Chapter 51 - Lines

Buffy woke up early the next morning, a result of her nap the previous day, she supposed. She rolled over in bed, reaching for Spike, but was unable to find him.

Opening her eyes fully, she realized that he wasn’t there.

Buffy lay for a moment more before she crawled out of bed and went into the living room. Spike wasn’t there, either. The kitchen was empty and the bathroom door was open. It was a little strange being in his apartment alone, but she shrugged. It’s not like he wasn’t coming back.

Buffy went into the bathroom herself.

After she washed her hands and straightened her slept-in clothes, she went back to the living room for her purse. First she looked at her cell phone, since Spike didn’t seem to have a clock. It was 7:38.

Going back into the bathroom, Buffy washed her face with water and got the rest of her makeup off as best she could. Then she brushed her hair and applied some lip balm. Standing before the mirror, she tilted her head to look at the bruise on her neck.

In the beginning, it had honestly not occurred to her for him to bite her anywhere else. Vampires bit you on the neck. That was just how it happened. She and Spike had first done it standing up, and then sitting down. Lying down had inadvertently been the next step, and of course since they had settled on nighttime after patrol, lying down in a bed had followed.

She could change that, she supposed.

Buffy glanced down at her wrist. She flexed it back, making the veins more visible. There was a long blue one with several faint ones running beside it. Even though she knew that people died by slashing those veins, the thin ones just beneath the surface of her own skin didn’t look like they would yield anything.

If she told him to bite her there, he would.

But something in her just couldn’t stomach it. Holding her wrist, she felt the twin bones, felt the tendons that ran right down the middle. Logically she knew that her neck was much more fragile, but she just couldn’t reconcile it. Besides which, if he bit her there, she wouldn’t be able to look away. She would hate to watch, but she would have to watch, and something about watching would make it hurt worse.

Of course, there was also the option of doing it herself. Though she doubted that Spike would consider anything she drained as ‘fresh from the source.’ As well as the fact that she knew she couldn’t do it. It was just too gross.

Buffy looked back in the mirror. Her real problem was that no matter how many ways she could think of to keep Spike at arm’s length, so to speak, she knew she didn’t want to.

Which was something she was not going to think about right now. She would wait until she got home and had time to decompress. Then she would think about it.

Buffy finished in the bathroom and found herself walking around Spike’s apartment. It wasn’t snooping, really—she wasn’t opening drawers or anything.

The bathroom was small but tidy, though there wasn’t enough counter space in her opinion, and the room didn’t have good lighting. The tub had a set of glass doors instead of a curtain. Nothing of Spike’s was out except for a single towel. It was clean, but a funny color of gray, looking like it had once been white but had been washed too many times with black jeans and red shirts.

In the bedroom there was nothing but a bed without a headboard and an old dresser, and in the floor she recognized the same beat up duffel bag that he had brought to her house before. On top of the dresser were several heavy silver rings, a few ten-dollar bills, and cigarettes. She played with one of the rings; it wouldn’t even fit on her thumb. The closet had the expected clothes in it, and the bed had nothing but dark gray sheets and a picked-up navy blanket that had clearly seen better days. Another blanket was folded in half and pinned over the window.

The living room window actually had mini-blinds, though no curtains. Spike had also gotten a TV, and it sat on the kitchen table and was positioned toward the couch at an angle that made it impossible to watch unless you were lying down. Resting on the back of the couch was a thick green glass ashtray that looked like it had been stolen from a bar. He really needed a coffee table or something. Which brought her eyes to the liquor store box. It was no longer overturned, and Spike had actually cleaned up, piling all the empty bottles in it and setting it near the door.

Really, the place was clean. Maybe he just hadn’t had time to get it dirty. Though Spike didn’t seem to have much to get it dirty with. It barely looked like someone lived here. And the apartment itself was okay. The carpet was a little worn, but not horrible; the linoleum was curling a bit. There were some scuffs on the walls and marks on the cabinets, but nothing major. It was your average cheap apartment.

