Fic: Firmer Ground (follows S9 #1 "Freefall")
“Spike…”
He glances at her, and she can’t help feeling disappointed that there’s only a flicker of interest in his gaze; he doesn’t hang on her every word anymore.
She takes a deep breath. “Last night at my party did we…did you and I…”
The question’s been worrying her all day, chipping away at the veneer that she’s all right, that it’s totally normal and fine that her memory of last night is one big, gaping hole, but now she can’t finish. The impulse is there, and Willow’s finally gone, disgruntled enough by Buffy’s evasion to give up her Seed talk for the night, and they’re almost back at Spike’s place, so her window of opportunity is fast disappearing-
But her cheeks almost hurt from how fiery they’ve become, and the words threaten to choke her.
She’s scared of the answer.
He’s just staring at her, head cocked in that annoying, not-sexy way of his, like he has no idea what she’s talking about.
He has to know what she’s talking about.
She inhales sharply. “Did we have sex last night?”
He halts abruptly. She does too, a split second later. Standing still, with eye contact and minimal distraction, is going to make this even more awkward, but it’s probably for the best.
“Did we what?” he demands, even though she knows perfectly well that he heard her the first time.
Relief sparks in her. He sounds so surprised- so appalled, even- and hey, maybe that should offend her- that she thinks she knows the answer already.
She also feels the smallest flare of disappointment.
“My memory of last night is kind of hazy,” begins Buffy. It’s already easier to provide context, with him looking so shocked. She can’t keep from wincing, though. “More than hazy. Kind of black hole-y. But I think I might have- maybe- you know- with someone…”
Why is it so hard to say “had sex with someone” to him?
His face is impassive. “And you think you did the nasty with me.”
Not nasty, is first on the tip of her tongue. Not with you.
“You’re on the list of suspects,” she says instead.
His face hardens, and he glances away.
“But- but so are a lot of people,” she says quickly.
Wait, that doesn’t sound better.
“I even thought for a minute I did it with Willow!”
She smiles weakly, hoping to get something in return. She’ll even settle for a sexist leer.
He’s still glowering. “We didn’t.”
“Oh.” Her voice sounds high-pitched even to her own ears. “Good.”
Well, that’s that. She can cross Spike off. That leaves Riley and her boss and the mysterious Heinrich from next door and…
And Xander.
That twinge of disappointment returns, stronger.
Maybe this is all just paranoia and she didn’t sleep with anyone.
She glances at him out of the corner of her eye, hoping they can just leave things as they are, and takes a step forward.
“You think I would take advantage of you while you were drunk?”
She steps backward. He’s finally facing her again and looks ready to spit nails.
“Um,” she says eloquently. “No.”
“Clearly you do, otherwise you wouldn’t have asked me.”
“Spike, I just- I just needed to know. I’m trying to figure things out…”
“You think after what I- you think I- after everything we’ve-” He makes an angry sound halfway between a growl and a snort, and his shoulders slump. He’s still facing her, but his eyes are unfocused now. “I wouldn’t.”
The silence should be awkward, but a car horn blares on a nearby street, and teenage laugher erupts elsewhere. The city is alive all around them, even at one in the morning, and it won’t let them step out of time, not for this. A breeze curls past Buffy, briefly caressing one cheek, and for a second she can imagine that different cold fingers are touching her.
“Wouldn’t want a one-night stand anyway,” he mumbles.
Her chest warms. She steps closer to him, and he starts, eyes focusing. “I didn’t think it was you,” she murmurs. “I know that you- I know that you know better. I just thought I might have-”
Images of Spike making out with a random girl on her couch skip across her spotted memory, and her hands automatically clench. I thought I might have jumped you out of jealousy.
”I just…I just needed to ask. I’m sorry.”
He looks down. She waits for more acrimony, but instead he says gruffly, “S’all right. I understand.” He flashes her a quick smile that is too pained to reassure as it’s meant to, and his kindness is suddenly more than Buffy can bear.
She automatically turns her head, in case tears come; her hangover kept them at bay all day, but her headache’s finally gone and as if her conflicting desires weren’t enough to already make her feel guilty, Spike’s being so mature.
“Buffy? What’s wrong?”
Worry has wiped out all his hurt, and she feels him step closer. His hand hovers over her arm but doesn’t touch.
“Why are you upset?”
“Because you didn’t sleep with me,” she chokes. “And I’m really glad you didn’t, but it also means I might have slept with someone else, and if I’m going to be hooking up drunk, I’d really rather it be with someone I trust!”
He stares at her, his eyes huge with wonder.
