By: Rabid/Raeann
Rating: G
Spoilers: To Angel Season 5 premiere.
Couple: S/B/A
Beta Babes: Mary and Caia
Summary: This is a ficlet set at the end of Buffy's first visit to Wolfram and Hart. She and Angel have just finished up an adventure and are relaxing together. Spike has been out of town and Buffy has no idea about him. Any spoilers in this fic are purely coincidental. I haven't the slightest idea even IF Buffy will be visiting or if Spike will be alive at the time. I simply wanted to write that first meeting of Spike and Buffy. And so…I have…
Special Thanks: To Caia and Ally V who helped me shape the future of Buffy in my head. The core of the idea was pulled from Caia’s vision of Buffy on a talk show. I just ran away with it, drawing all kinds of erroneous conclusions. Hopefully, I will return to this vision for something longer…later. If not…maybe Caia will gift us with her version of ‘talk show’ Buffy.
Disclaimer: Well, Joss still hasn't consulted me about what to do on his series. I view this as his loss but he, in all fairness, probably has a different opinion of my talents.
"Is that you and—is this Tiger Woods?"
Buffy was leaning across Angel's desk to peer at the framed photo next to his phone. She had raised her voice slightly to call out the question. Angel stepped away from the mini-bar so he could see where she was looking. Buffy’s position relative to his offered him a straight shot down her cleavage.
"Uhm, yeah!" He confirmed absently, doing his best not to stare.
Buffy pulled an impressed face and stood. She moved on to a careful inspection of his other pictures. To the Slayer’s further amazement, there was one, on a side table, of her in a prom dress. Not the dress she'd worn to the actual event but one from a magazine cover. She shot a glance at Angel. He had returned to the business of choosing and pouring wine.
"I don't think he's a client, though," he was saying. "You could ask Wes. Or maybe…Lorne. Lorne would know."
There was no response from Buffy. When he looked, she seemed to have lost
interest. She was staring out the window
at downtown
"I met Britney Spears, once," she said. "On the shoot for Rolling Stone."
"Summers Rocks," Angel said. "I have a few copies of that issue." Buffy’s surprise was evident but she grinned. Returning her playful look, Angel held out a flute of icy Cabernet. The Slayer accepted with a small flutter of her lashes. "To old times," he toasted.
Buffy repeated the toast, clinking her glass gently against his. They both drank and then Angel encouraged. "So, tell me about Brittney. Did you kiss?"
Eyes bright, Buffy giggled. "Madonna is a client I bet!"
"No," Angel denied, quickly. Holding her gaze over the rim of his glass, he sampled his drink again before admitting, "But Justin Timberlake is. In fact, the entire ‘boy band’ concept came out of this office. There's a guy on the third floor," Angel gestured with his glass. "Rodney. It was his idea."
“So it is a den of evilness.”
“Pretty much.”
After a little more wine and encouragement, Buffy told her Rolling Stones story. Her voice bubbled with enthusiasm as she talked about her newfound fame. Angel basked in the warmth of her innocent wonder. It was all new to her, being world renowned.
"I helped set up the benefit concert for the new Watcher’s Council. Sting was there and David Gray. Also Macy Gray. All the Grays, really. Maybe John Gray. It was so sic."
“Sic?”
“Rad. You know, the bee's knees? Cool? Hep?”
“Happening," Angel confirmed his understanding.
"Right,” Buffy drawled. She took another sweeping visual tour of the new Angel Investigations office, giving a small gesture of concession. "But I guess you do the celebrity gig all the time."
"Occasionally,” Angel admitted. “Lorne handles most of our famous clients. I do field work.” He briefly considered his in-box. “And paperwork. And anyway, we're not in the same league with THE Slayer." He air quoted her title, stressing the definitive. Buffy grinned at him and he held her gaze as he took another sip of his vodka martini. He could hear her pulse quicken. After he swallowed, he looked away, adding, "No talk show."
"The show is…well…you know," Buffy shifted uneasily. She knew Angel was teasing her but secretly proud. Almost she could hear Spike's mocking tone, 'Oh! Are we star material then?' Spike wouldn't be impressed. "Someone had to do it. P.R. for Slayerdom. All the new talent. Plus demons popping up around the globe and getting iced, diced, kabobbed and otherwise Slain. People have questions."
"And who better to answer them than you?"
"Giles?" Buffy supposed, raising a brow. "Or…or…Faith?" Angel snorted softly. "Okay, NOT Faith. I guess I'm kind of the natural question answering girl. And it is kind of fun being famous. Well, as famous as you can get on the radio. But sometimes I miss being…just…me! You know?"
"I do," Angel said.
He stepped closer, holding her gaze. The moment stretched into awkward silence. Buffy cleared her throat and Angel broke eye contact to take his own slow look at the Office from Hell. He tried to imagine her as a fixture, the little woman, popping in to add a bit of homespun color to the work place. It was difficult to envision.