Moving to the kitchen, Buffy started opening cabinets. She really hoped he had food of some sort. But all she found were snack items, and not snacky breakfast items. Microwave popcorn, Flaming Hot Cheetos, Spicy Chex Mix, a can of those fried onion things her mom made casseroles with.

It was worse than bachelor quarters; it was vampire bachelor quarters.

She knew that he might have root beer, but she really didn’t want a root beer right now. Maybe he had a Coke or something. Opening the fridge, Buffy was surprised to find alcohol that he hadn’t consumed on his binge the day before. Cans of beer and one or two large bottles without labels. Not that that really helped her. Furthermore, she hadn’t seen any glasses in the cabinets, which meant that if she wanted water, she’d have to drink it out of her hands.

Buffy was shutting the fridge when something in the door caught her eye. Stuffed in the side compartment was something dark in plastic. She frowned and reached out before realizing what it was.

Blood. Two or three bags of it.

Just then, the front door opened, and Spike came in. “Morning, pet. Didn’t expect you up so early.” He set a bag down on the table.

“What’s this?” she asked, pointing to the blood.

“Blood.”

“Where did you get it?”

“Hospital.”

Buffy closed the fridge. “Are we down to one word answers?”

“It’s blood. I got it from the hospital bank. Not much to say.”

“You stole it?”

“Well, they weren’t handin’ it out.”

“People need this blood.”

“So do I.” He sat down at the table.

“For transfusions, I might point out, because of vampires.”

“Nah, most vamps’ll suck you dry.”

He said it as a casual statement, not a horrible fact.

For a moment, Buffy simply stared at him. Then she crossed her arms. “Well, they still need it. For car accidents and gunshot wounds and, and…stabbings. They don’t need it to—”

“Live?”

“Eat.” She paused. “If you took more from me, could you get by without other blood?”

“You’re not food,” he snapped. “And I could get by now. This is easier.”

“Couldn’t you like drink animal blood or something?”

“I’m not drinkin’ cow or some rot like that.”

“But it’s stealing. It’s wrong.”

“What did you expect?”

“You know, I have no idea.” She got the feeling that they weren’t really fighting over the stolen blood.

“What do you think I was livin’ on before? When I was keepin’ your pert little self safe from all the nasty men?”

“Blood, I don’t know. Oh, God. Please don’t tell me you were sneaking out of the house back then to go kill.”

“Course not. Wouldn’t really be doin’ a good job if I was leaving, would I? No, your high and mighty Watcher himself hooked me up. Hospital fresh.”

“Oh, right.” She remembered Fred bringing Spike’s food each day. “You know, I never got the whole story, anyway, on the ‘nasty men.’”

“Dunno, love. I was just the hired help.”

“Well, you’re going to be here for longer than two weeks. That’s a lot more blood.” She paused. “What if I told you to stop taking it?”

“Then I’d tell you that this has nothin’ to do with Slaying, so it’s got nothin’ to do with what you have say over. And I haven’t killed anyone, so I’m keepin’ my end.”

“I didn’t think about this.”

“Well, that’s your problem. All terms are final.”

Buffy threw her hands up. “Stop being so—”

“Businesslike?”

“Infuriating. What would you have done if I had thought about it?”

“Dunno. But you didn’t.”

“Well, I don’t like it.”

“Sorry.” He didn’t sound sorry.

She stared down at him a moment more. He stared back, expression neutral but uncompromising.

Buffy sighed, sinking into the other chair. Pathetic to be arguing over bagged blood, really, especially after last night. And on the scale of vampire evilness, stealing was pretty far down on the ladder.

“How much do you take? Need?”

“Not that much. Few bags a week, though I cleaned out what I had last night.”

She frowned and then realized what he meant. “Blood to cure a hangover.”

“It took a bit. But yeah.”

“Fine,” she said flatly. “Just stay away from the rare types. And no more getting drunk,” she added. “Whatever you take needs to last.”

There was a moment of silence. She looked at the table. “So where did you go?”