She ducks her head. This is too much.
“Buffy…”
His voice is so gentle, though, that she has to face him.
He’s staring at her like she’s the most amazing thing he’s seen, like he used to in Sunnydale. “You would…want to hook up with me?”
“I’m ridiculous, aren’t I,” Buffy mumbles. “I’d be furious if you did sleep with me, and I’m disappointed you didn’t. I’m so contradictory it’s not even funny. No wonder you all leave me.”
She didn’t mean to say that last part.
“Hey.”
She doesn’t react. A cool hand grasps hers, and she’s startled into looking up.
“Your contradictions make perfect sense,” he says, slowly and deliberately. “Nothing to feel bad about.” He squeezes her hand. “And I’m not gonna leave you. I’m Stalky, remember?”
It’s so Spike of him to turn a cutting jibe into a tender moment and self-deprecate to make her feel better that her eyes prick again.
“Thanks,” she whispers.
He squeezes again. “Course, Slayer.”
He lets go of her hand.
She wishes he hadn’t.
“So to put your mind at ease and exact retribution if necessary, in between patrolling and paying your student loans-”
Despite her sniffles, she manages to aim a glare at him.
“We figure out just who was in that black hole.”
She stares at him and then raises an eyebrow.
He hesitates. “I meant your memory. That didn’t come out right.”
She can’t restrain a small giggle, despite the subject matter.
“You’re…going to help?” she asks, aware that her tone sounds strange and unable herself to decipher exactly why.
She’s grateful he’s being supportive but…shouldn’t he also be jealous?
On a scale of one to ten, how terrible is it of her that she wants him to be green with envy and itching to rip her mystery guy’s head off?
“I can be a sounding board,” he says, his voice carefully neutral. “It can be like that whodunit game. We ask questions until we have an accusation. It was blank in the bedroom with the…”
She raises her eyebrow again.
He sighs. “Ignore my stupid mouth. Look, if you need to talk about it, you can. It’s not like there are gonna be details of the actual experience, right? So…so…”
“So?” she prompts, hopeful.
He shrugs. “Nothing.”
Buffy eyes him for another moment, wondering whether he means it. The idea of letting loose and actually sharing her feelings with someone who won’t judge- or at least, will keep the judginess to himself- is dizzying.
Is it fair to him to talk about this sort of thing, though? She remembers his reaction when she tried to explain what happened with-
No, she’s not thinking about him.
It’s probably not fair- not considerate. But Spike’s offering, and she has no one else to talk to. Willow lost track of her last night and is only interested in talking about the Seed anyway. She doesn’t know Anaheed or Tumble well enough yet to spill her guts to them.
And she can’t talk to Xander or-
Her stomach flips. Not even Dawn. God, please don’t let her have done anything with Xander that would hurt her baby sister.
Confessions spill from her before she can stop them.
“I’m afraid I hurt someone last night. I’m afraid I slept with someone I shouldn’t have.”
She chews her lip to keep from blurting out more as she collects her thoughts. She can’t tell anyone, not even Spike, her fears about Xander.
“Like Riley. He’s married, and if I did, that makes me-” Her voice dwindles. “Not a good person.”
She wants Spike to refute her, to say of course she’s a good person; that if she did sleep with Riley it was just a silly mistake and Sam never has to know. He’s just watching her solemnly, though, his expression neutral. She remembers his despair over Drusilla’s disloyalty so many years ago and thinks with an inward sigh that Spike of all people is not going to dismiss adultery.
“Do you want me to stop?” she says dully, wondering if she’s disgusted him already.
He can’t fully suppress his look of distaste, but he says, “Not if you don’t want to.”
Relief wells in her, more than she anticipated. “Or something may have happened with my boss. He said I didn’t have to come in, ‘you know, after…’” She makes air quotes. “I don’t know if he means after…you know. Or if he just means after me being a wild party animal. In retrospect, inviting my boss to the party was probably not a great idea,” she mutters.
Spike shrugs. “Live and learn. At least he’s the kind of boss to give you the day off.”
“I guess. And today I got roses from our neighbor, who’s a total recluse normally. I was in his apartment for twenty minutes, apparently.”
“Huh.” Spike doesn’t try to hide his surprise. “Well. Maybe you pulled a call girl act.”
She blinks, heat building in her throat. That’s his idea of helping?
“But look at it this way: he sent you flowers, so he clearly respected you in the morning and is interested in getting to know you when you’re sober, too.”
Oh.
Spike is…he’s actually trying to make her glass half full.
