Chapter 13 - Tensions

Spike leaned against the kitchen counter, watching Buffy as she stood by the toaster oven and fixed a snack for herself. She was telling him about her friend trying to lie to get her out of some double date.

“But I was already there, and she couldn’t pretend like I wasn’t, so we had to act all like we knew what was going on,” she finished her story.

“Guess you had to be there,” Spike said after a moment.

“Dammit!” she suddenly cried.

“What?” he asked, though he already knew. The smell of blood had hit the air the second the knife sliced her finger. She suddenly had his undivided attention.

“I guess it’s true what they say about cutting bagels,” Buffy said, holding her hand up and walking to the sink. She turned on the tap and started to wait for the water to warm, but noticed the way Spike was looking at her.

It was raw, focused need—a desire like she’d never seen before. A part of Buffy wished someone would look at her like that. Another part wanted to satiate that need, whatever it was for.

She turned, holding her finger. “Do you want to…?”

Spike stared at her.

“No, pet,” he said, his eyes widening slightly as he realized what she meant. “You best just wash it off.” The scent of her seemed to fill the room, but with some effort, he managed to remain still.

“But, I mean, I don’t mind,” she said, stepping closer. “It’s just a little cut, it’s no big deal.”

She moved her hand to him, and he reached out automatically. He could almost taste her already. Just a sip—she was offering. “You sure?”

Buffy frowned, suddenly feeling uncertain. “It’s not going to hurt, is it? I mean, you’re not gonna bite me or anything?”

“No, love, no biting.”

She nodded, and he slowly took her hand.

Buffy watched as he brought her finger to his lips. His tongue lightly flicked over the surface of her cut, before he took her finger into his mouth and gently sucked on it. His eyes closed momentarily, and she thought she’d never seen anyone look more satisfied. After a few seconds that seemed frozen, he released her hand.

Buffy glanced down quickly, but she didn’t move away. They were only inches apart, and Spike gradually leaned closer. Then he was kissing her, softly, slowly, but with a burning urgency. She responded, pressing her body against his and deepening the kiss. His hand was running through her hair, down her back—

And suddenly he was gone, halfway across the kitchen and leaning up against the counter. Buffy was left standing dumbly by herself, wondering what had happened.

“How’s it going, honey?” her mother’s voice came from around the corner. Joyce walked into the kitchen.

“I, um, cut myself,” Buffy said, whipping around.

“Doesn’t look too bad,” she said, inspecting it. “Still, you should go put some antiseptic and a band-aid on it. And oh, did you see that there was a letter for you today?”

“Um, okay.”

Buffy quickly went into the bathroom and doctored her finger, trying not to think about Spike’s own doctoring. Or the kiss. He’d kissed her. They’d kissed again.

After the initial shock of the vampire thing, she’d had to admit to herself that she still liked him. Even if it was weird and she probably shouldn’t, she did.

Buffy went back into the kitchen nonchalantly, grabbing the letter from the mail basket and sitting at the counter as if nothing had happened. But the butterflies in her stomach were quickly replaced by an empty feeling as she saw the envelope’s contents.

“Spike?” Her own voice sounded faraway.

Buffy turned and handed the envelope to him.

Inside was a photo of her, a cross drawn on her neck in permanent marker.

“Creepy, definitely,” she said. “But I don’t get it.”

“They know.”

“About what?”

“Me.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“The cross. It’s a vampire thing,” he said in a low voice.

“Right. So, how?”

He looked slightly uncomfortable. “He must have looked into it after I beat up those guys.”

“He? He who?”

Spike lowered his voice further, leaning in. “I talked to the Watcher again. He says your old man’s gotten involved with some real shady characters. And he definitely owes one of ’em a lot of money.”

“And when were you going to tell me this?”

“Bloody hell, I just got off the phone.”

“Oh.” She fell silent. “That means he knew. Dad knew who was after me all along, and it was his fault. Completely.” She looked at the floor. “I don’t know what to do. I just want it to stop.”

