LOG. WHO: Buffy and Spike WHAT: An awkward, accidental encounter involving pig’s blood, tequila, and a punch to the face WHEN: Backdated to Sept 11th (night of the pie competition) WHERE: Kitchen
SPIKE:The kitchen was surprisingly empty and Spike was taking full advantage. Sitting on the counter, one leg propped up and the other dangling loosely, he sipped from a straw tucked into a coffee mug. It seemed fitting, this bit of personal nostalgia, though why he would long for a time when he was chained to a bathtub, being fed pig’s blood out of a novelty mug, was anyone’s guess. Leaning against the cupboards behind him, he tried not to think. It was considerably harder than it should of been.
Don’t think. Don’t think about her, or him, or what she’s doing with him. Is she doing anything with him? No, don’t do that. Just stick to the plan. And stop talking to her. Stop trying to convince her things are different. It’s just another form of torture. Just. Stop. Bloody. Thinking.
Spike took another long sip from the straw, frowning petulantly into the mug as one booted foot tapped anxiously against the cupboards beneath his perch.
“Just sit here and drink your nuked swine blood, even if it does taste like sodding gym socks dipped in bacon grease,” he muttered to himself, his eyes locked on the unappetizing liquid dinner in his cup.
BUFFY: Being cooped up in the house, not being able to patrol, was slowly destroying her. Okay, so that might have been a bit overdramatic, but the more she thought about it, the more she wanted out of this contract. There were things in Sunnydale that needed killing, and a Slayer never really got time off. She could only hope that the people who had brought them from all over time and space gave her something to do. Plopped a few demons into the scenery, give her something to kill while she was there.
What she needed was to be outside. Even if she couldn’t climb the wall and get out, she could be outside. Feel a little bit closer to her nature. Funny that it was beginning to feel like hunting. She made the trek through the abnormally large house, and by way of the kitchen, she could exit straight outside.
Unless, of course, she found Spike sitting on the counter, drinking from a mug with a straw. The image of big bad William the Bloody drinking from a stupid mug made Buffy wish she had a camera. And that he’d show up on film. “How would you know what gym socks dipped in bacon grease even tastes like? On second thought, do I really want to know that answer? Not really.”
SPIKE: William the Bloody was feeling more like William the Annoyed. Or maybe William the Big Cranky Baby. His eyes dropped closed at the sound of her voice, his attempt at concentrating on something other than her burned away in an instant. Continuing to drink from the straw, he opened his eyes to give her his best seething glare. It was half-hearted, to say the least, and probably looked more like the wounded stare of a dog that had just been absentmindedly kicked.
“It’s a logical leap of faith, Slayer,” Spike finally gritted out before setting the mug down beside him.
If he was going to get through this conversation in one piece, it was best to focus, and to not be drinking blood from a straw. He pushed the cup away from his thigh until it was nearly out of reach. Frowning, he dropped his propped up leg and leaned forward, narrowing his eyes at her.
“Do we really have to do this? Now? I don’t think I’m drunk enough to deal with you treating me like hell tonight. I mean, it’s a real treat on a normal basis,” Spike smirked, titling his head to the side. “But right now, I think I’d rather go stick my head in a toilet and flush. Of course, if you’d be willing to let me knock back a few shots of tequila first, then I’m sure I’d be happy to be your verbal punching bag for a few minutes.”
BUFFY: Spike hadn’t exactly been on her list of people she wanted to run into on the way outside. Dean Winchester, sure. Angel? Maybe a little. Willow and Xander? Definitely. Spike? Not so much. His having a soul had changed things, whether Buffy wanted to deal with it or not. Taunting and slamming him into the ground wasn’t nearly as fun, even when she’d been saying not-so-nice things with Angel about his lack of bite.
Buffy handled change remarkably well, for the most part. She’d been immersed in the weirdness for so long that new data and weirdness was bound to follow. It seemed like every week, we was learning about a new kind of demon or a new kind of spell; she wouldn’t have made it half as far as she had if she couldn’t adapt. And adaption was her specialty.
“Nope, really don’t have to do this now. Or ever... actually,” she replied, shrugging it - and him - off with the casual movement of her shoulders. “Enjoy your dirty gym sock, Spike.”