The thought should make her happy, but instead another wave of shame passes through her. She doesn’t deserve that from him, not about this.
She ducks her head as she says thickly, “So I might have done something with them or maybe with another random, stupid guest whom I’ll never see again, and I feel like a huge slut and I feel-”
Used.
She can’t say it.
But she knows he’ll understand. That’s why he was so upset that she asked him in the first place.
“Buffy. Love, look at me.”
She does, because he called her ‘love.’
His eyes are unbelievably tender but his voice is like steel as he says, “You are not a slut. You had too much to drink last night, but that doesn’t make you either a slut or a bad person. If someone sober took advantage of you while you were in that state, it’s their mistake, not yours. Not even a mistake. It’s assault.” His voice shakes on the last word, and he pauses to collect himself before adding throatily, “And if that’s the case, I’ll rip their fucking head off if you want me to.”
When all she can do is stare at him, stunned by his intensity, he looks away, his jaw clenching as though he’s inwardly berating himself.
It’s her turn to grasp his hand. She doesn’t know what to say, but she needs to be touching him, and she thinks, instinctively, it will say as much as words could anyway. She rubs her thumb over the back of his hand and releases a long exhale. Her problems are no closer to being solved, but the tension she’s been carrying around all day is lighter.
“What made you think you even had sex in the first place?” he asks unexpectedly.
The answer should be as uncomfortable as anything else, but instead it comes easily. “I woke up naked in bed. There was a belt nearby. Although there was a lot of other junk in my room that didn’t belong to me,” she adds thoughtfully. “There are a lot of gaps in the night. Willow said I disappeared for parts of it. I remember hitting on a few people. And I feel…” Now it’s a bit awkward. “You know,” she says, flushing. “You can tell when…”
“Mmm.”
“Not that I feel satisfied,” she adds grumpily. “That's the other-”
She stops herself, her blush suddenly much hotter.
She shouldn’t tell him that.
It would be far too flirty and flirting would be…inappropriate in this context.
Right?
“It’s still possible that nothing happened,” he says. “Maybe not likely. But it’s possible.”
His expression is so encouraging that she can’t keep from murmuring, “Yeah.”
They’re both silent, and Buffy realizes how close he is. Not only that, but all his attention is focused on her. During most of their interactions these days his eyes seem to see through her or past her, as though he’s determined to let her know that she’s not his priority anymore. But right now his gaze is fixed on her, his brow is creased in worry for her, and she has the romanticized, impossible, completely stupid feeling that they could be the only two people in the world.
“Is- is there anything else you want to…” His voice catches.
“No,” she breathes.
“’Kay.”
He stares at her a moment longer and then abruptly gives himself a little shake. He releases her hand. She curls her fingers as they tingle.
“Should we-”
He gestures at the road.
Buffy gives herself her own mental shake. “Yeah.”
They begin walking again. Her pace feels brisker, even though she doesn’t think it actually is. It’s easier to breathe, too; her chest feels much less constricted than it did half an hour ago.
Spike’s sending her sidelong glances every few steps, and his scrutiny makes warmth spread through her torso. She should probably say something to cheer up the evening now that he’s eased her worries.
“Did you have a good time at the party?”
It seems the natural thing to ask, even if the party is not a topic she wants to dwell on.
He shrugs. “Yeah. It was a change of pace. Liked your roommate. We’re gonna start a band.”
“He said you might.” She pauses a beat before adding slyly, “Maybe I could play the triangle.”
For a moment he frowns, confused, and then a huge, wolfish grin breaks across his face. “Thought you were hell on the old skins.”
“I could do both.”
He looks so inordinately pleased by the conversation that Buffy is busy congratulating herself when she remembers what else he did at the party.
She really shouldn’t inquire. It’s not her business, and she certainly has no leg to stand on.
But she just can’t help herself.
“You hooked up with someone last night, right?”
His gait hitches, but he doesn’t stop. Nor does he look at her. “What?”
“I saw you. You were…kissing someone.” She tries to keep her own voice neutral. “Did that, um, go anywhere?”
“Didn’t leave the couch.”
My couch, she thinks grumpily. Or Tumble’s. Whatever.
“She was a friend of a friend, and I didn’t catch her name when she arrived. What was it again?”
He does look at her now, and she can tell he’s amused and sees right through her. She wants to feel indignant, but she’s too desperate to hear his answer.
“Melissa, I think. Maybe Alyssa. Little hard to hear.”
Humph. “Are you planning to see her again?”
He cocks his head, a thoughtful expression sliding into place. She knows it’s on purpose, and it’s all she can do not to smack his shoulder.