“You wanna get outta here for a while?” he suddenly asked.

“What?”

Spike tilted his head, looking down at her. For a second, it looked like he might touch her. His hand lightly grazed over her sleeve before he took a half step away.

“I know a place out of town. No one to watch us, follow us. We can take my bike.”

“It’s after eleven.”

“So?”

Buffy hesitated for a moment. But maybe some away time was just what she needed. “Let’s go. I’ll grab a jacket. See if you can find an old helmet for me in the garage—Dad used to bike.”

She went up to her room, tied back her hair, and put on a jean jacket. Saying a hurried goodbye to her mother, Buffy grabbed her purse and met Spike in the driveway. He had the bike out and ready to go. He was also wearing the duster again, she noticed. As she approached, he held out a helmet to her.

“Smallest one.”

“It’ll do.” She put it on and adjusted the straps as Spike sat down on the bike.

Buffy got on after him and wrapped her arms around him. She felt Spike brush his fingers over her clasped hands before he reached for the handlebars.

“You ready?”

“Yeah.”

The bike roared to life, and they were off.

-----

When they pulled up to a gas station in the middle of nowhere almost an hour later, Buffy got off the bike and stretched her non-bike riding muscles. “So where are we going?”

Spike started filling up the tank. “Driving.”

“Driving? Driving is not a place.”

He smirked. “It is if you do it right. Why don’t you get yourself some snacks, pet?”

Buffy shrugged and walked into the station. As she looked at the junk food, she realized that besides herself and Spike—well, besides herself—the customers of this place were questionable. Several of them had shot her lecherous looks, and one was currently coming her way.

Then he quickly turned, suddenly fascinated with something on the end of the aisle as Spike sauntered up to her side.

“Ready?”

She grabbed a bag of chips. “Yep.”

Buffy noticed the deathly silence that ensued as Spike paid the clerk.

“What was that about?” she asked once they were outside.

“I got into a fight there once.”

Spike shrugged. It was true enough.

He’d killed a guy there once. And not in a drained-him-dry way. It had been more of a beat-him-to-death-with-his-bare-hands kind of way.

“What, he look at you funny?”

“Somethin’ like that.”

Buffy didn’t press further.

They’d gotten back on the bike, and soon the boring highway was replaced by a winding road that ran along the ocean. They followed it for miles, sometimes close to the water, other times above it. Once, they stopped to admire the view, and once again so she could eat her chips, but mostly they just drove.

Buffy had to admit that driving was a place. With the roar of the engine and the wind, it was a loud, yet quiet place. With no one but herself and Spike, it was a free and empty place.

-----

It was after 2 a.m. when they got back to the house, and the last thing Buffy expected to see was her mother sitting in the kitchen with a half drunk bottle of wine.

“We’re getting a divorce,” she announced.

Spike immediately disappeared upstairs, and Buffy sat down across from Joyce. She saw the photo of herself lying on the counter.

“I threw that away,” Buffy said.

“Not very well. It was on top.” She took another drink. “Your father and I had it out.”

“It’s my fault.”

“Oh, honey, no. Buffy, this was never your fault. This has been coming. We’ve been arguing for months. Years, about some things.”

“I guess.”

“It’s just that this was the final—Buffy, he’s been lying. He knows about the people trying to get you. And that man from the agency keeps calling, but he won’t call him back. And he’s squandered our savings. There’s almost nothing left. And I don’t know what we’re going to do about any of it. I still don’t think he’s told me everything. But none of it is your fault. You have to believe this isn’t your fault.”

“I guess I do, deep down,” she said after a moment, “It’s just…kind of a shock.”

“Why don’t you get some sleep, honey? We’ll talk more in the morning.”

Buffy eyed the bottle. “Why don’t you get some sleep?”

Joyce actually laughed. “It’s a deal.”