As she moved by him, however, she reached into the overflowing fruit basket and plucked an apple from it. Even if she hadn’t been hungry before, she intended to hit the work-out room before returning to the Blue Team’s dorms. She’d need her strength, and thankfully, the pie she’d eaten had been strawberries, not apple. On her way through the kitchen, she thought one more jab couldn’t hurt. “Nice straw, by the way. Good to know you still suck, even with a soul.”
SPIKE: The smirk on his face faltered, morphing into a darkly amused grimace. He laughed, helplessly entertained by how easy it was for them to fall into this verbal sparring match, even if she wasn’t the Buffy he knew, even if she hated everything she thought he was. Clearing his throat, Spike slipped off the counter top and stalked behind her as she moved through the kitchen.
“I think I’ll be the bigger person and refuse to rise to that bait, as tempting as it is,” he murmured, from what was probably entirely too close behind her.
He knew he was on shaky ground. What he wanted to say to her and what he should say to her were entirely different things. Buffy would probably stake him without hesitation if she knew the thoughts running through his head where she was concerned. If he were half as smart as he liked to think he was, he would avoid her for however long they were stuck in this house together. Unfortunately for him, and probably just as unfortunately for her, Spike was drawn to her despite the insurmountable obstacles in front of him. So, being his usual reckless self, he barrelled on with little thought to the consequences.
“But, just to be clear, you...you believe I have a soul now? You’re not just saying that to get your little dig in, right? I mean, I’d like to know I don’t have to worry about you driving a bloody stake through my heart while I’m sleeping. Or going ahead with your campfire plans with vomit-boy.”
BUFFY: Spike’s invasion of her personal bubble caused her to jump, just a little and away from him. Not having the time to truly process what it meant - to Spike or to herself - meant that while she did believe Angel (and consequently Spike), she didn’t know what it meant. And though moments before, she made her jab, she let her true feelings on the matter surface in her expression. “I don’t know why or how you have a soul now - if you were cursed into it. What kind of man you were before you became a vampire... But. Yeah, I believe you, that you have one.”
Buffy folded her arms across her chest, right hand toying with her necklace idly before she tucked her hair behind her ear. “You don’t have to worry about me staking you, and even if you did, you should know that I’d never do it in while you sleep. You’d be standing, and we’d be fighting.” She, at least, had that much respect for him as a foe. He had, after all, helped her with Angel trying to suck the world into hell, no matter what he’d done after.
That said, she was more than ready for this odd conversation to be over. In fact, she was more than willing to try the booze he’d suggested days earlier. It seemed appropriate, given the circumstances.
SPIKE: Her uneasy movement away from him did not go unnoticed. It caused a sharp pang of regret to surface, and it wasn’t the first time since coming here that he wished he could turn back time to change every encounter they’d ever had. Hell, it wasn’t even the hundredth time. If there was anything Spike was full of, outside of sarcasm and loathing for Angel, it was regret. And maybe a little hope, which was a far more destructive emotion than all of the others combined.
“Right then. I shouldn’t have suggested that you’d kill me while I was unconscious. It’s not your style,” he admitted, stepping past her to rummage through the liquor selection he’d somehow managed not to deplete, despite all his efforts in the last couple of weeks. Picking out an unopened bottle of José Cuervo, Spike turned back to her as he broke the seal.
“I meant it, when I said I wasn’t cursed. But why I worked to get a soul, that’s...,” he paused, setting the bottle down and grabbing two shot glasses from the cupboard. Flattening his palms against the surface of the counter, he stared down into the those empty glasses with his mind clearly elsewhere. “Well, that’s a story you don’t want to hear, pet. No matter how much you think you want the whole truth.”
And it wouldn’t exactly cast me in the best light, yeah? he thought ruefully, finally picking up the bottle of tequila and filling the shot glasses.
“Now try something for me, will you? Stop looking at me like that for a second and just take a shot. Don’t argue. Just pretend I’m not here and take a shot.”
BUFFY: Buffy simply stared at him for a long time, trying to figure out why in the world such a demon like Spike would seek out a soul. No demon wanted a soul. Angelus killed Jenny Calendar because he thought she might be trying to re-curse him. Buffy could not understand what would make a demon work to get one.