“Hmm…wasn’t planning on it. Maybe if I run into her again at another of your shindigs…”
“I don’t think we’re going to have another for a while,” says Buffy quickly. “Still cleaning up from yesterday. It got pretty wild, and I think Anaheed and Tumble are homebodies at heart.”
She nods sagely.
“Oh, Melissa-Alyssa,” sighs Spike. How will I mend my broken heart?”
Buffy’s nails dig into her palm.
He halts, and for a second she thinks he’s going to turn serious and her heart skips a beat.
“Guess I’ll just have to find a late night soap,” he says, jerking his shoulder, and she realizes they’re in front of the apartment building he appeared from. “Maybe a Lifetime movie…”
She eyes the building speculatively, because she’s never seen the place Spike now calls home, nor have they talked enough since he returned for her to find out how he’s living there in the first place- until tonight most of their conversations have consisted of biting one-liners.
A very insistent part of her is urging her to angle her way inside. She’s pretty sure he would take her bait, even if he also saw right through it, and nothing has to happen if she goes upstairs with him. They can just...hang out. Watch Lifetime together.
Scarily, the idea is not unappealing, but the other part of her, the one that has alternated between despair and self-recrimination ever since waking up naked, says that’s a bad idea. She’s already had her fun for the week- possibly for the whole freaking year- and she and Spike have reached such a good place tonight that it’s best not to push their luck. Going upstairs with any wistful intentions, even ones she doesn’t plan to act upon, will lead to awkwardness.
She can invite herself over later in the week and plan ahead for it; she can “spontaneously” bring a pizza and a wine bottle and after dinner they can patrol together and…
Take it from there.
She doesn’t know how she got from dreading seeing him tonight to planning an unofficial date, but the picture in her head is irresistible.
“Slayer! Earth to Slayer!”
“What?” She glances at him, startled.
“I said, you seem out of it. Do you want me to walk you home?”
Her first instinct should be to scoff at the idea that she needs an escort, but instead she feels all melty inside.
“I-” I’m fine, she means to say.
“All right,” she says instead.
Damn. Now she’s going to invite him inside.
He looks surprised that she accepted but not displeased, and without speaking, as fluidly as though he always meant to in the first place, he turns in the direction of her apartment and resumes walking.
The silence is comfortable, but a little to her own surprise, Buffy finds she doesn’t want silence. She wants to know more about his life now- everything there is to know.
“So you have a TV?” she asks, which is inane but the first question that pops to mind.
“First thing I got,” he says cheerfully. “Gotta have my telly fix. Went too long without it.”
Well, whose fault is that? she wants to say. Maybe if you were on Earth where you belong…
She refrains. “How’s Passions?”
He sighs in a way that is far too blissful given the subject matter. “Wonderful. Awful. They’re all behaving completely out of character and sleeping with people they shouldn’t and ignoring what’s in front of them and generally ruining their lives. It’s a train wreck.”
“Sounds like,” says Buffy, bemused by his enraptured expression. “Hey, have you been watching Dancing with the Stars?”
Her apartment is only ten minutes from his, a shorter distance than she realized and she’s glad- although it’s still too far for a blanket-covered run during the day- and they’re still discussing Harmony’s latest number when they reach it.
“…Can’t believe you think she was better than that Bachelorette runner-up!”
“I’m just saying, her kicks were really…kicking. If she’d been that flexible when we were-”
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” warns Buffy, and he laughs, eyes sparkling, completely unrepentant.
Her attempt to look reproachful only lasts a few seconds and then an unfamiliar combination of nervousness and shyness overtakes her. She glances at the door, wondering if Tumble and Anaheed are asleep yet and hoping they are.
“Do you…want to come in?” she asks.
His eyebrows shoot up and he looks almost alarmed. Confusion fills her, accompanied by no little dismay.
“You actually want me to…investigate the scene of the crime?”
Buffy blinks at him. “What?”
“It was blank in the bedroom with the…”
“Oh!” she gasps, remembering. “Oh, god no. That’s not what I-”
Would he be able to smell whomever she had…?
Oh, oh, no, this was not happening now.
“I didn’t mean that!” Her cheeks feel like they’re on fire, but he doesn’t tease her; he’s too busy looking like he might pass out from relief. “But, um, yeah, maybe this isn’t the best time.”
His nod is curt, and when he looks at her again his face is wiped clean of expression.
Buffy swallows. This isn’t how the night is supposed to end, with awkward silences and buried emotions, not after having taken such an unexpected turn for the better.
