going out later tonight?” Cordelia asked.

“I’ll have to ask Spike.”

“You need permission?” she asked incredulously.

“Hello? Life kind of in jeopardy here. And maybe a dark club full of strangers isn’t the best on the safety, you know?”

“Some professional bodyguard can’t keep track of you in a little club?”

“Cordy…”

“But it’s Friday! Look, we don’t have to go to the Watershed. We can go to Riviera. That place is practically high school. You couldn’t get any safer, right?”

“Ugh. Hold on.” Buffy held the phone away from her mouth. “Cordelia wants to go clubbing tonight.”

Spike observed her for a moment. “You wanna go?”

“Well, yeah. But I’d like to come back, too.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Are you sure?”

“Course.”

“Really? Great!” She spoke into the phone again. “Yeah, I can. Uh-huh.” Pause. “Okay, see you then.”

-----

“Are you sure?” Buffy asked again.

“Havin’ second thoughts?”

“School is one thing, but a club is another.”

“If you don’t wanna go—”

“I want to go. But maybe I’m just not as confident in your bodyguarding skills as you are.”

Spike casually slouched against her doorframe. “I’m here. Nothing’s happened, has it?”

Buffy frowned. “There’s something not quite right with that logic.”

“Besides, don’t wanna stay home and go crazy.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m just saying—I’m nervous, that’s all,” she continued, closing a makeup compact. “But I also don’t want to be Buffy-in-hiding for the rest of my life. Even if it sounded very tempting at the beginning.”

Spike watched her as she leaned into the vanity to apply her lipstick. Buffy was pretty, he’d give her that. A little on the thin side, perhaps, but she had a nice enough figure, long, soft looking hair, a delicate neck— She was definitely the sort he could go for, for one thing or the other.

Which was why he was stopping right there. One thing usually led to the other, and he was supposed to be keeping her alive.

“Why are you standing there, anyway?” she suddenly asked.

“You said nine.”

“By which I obviously meant nine—” She paused, catching sight of the clock. “—twenty.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“It’s not my fault,” she added. “My hair is awful tonight. I mean, could it be doing any worse?” She struggled with several strands and a clip for a few seconds. “Hey, I know it’s not very manly, but could you hold this piece for a minute?”

“Sorry, but it’s against this rule I have. Don’t set foot in a girl’s room.”

Buffy looked at him like she was trying to figure out if he were serious. “If I come out there, will you hold it?”

He shrugged.

“But then I can’t see what I’m doing.” She looked back in the mirror and paused. “MOM!!”

“Bloody hell.”

A moment later, Joyce appeared, apparently unfazed by Buffy’s ear shattering scream.

“Help me with my hair?” she asked meekly.

Joyce moved to help Buffy, quickly finishing off her twist and fixing it with a clip.

“Thanks.”

“Are you sure this is a good idea, sweetie?”

“Spike says it’s not a problem.”

Joyce glanced at Spike. “I suppose,” she said. “But be careful.”

“We will.” Buffy grabbed a blue jacket and kissed Joyce on the cheek. “Bye, Mom.” Then she looked at him, obviously appraising his long sleeve cotton shirt and jeans. “Black again? Do you own colored clothing?”

-----

The club looked exactly the same. Which really shouldn’t have surprised her, but it seemed like something should have changed.

Buffy glanced around as they entered. “Wow, I haven’t been here in ages.”

“Pretty much the same,” Cordelia greeted her. “No one cool over eighteen comes here, just the losers dating jailbait. But what do I know?” she quickly amended, looking in Spike’s direction.

“I’m gettin’ a beer,” he said, ignoring Cordelia. “Anything for you, pet?”

“Been there, done that, threw up. Beer is bad for Buffy. And hey, alcohol minor here.”

“Suit yourself.”

Buffy got a root beer, and Cordelia, somewhat annoyed that Spike hadn’t offered to buy her a drink, ordered a mineral water. Buffy found them an empty table to sit at.

“This it, then?” Spike asked after moment of silence. “The big weekend plans?”

“Well, there are usually people we know,” Cordelia said. “Or at least I know. This isn’t our usual place. Hey, wanna dance?”

“Couldn’t very well watch Buffy that way.”

“Well, go dance with Buffy, then.”

“What? No,” Buffy said, slightly panicked.

Spike looked at her. “I’m game.”

Cordelia hissed in her ear, “Are you crazy? Go on!”

Buffy wasn’t quite sure how it happened, but a moment later she was setting her drink on the table and following Spike as he led her out onto the floor. He put one hand on her back, while his other took hers.

“Your hand’s cold,” she said absently.

“Sorry, pet.” He moved his hand to her shoulder.

Buffy leaned against him as they began to sway with the music. It was a mindless sort of song, one that wasn’t good for much besides getting to know the shape of your partner’s body. She could feel his muscles as he moved, and her mind jumped back to when she’d walked in on him that first morning.

Then Buffy relaxed and let herself become lost in the moment. She just Buffy again, not someone who had people after her, not someone who had to have a bodyguard, and certainly not someone who was dancing with said bodyguard. She was Buffy, and she was dancing with a hot older guy.
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Several dances, drinks, and hours later, things were winding down and Cordelia officially said it was time to bail. “Not cool to be the last ones out of this place,” she quipped, shouldering her purse.

Buffy and Spike exited the club shortly afterward and made their way back to her car. “That was fun,” Buffy said, hanging on his arm. “Thank you. It was good to do something normal. And I had a good time. It was fun, wasn’t it?”

But Spike was only half listening. There was something tingling the back of his neck—the feeling of being watched. He looked into the shadows, but whatever was there had already gone, leaving only the faintest whisper on the air. ‘Slayer.’

She noticed his pause.

“Spike, what is it?” Her hand tightened around his arm.

“Nothing. C’mon.”