"If I drink this, I want to know everything." Buffy knew that Angel was hiding a lot from her, in the name of protecting her, but it was going to make her crazy if it went on for too long. "Everything. About the chip, about the soul, about my death. About my resurrection."
SPIKE: “All that, for one bloody shot?” he replied, lifting one dark eyebrow lazily. “Do I look like a cheap date to you, Slayer?” Tossing back the shot he’d poured for himself, Spike reconsidered his words and shook his head as the tequila burned a path down his throat. “Actually, don’t answer that. Stupid questions only get stupid answers.”
Since it didn’t look like she had any immediate plans to flee and he wouldn’t be forced to follow her like some kind of clueless stray, Spike hopped back up onto the counter closest to her, regaining a seat effortlessly. He could tell her mind was working overtime, as always. But, the idea of telling her everything seemed not only dangerous, but cruel. For both of them. Honesty was a double-edged sword, not to mention an evil bitch that could easily bite off the hand that used it without restraint. He refilled his shot glass, trying to decide on the best course of action.
“I’m willing to cut a less lopsided deal but, I thought you talked to Angel about all of this. What, did your little chat with Mr. No-Fun-At-All just leave you...” he paused for a half a beat before finishing the sentence with a devilish smirk. “...unsatisfied?”
BUFFY: “You? A cheap date? I wonder where I got that idea from.” Buffy’s eyebrows shot upwards at the first comment, looking more amused than anything.
Until his final comment, of course. Got to hand it to Spike; he knew how to get under her skin. So much so that his next comment was it. Buffy needed to hit something, and since it was his comment, Spike was the recipient. Her arm reared back for just a split second, and launched full-force toward his face. God, it seemed obscene that one single punch could feel so good. “Leave him outta this, you got it?”
SPIKE: As much as he should have seen the hit coming, Spike had been too busy watching her face to pay attention to much else. His head jerked back as her fist made contact and his hands immediately covered his face defensively.
“Bloody hell, woman...that hurt!” he howled, rolling to his side so he could slide off the counter and stand well outside of arms reach. “Was just poking fun. There’s no need to get violent.”
Reaching over the counter with an exasperated frown, Spike grabbed the bottled of tequila and took a long drink. It gave him a minute to get his head on straight. It hadn’t been that long ago that a fight had turned into something quite different. Annoyed with himself for the mental images of a house falling down around them, he shook his head vigorously and crossed his arms over his chest, the bottle still dangling from one hand.
“Right then. Here’s my offer. I’ll give you two pieces of information about your future for every shot you take. Two for one bargain, yeah? Take it, leave it, doesn’t right matter to me. But if you punch me again, the deal’s off.”
BUFFY: "But getting violent's my specialty," Buffy answered in that sarcastic, no-it-all tone of hers.
She didn't trust Spike, soul or no soul, to tell the truth. He'd helped her out in a pinch when it came to Angel trying to suck the world into a hell dimension, but that had been with conditions - namely, that she'd never see him again after he helped her. He'd come back to Sunnydale a few months later to wreak havoc on them, all because Drusilla left him. Buffy couldn't find it in herself to care.
"I'm not drinking with you Spike." No matter how tempted she was. She wanted those answers, and Angel was being tight-fanged about giving them to her. A pause. "At least not now. Maybe some other time."
Like when she'd adjusted to the fact that he had a real honest-to-god soul. For now, she settled for storming out in a huff.
SPIKE: Spike watched her leave, his eyes narrowing as he fought the urge to ask her to stay. The instinct to offer up any and all information she wanted, if she’d just stop looking so damn suspicious of him, was near overpowering. Instead, he stayed mute, lips pressed together in a thin line of irritation. Maybe she wasn’t ready to hear anything he had to say. Maybe he wasn’t really ready to say any of it, anyway. Her future, after all, was his past and it was exactly what he’d come here to hide from. Dropping his eyes to the shot glasses on the counter, Spike grimaced. He tossed them both back before tucking the tequila bottle under his arm and heading for the roof. It was going to be a long night.