“Spike…”
But she’s not sure what to say.
His shoulders hunch as though he’s cold. “Think I’m gonna head back.” He jams his hands into his pockets.
“Thank you,” she blurts out, and he’s surprised into meeting her gaze.
“For talking to me about this stuff.” Her throat feels like it’s closing up all of a sudden, but she perseveres. “Today wasn’t really…fun. I don’t think last night was either. In retrospect. But tonight was. I mean, it was better. It helped a lot. So thank you.”
For several long, tantalizing and horrible seconds he just looks at her. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. A knot of worry that they’re not on the same page after all twists in her; maybe he didn’t understand her emotional turmoil before and was only pandering to her.
Just as she’s about to say in an exaggeratedly deep voice, “You’re welcome, Buffy!”, he steps forward.
Her breath catches. He’s only inches away and-
His hand pauses an inch from her face, his fingers curling around air instead of her cheek. His gaze darts from her lips to her eyes. Regret flashes across his features. His arm sags.
“Sorry,” he says, his voice rough.
She exhales with a little gasp. “S’fine. Don’t be.”
His smile, if it can even be called that, is bitter and rueful. “S’not the best time in a lot of ways, isn’t it.”
No, she wants to protest, but she thinks of last night and this morning and how much she doesn’t even know who she is at the moment, much less what she can afford to be for others.
“Probably,” she says softly. “Timing subject to frequent re-evaluation, though?”
His smile becomes genuine. “I’d like that.”
She nods. He steps back.
“Text me if you want me to patrol with you,” he says as he starts walking backward.
She wants to tell him he shouldn’t ever feel he needs an invitation, but she also doesn’t want him to think she expects him to wait around for her every night, so she just chirps, “Yup!”
And because she feels a sudden urge to delight him and give him something in return after everything he’s done for her, she decides to admit the thought she suppressed earlier. “You know how I said before that I didn’t feel satisfied?”
“Yeah?”
She looks him dead in the eye. “That was the other reason I didn’t think it was you.”
His jaw drops. His eyes bulge.
When she can’t repress a preening grin, his mouth snaps shut. The next second it’s finally curling into the leer she’s been waiting to see again since-
God, since Sunnydale.
He starts walking again. “You’re a bloody tease, Slayer!” he calls, but there’s no anger in his tone and he’s smirking.
“You make it too easy!” she retorts.
He finally turns his back on her, bringing his hand up in a wave as he does. Buffy already has the key in the lock when one last thought strikes her. She whirls around.
“Spike!”
He turns, and even though he’s not far, it’s dark enough that she can’t see him clearly anymore.
“I’m really glad you’re back!”
Please don’t leave again.
His pause is just long enough for her to start to feel uncomfortable, and she thinks that even if it weren’t dark, she wouldn’t be able to tell what he was thinking. She hates that, even though she knows that in the grand scheme of things, it is his turn to be the inscrutable one of their pair.
“Me, too, Slayer.” His voice floats across the distance between them, quiet but distinct. “Me, too.”
Relief washes through her. She smiles.
“Good night, Spike.”
“Night, Buffy. See you later.”
Fin.
Thank you for reading, and if you’re inclined to leave a comment, I’d love to know whom you think Buffy slept with, if anyone.
I tend to think she actually didn’t sleep with anyone and that it’s all a big trick to mess with shippers.
However, if she did sleep with someone, a big part of me thinks it was Spike (obviously, that’s not what I want). A one-night stand that Buffy doesn’t even remember would show just how much they’ve changed, and there are definitely some consent issues that could damage Spike’s romantic lead cred and strain the relationship.
Title: Firmer Ground
Summary: In an attempt to allay some of her worries about the previous night and fill in the gaps in her memory, Buffy asks Spike an awkward question. Follows directly after S9 Issue #1 “Freefall.”
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 4,200
Disclaimer: The characters belong to Joss Whedon, this is just for fun, etc.
Author’s Note: Apparently the comic writers don’t care if Buffy was sexually assaulted during her blackout period, since they’re using the “Whom did Buffy sleep with while completely inebriated and unable to give consent?” question for humor. However, I care, and my Buffy and Spike care, too.
Usually my fics that are inspired by the comics are very readable/understandable even if you don’t like or don’t read the comics. Unfortunately, this isn’t really one of them. Here’s what you need to know if you don’t like the comics but are still interested: Buffy threw a huge party, got obscenely drunk, and possibly slept with someone. After piecing together parts of her memory the next day, she still doesn’t know whom she slept with. The issue ends with Buffy, Spike, and Willow patrolling; this fic starts a little while later, after Willow has left.