While he fought to give the fantasy detail, Buffy took a gulp from her glass. She waited for a moment more and then moved away to examine the wall of weapons behind Angel's desk. It was an impressive collection. The Slayer’s murmur of approval drew Angel’s attention back to the present and sent a tingle up his spine. He watched her under heavy lids as she trailed knowing fingers along the deadly implements. Angel had a weapon for every occasion: pike, sword, ax, woofle, saber, throwing stars.... Buffy paused in front of one of the more common place items. It seemed incongruous.
"What's this?"
"It's a hammer."
"Oh," Buffy said. “Well, yeah, I got that.” She frowned over the information for a minute. "For the beating down of the big ol' Rusty Nail of Doom?"
"Sithgox demon," Angel explained. "You use the claw end to…"
"…pry up the flange," Buffy finished. She mimed out the action of a Sithgox kill. Angel completed the enactment with a twisting motion of one hand. They both laughed lightly. Pleased with her deductive ability, Buffy turned her attention to a study of the next object in the collection. It was a studded club and looked to be well balanced. "A butter knife works, too," she muttered.
Angel shifted uneasily. He cocked his head to see the clock. This wasn't the romantic evening he'd envisioned. He tried to keep his tone light as he asked. "So? Will you be going back to Chicago? Now, that we've saved the world…again."
And there it was; the million dollar question.
Buffy took a deep breath and turned to face him. He looked very kissable. She thought about kissing him, just letting go. It would be like old times. Whatever she would have said next or done was swept away by a loud whoop from the first floor. A garble of indistinct voices floated up the stairs, penetrating even the sound dampening field around the C.E.O.'s office.
"What in—?" Buffy exclaimed, heading briskly for the door.
As she pulled the panel open, Angel's superior hearing caught the distinct note of Spike's accent in the tangle of sound. "Put the bugger to the pavement and…"
Against all odds the team he had sent out when he got Buffy’s call had returned from their mission two days early. Buffy was stepping into the hall. He had to do something, fast. Tossing his martini aside, Angel scrambled to head off the Slayer. He was too slow, a few strides behind when she arrived at the break in the railing where the stairs began a sharp descent. Buffy froze, back rigid, staring down at the returning heroes: Fred, Harmony, Wes and…
"…Spike."
She said the name on a soft breath. But of course he heard. The whisper echoed, splashing off the walls. It burned him. He started and glanced up, meeting her eye. Buffy's wine glass slipped from her nerveless fingers. It seemed to Spike to be falling in slow motion. The shattering of glass drew the attention of everyone in the area. All eyes focused on the vampire and Slayer trio. Buffy looked down, swaying. Angel was running. Spike simply stared. Buffy couldn’t move. Angel reached her. He caught at her arm.
"Buffy, I can expla—"
He didn't get to finish his sentence. The Slayer jerked away, whirling around. She looked stunned. Angel had a scant heartbeat to comprehend the joy and grief and betrayal in her face and then she was gone, falling. The sudden sharp movement staggered Buffy into the slopping rail at the first step. Her heel slipped over the edge of the floor and failed to find the stair.
Spike reacted without any conscious thought. He shouldered Fred aside as he leaped to the rescue. Fred stumbled into Wes and they sat down hard, a gangly tangle of legs. Spike didn't notice. He crossed the lobby in a few supernatural bounds and caught the falling Slayer in his arms. He braced against her slight weight, cradling her like a child, one hand under her knees, the other circling her shoulders. She curled into his body. Spike sighed out his relief.
"I've got you, Luv."
Buffy felt like she was dreaming, floating. Spike rocked her gently for a moment, holding her close, until she recovered enough to push at his shoulder. Easing back but not releasing her, he looked down into wide dark hazel eyes.
Time slowed down. Space collapsed, becoming a tiny bubble around the two of them. Buffy stared up at her lost lover with a dazed expression. Her mind was empty of questions. She was content to be still and close to him. Her hand moved of its own accord, tracing along his cheek and up into his hair. "Oh," she breathed and then her arms were around his neck. She snuggled close, inhaling the spicy sent of him and pressing her forehead into his. Spike’s lips brushed over hers and she smiled. Convulsively, he tightened his hold on her.
Never…never let you go…my Buffy.
All around them people were running and shouting but nothing seemed to catch their attention. Nothing worldly reached into their sliver of heaven.
"You're alive!"
He was, living. She could feel the warmth of him. It slipped under her skin. His heart beat against her ribs as he held her. Hot breath made a few stray hairs dance along her cheek. She wanted to sample him further, take him to the floor and savor this miracle.
"You're alive," she repeated. The words sang in her veins.
Angel paused on the stairs, a few steps from the bottom, transfixed by the sight of them. Lovers. Buffy and Spike were lovers. In love…maybe. It hit him in a way the mere knowing never had. 'Was this how Spike felt, seeing us?' he wondered. 'Did he have this searing pain?'
"I can…explain," he said again, weakly.
The concept took several blissful seconds to reach the Slayer in her happy dream. But as it registered, her brow furrowed and she started to struggle against Spike's hold. He released her quickly, stepping self-consciously back as her feet touched the floor. People were staring. And Spike was instantly aware of the fact that he had no right to manhandle Buffy Summers.
"Sorry," he muttered.