“Got you breakfast,” Spike said, his tone immediately changing. He opened the brown paper bag and pulled out two bottles of juice and a box containing half a dozen doughnuts.

Buffy started to eat and was soon on her third doughnut. Another time, she would have taken one, and definitely not had more than two, but she was no longer worried about her figure. And while the bathroom scale actually read her as gaining weight, her jeans no longer fit as snugly as they had. She was getting leaner, getting more muscle.

It wasn’t something she was too terribly upset about, besides the fact that she might have to invest in a new wardrobe if it kept up. And it definitely had its perks. One being more doughnuts for Buffy. Or ice cream, or chocolate, or anything else she might care to indulge herself in.

Spike was also eating a doughnut, and Buffy paused for a moment. “Do all vampires eat food?” she asked.

“Some do. Most don’t,” he said. “It’s not like it helps us, and most of it tastes wrong. I still like spicy stuff.” He shrugged. “Sweet stuff sometimes.”

Buffy took a swig of orange juice and picked up another doughnut.

“I’m sorry about Dru,” she said after a moment.

“I don’t wanna talk about it. It’s done.”

“Fine.”

There was an uncomfortable silence.

“Thank you for the doughnuts.”

“I can pick up some more food. Stuff you like, yeah? So you’re not starvin’ when you’re over here.”

“Will I? Be over here?”

“If you want to be.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Why what, pet?”

“Why would you want me over here, after—”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because. What would we do, anyway?”

She expected Spike to leer at her, to suggest what they could do together at his apartment. So when he spoke, she was thrown.

“Whatever you want. Anything you want,” he said. His eyes were so intense. “I could hold you. We could watch the telly while I hold you, lie in the dark while I hold you.”

“Why?” she whispered.

“I meant everything I said about you last night, Buffy.”

Buffy swallowed. “I should go,” she said. “I need some—I need to think.”

“All right.”

“There’s a New Year’s party at the Bronze tonight. I’m not inviting you as a couple,” she clarified, “but I suppose I’ll see you there.”

He nodded.

A moment later she grabbed her purse and was gone.

-----

Buffy walked back to her house, enjoying the early morning sun and cool air. Standing on the front porch, she carefully arranged her hair before sliding the key into the lock and opening the door.

The smell of coffee hit her as she entered, and she found her mother in the kitchen reading the paper.

“Hi, Mom.” She tried to sound nonchalant.

“I got your message,” Joyce said neutrally, taking a sip from her cup. “How was your night?”

“What happened to me being a grown girl?” Buffy blurted. “If I was living in the dorms, you wouldn’t know where I was. I could have lied, I guess, said I was at Willow’s. Is that what you want? Me lying to you? What happened to making my own de—”

“Buffy, calm down. I’m not upset.”

“Oh. Well. It was fine, then.”

“I’m just teasing you a little. Embarrassing a daughter is a mom’s right.”

“What, just because of that whole nine hours of labor thing?”

“Exactly. So how is Spike?”

“He’s fine. Anyway, it wasn’t like that. He was really drunk. Not that he’s a drunk,” she quickly added. “It’s just, he ran into his old girlfriend last night, and it really messed with him.”

“Oh, that’s too bad.” Joyce’s face shifted. “Is he all right?”

“He’ll be fine.”

“Was she the one who dumped him?”

Buffy just stared at her mother. “Huh? What?”

“Oh, one afternoon at the house in L.A. we were talking and I asked him if there was anyone in his life. He said that there hadn’t been for a long time. There was some girl he’d been with for years until she left him for someone else.”

“Yeah. Um, it was a while ago, but it was…more than unpleasant seeing her. Anyway…”

“You want some breakfast, honey?”

“I already had some. Spike got up early and bought me doughnuts.”

“Oh, that was sweet.”

“Yeah. It was.”

“I know I haven’t been around him much, but it sounds like he really likes you, Buffy.”

“Yeah. He does,” she echoed.

If only it were that simple.