This turned out to be much longer and shippier than I anticipated. I guess I just can’t help myself when it comes to these two.
LJ cuts aren't working properly for me, which is why the cut is above the summary
He glances at her, and she can’t help feeling disappointed that there’s only a flicker of interest in his gaze; he doesn’t hang on her every word anymore.
She takes a deep breath. “Last night at my party did we…did you and I…”
The question’s been worrying her all day, chipping away at the veneer that she’s all right, that it’s totally normal and fine that her memory of last night is one big, gaping hole, but now she can’t finish. The impulse is there, and Willow’s finally gone, disgruntled enough by Buffy’s evasion to give up her Seed talk for the night, and they’re almost back at Spike’s place, so her window of opportunity is fast disappearing-
But her cheeks almost hurt from how fiery they’ve become, and the words threaten to choke her.
She’s scared of the answer.
He’s just staring at her, head cocked in that annoying, not-sexy way of his, like he has no idea what she’s talking about.
He has to know what she’s talking about.
She inhales sharply. “Did we have sex last night?”
He halts abruptly. She does too, a split second later. Standing still, with eye contact and minimal distraction, is going to make this even more awkward, but it’s probably for the best.
“Did we what?” he demands, even though she knows perfectly well that he heard her the first time.
Relief sparks in her. He sounds so surprised- so appalled, even- and hey, maybe that should offend her- that she thinks she knows the answer already.
She also feels the smallest flare of disappointment.
“My memory of last night is kind of hazy,” begins Buffy. It’s already easier to provide context, with him looking so shocked. She can’t keep from wincing, though. “More than hazy. Kind of black hole-y. But I think I might have- maybe- you know- with someone…”
Why is it so hard to say “had sex with someone” to him?
His face is impassive. “And you think you did the nasty with me.”
Not nasty, is first on the tip of her tongue. Not with you.
“You’re on the list of suspects,” she says instead.
His face hardens, and he glances away.
“But- but so are a lot of people,” she says quickly.
Wait, that doesn’t sound better.
“I even thought for a minute I did it with Willow!”
She smiles weakly, hoping to get something in return. She’ll even settle for a sexist leer.
He’s still glowering. “We didn’t.”
“Oh.” Her voice sounds high-pitched even to her own ears. “Good.”
Well, that’s that. She can cross Spike off. That leaves Riley and her boss and the mysterious Heinrich from next door and…
And Xander.
That twinge of disappointment returns, stronger.
Maybe this is all just paranoia and she didn’t sleep with anyone.
She glances at him out of the corner of her eye, hoping they can just leave things as they are, and takes a step forward.
“You think I would take advantage of you while you were drunk?”
She steps backward. He’s finally facing her again and looks ready to spit nails.
“Um,” she says eloquently. “No.”
“Clearly you do, otherwise you wouldn’t have asked me.”
“Spike, I just- I just needed to know. I’m trying to figure things out…”
“You think after what I- you think I- after everything we’ve-” He makes an angry sound halfway between a growl and a snort, and his shoulders slump. He’s still facing her, but his eyes are unfocused now. “I wouldn’t.”
The silence should be awkward, but a car horn blares on a nearby street, and teenage laugher erupts elsewhere. The city is alive all around them, even at one in the morning, and it won’t let them step out of time, not for this. A breeze curls past Buffy, briefly caressing one cheek, and for a second she can imagine that different cold fingers are touching her.
“Wouldn’t want a one-night stand anyway,” he mumbles.
Her chest warms. She steps closer to him, and he starts, eyes focusing. “I didn’t think it was you,” she murmurs. “I know that you- I know that you know better. I just thought I might have-”
Images of Spike making out with a random girl on her couch skip across her spotted memory, and her hands automatically clench. I thought I might have jumped you out of jealousy.
”I just…I just needed to ask. I’m sorry.”
He looks down. She waits for more acrimony, but instead he says gruffly, “S’all right. I understand.” He flashes her a quick smile that is too pained to reassure as it’s meant to, and his kindness is suddenly more than Buffy can bear.
She automatically turns her head, in case tears come; her hangover kept them at bay all day, but her headache’s finally gone and as if her conflicting desires weren’t enough to already make her feel guilty, Spike’s being so mature.
“Buffy? What’s wrong?”
Worry has wiped out all his hurt, and she feels him step closer. His hand hovers over her arm but doesn’t touch.
“Why are you upset?”