"Sorry?" Buffy exclaimed. She looked from him to the sheepish huddle of Angel and his employees. "And you can 'explain.' What? Spike is here and alive and how long have you known about this?"
"Not long," Fred piped. "A few months."
"MONTHS?!?"
Everyone shrank away from the Slayer's flashing eyes, except Angel and Spike.
"No," Angel corrected, shooting Fred a pained grimace. She seemed disposed to turn belligerent so he hurried on. "Alive I mean. No! He's only been alive for a week or two…or four."
"Four weeks!"
"Before that he was kind of…"
"Ghostly," Wes supplied.
"Ghostly!" Angel confirmed, nodding.
"Four weeks and you didn't think to call me?" Buffy snapped. She was seething.
"You were kind of busy with the fame and all and I…"
"Oh, I see. This is my fault."
"No, not your fault. Just well…I didn't want to tell you on the phone. And then we weren't sure what was going on. If he was evil or…permanent."
"What about when I arrived in town? You didn't think maybe a 'Oh, by the way, guess who's alive' might have been in order?"
"I asked them not to tell you," Spike said.
Buffy turned on him. She blinked in pained surprise. Tears filled her eyes and just for a second Spike thought she would come to him. He half-lifted one open palm. And then she scowled, horribly.
"You asked? Why would--?" Buffy broke off, puffed out a breath and cast her gaze to the vaulted ceiling. Her hands balled into fists at her side. Dropping her eyes to Spike’s, she looked as if she might strike him as she hissed, "Oh, I see." She gave a brisk nod and started pacing. "Right! Of course! I forgot. Silly Buffy, trying to think for myself. Why would it matter to me if you were alive? I don't have any feelings for you."
"What? Now Buffy," Spike started forward but the Slayer twisted her body to avoid him.
"I don't love you, right?"
Spike opened his mouth to answer, stopped mid-inhale and looked to Angel for help.
"We didn't want to upset you," Angel said.
"UPSET ME!" Buffy yelped. She tossed both hands up in a plea to the gods. "I am not a child." She took a deep breath and emphatically repeated. "I am not a child. Do you get that Angel? I’m NOT your little girl. You don't get to decide what I can handle. I am 23 years old, a woman. I don’t need a father figure. I need you to tell me the truth. I need to be able to trust you. And you're still treating me like I'm 16. You never really look at me, do you? You never see me."
"I look…I see…"
"She's got a point," Spike said. "You don't really understand her."
"Will you stay out of this?" Angel snarled.
"I'm just saying…"
"What?" Buffy interrupted, turning on her other lover. "Like YOU understand me? You never even bother listening to me."
Spike straightened to his full height, offended. "I listened!"
“All you ever did was talk," Buffy said bitterly. "Talk. Talk. Talk. Always telling me what I was supposed to feel." She took on a faux English accent. "Vampires get me hot. I like men who hurt me. I can't resist you. I love you. Oops! No, I don't!"
"I didn't mean it like that. Maybe you do have feelings for me but…"
"But what does it matter?" Buffy guessed, cutting him off again.
"But," Spike stressed the conjunction. "You needed to be free. Of my obsession. Of that life."
“You think it set me free? Watching you die?”
“Buffy…I…” He took a step toward her but she back pedaled, afraid of the pain.
"You know what? You're right. I needed to be free." She walked to the middle of the floor and looked back at them. "And I am. This is all ancient history." She drew her hand through her long hair and sighed, finally coming to the point. “Xander has asked me to marry him."
"Xander?"
"Bloody hell! If that knuckle-draggin’ git—"
“He’s not a…a git,” Buffy corrected. “He’s my friend. And he stayed with me through everything. You don’t know what it was like these last months. Xander is a good and decent man.”
“So’s Bob Eubanks,” Spike snarled.
"Look,” Buffy said, glaring in exasperation. “You have nothing to say about this. You didn’t want me to know you were alive. Let’s pretend I don’t. I came here to see Angel. To see if there was any reason not to say yes."
She watched her words register on the two men she loved most. Neither of them spoke. Their silence hardened her heart. She could feel it flutter to a standstill in her chest as she waited. Her gaze was locked on Angel but her heart was fixed elsewhere. Spike, come on. Talk to me. Say you can forgive…or believe…call me a silly bint…say something. Nothing. And more nothing. Tears pricked at the corner of Buffy’s eyes but she didn’t let them fall. Without another word, Buffy Summers, the definitive Slayer, turned on her heel and walked out the revolving door of Angel Investigations.
Spike glanced at Angel. From his perch on the second step, Angel stared down at Spike.
“That could have gone better."
"Ya' think?"
“She’ll be back.”
“Right,” Spike said, trying to sound cocksure of it. He snorted. “Bloody Xander! Do you believe it? Like he has a prayer of keeping her happy.”
“If he did?” Angel asked. “If he could give her whatever it is she wants. Fat kids? A home? Someone to trust? If he made her forget all about us, would you let go?”
“Not a bit,” Spike said, for once completely honest with himself and his sire. “You?”
Angel smiled slightly. They were off the mark together, racing each other to the door and on out into the night.
The End