“Because you didn’t sleep with me,” she chokes. “And I’m really glad you didn’t, but it also means I might have slept with someone else, and if I’m going to be hooking up drunk, I’d really rather it be with someone I trust!”
He stares at her, his eyes huge with wonder.
She ducks her head. This is too much.
“Buffy…”
His voice is so gentle, though, that she has to face him.
He’s staring at her like she’s the most amazing thing he’s seen, like he used to in Sunnydale. “You would…want to hook up with me?”
“I’m ridiculous, aren’t I,” Buffy mumbles. “I’d be furious if you did sleep with me, and I’m disappointed you didn’t. I’m so contradictory it’s not even funny. No wonder you all leave me.”
She didn’t mean to say that last part.
“Hey.”
She doesn’t react. A cool hand grasps hers, and she’s startled into looking up.
“Your contradictions make perfect sense,” he says, slowly and deliberately. “Nothing to feel bad about.” He squeezes her hand. “And I’m not gonna leave you. I’m Stalky, remember?”
It’s so Spike of him to turn a cutting jibe into a tender moment and self-deprecate to make her feel better that her eyes prick again.
“Thanks,” she whispers.
He squeezes again. “Course, Slayer.”
He lets go of her hand.
She wishes he hadn’t.
“So to put your mind at ease and exact retribution if necessary, in between patrolling and paying your student loans-”
Despite her sniffles, she manages to aim a glare at him.
“We figure out just who was in that black hole.”
She stares at him and then raises an eyebrow.
He hesitates. “I meant your memory. That didn’t come out right.”
She can’t restrain a small giggle, despite the subject matter.
“You’re…going to help?” she asks, aware that her tone sounds strange and unable herself to decipher exactly why.
She’s grateful he’s being supportive but…shouldn’t he also be jealous?
On a scale of one to ten, how terrible is it of her that she wants him to be green with envy and itching to rip her mystery guy’s head off?
“I can be a sounding board,” he says, his voice carefully neutral. “It can be like that whodunit game. We ask questions until we have an accusation. It was blank in the bedroom with the…”
She raises her eyebrow again.
He sighs. “Ignore my stupid mouth. Look, if you need to talk about it, you can. It’s not like there are gonna be details of the actual experience, right? So…so…”
“So?” she prompts, hopeful.
He shrugs. “Nothing.”
Buffy eyes him for another moment, wondering whether he means it. The idea of letting loose and actually sharing her feelings with someone who won’t judge- or at least, will keep the judginess to himself- is dizzying.
Is it fair to him to talk about this sort of thing, though? She remembers his reaction when she tried to explain what happened with-
No, she’s not thinking about him.
It’s probably not fair- not considerate. But Spike’s offering, and she has no one else to talk to. Willow lost track of her last night and is only interested in talking about the Seed anyway. She doesn’t know Anaheed or Tumble well enough yet to spill her guts to them.
And she can’t talk to Xander or-
Her stomach flips. Not even Dawn. God, please don’t let her have done anything with Xander that would hurt her baby sister.
Confessions spill from her before she can stop them.
“I’m afraid I hurt someone last night. I’m afraid I slept with someone I shouldn’t have.”
She chews her lip to keep from blurting out more as she collects her thoughts. She can’t tell anyone, not even Spike, her fears about Xander.
“Like Riley. He’s married, and if I did, that makes me-” Her voice dwindles. “Not a good person.”
She wants Spike to refute her, to say of course she’s a good person; that if she did sleep with Riley it was just a silly mistake and Sam never has to know. He’s just watching her solemnly, though, his expression neutral. She remembers his despair over Drusilla’s disloyalty so many years ago and thinks with an inward sigh that Spike of all people is not going to dismiss adultery.
“Do you want me to stop?” she says dully, wondering if she’s disgusted him already.
He can’t fully suppress his look of distaste, but he says, “Not if you don’t want to.”
Relief wells in her, more than she anticipated. “Or something may have happened with my boss. He said I didn’t have to come in, ‘you know, after…’” She makes air quotes. “I don’t know if he means after…you know. Or if he just means after me being a wild party animal. In retrospect, inviting my boss to the party was probably not a great idea,” she mutters.
Spike shrugs. “Live and learn. At least he’s the kind of boss to give you the day off.”
“I guess. And today I got roses from our neighbor, who’s a total recluse normally. I was in his apartment for twenty minutes, apparently.”
“Huh.” Spike doesn’t try to hide his surprise. “Well. Maybe you pulled a call girl act.”
She blinks, heat building in her throat. That’s his idea of helping?
“But look at it this way: he sent you flowers, so he clearly respected you in the morning and is interested in getting to know you when you’re sober, too.”
Oh.
Spike is…he’s actually trying to make her glass half full.
The thought should make her happy, but instead another wave of shame passes through her. She doesn’t deserve that from him, not about this.
She ducks her head as she says thickly, “So I might have done something with them or maybe with another random, stupid guest whom I’ll never see again, and I feel like a huge slut and I feel-”
Used.
She can’t say it.
But she knows he’ll understand. That’s why he was so upset that she asked him in the first place.
“Buffy. Love, look at me.”
She does, because he called her ‘love.’
His eyes are unbelievably tender but his voice is like steel as he says, “You are not a slut. You had too much to drink last night, but that doesn’t make you either a slut or a bad person. If someone sober took advantage of you while you were in that state, it’s their mistake, not yours. Not even a mistake. It’s assault.” His voice shakes on the last word, and he pauses to collect himself before adding throatily, “And if that’s the case, I’ll rip their fucking head off if you want me to.”
When all she can do is stare at him, stunned by his intensity, he looks away, his jaw clenching as though he’s inwardly berating himself.
It’s her turn to grasp his hand. She doesn’t know what to say, but she needs to be touching him, and she thinks, instinctively, it will say as much as words could anyway. She rubs her thumb over the back of his hand and releases a long exhale. Her problems are no closer to being solved, but the tension she’s been carrying around all day is lighter.
“What made you think you even had sex in the first place?” he asks unexpectedly.
The answer should be as uncomfortable as anything else, but instead it comes easily. “I woke up naked in bed. There was a belt nearby. Although there was a lot of other junk in my room that didn’t belong to me,” she adds thoughtfully. “There are a lot of gaps in the night. Willow said I disappeared for parts of it. I remember hitting on a few people. And I feel…” Now it’s a bit awkward. “You know,” she says, flushing. “You can tell when…”
“Mmm.”
“Not that I feel satisfied,” she adds grumpily. “That's the other-”
She stops herself, her blush suddenly much hotter.
She shouldn’t tell him that.
It would be far too flirty and flirting would be…inappropriate in this context.
Right?
“It’s still possible that nothing happened,” he says. “Maybe not likely. But it’s possible.”
His expression is so encouraging that she can’t keep from murmuring, “Yeah.”
They’re both silent, and Buffy realizes how close he is. Not only that, but all his attention is focused on her. During most of their interactions these days his eyes seem to see through her or past her, as though he’s determined to let her know that she’s not his priority anymore. But right now his gaze is fixed on her, his brow is creased in worry for her, and she has the romanticized, impossible, completely stupid feeling that they could be the only two people in the world.
“Is- is there anything else you want to…” His voice catches.
“No,” she breathes.
“’Kay.”
He stares at her a moment longer and then abruptly gives himself a little shake. He releases her hand. She curls her fingers as they tingle.
“Should we-”
He gestures at the road.
Buffy gives herself her own mental shake. “Yeah.”
They begin walking again. Her pace feels brisker, even though she doesn’t think it actually is. It’s easier to breathe, too; her chest feels much less constricted than it did half an hour ago.
Spike’s sending her sidelong glances every few steps, and his scrutiny makes warmth spread through her torso. She should probably say something to cheer up the evening now that he’s eased her worries.
“Did you have a good time at the party?”
It seems the natural thing to ask, even if the party is not a topic she wants to dwell on.
He shrugs. “Yeah. It was a change of pace. Liked your roommate. We’re gonna start a band.”
“He said you might.” She pauses a beat before adding slyly, “Maybe I could play the triangle.”
For a moment he frowns, confused, and then a huge, wolfish grin breaks across his face. “Thought you were hell on the old skins.”
“I could do both.”
He looks so inordinately pleased by the conversation that Buffy is busy congratulating herself when she remembers what else he did at the party.
She really shouldn’t inquire. It’s not her business, and she certainly has no leg to stand on.
But she just can’t help herself.
“You hooked up with someone last night, right?”
His gait hitches, but he doesn’t stop. Nor does he look at her. “What?”
“I saw you. You were…kissing someone.” She tries to keep her own voice neutral. “Did that, um, go anywhere?”
“Didn’t leave the couch.”
My couch, she thinks grumpily. Or Tumble’s. Whatever.
“She was a friend of a friend, and I didn’t catch her name when she arrived. What was it again?”
He does look at her now, and she can tell he’s amused and sees right through her. She wants to feel indignant, but she’s too desperate to hear his answer.
“Melissa, I think. Maybe Alyssa. Little hard to hear.”
Humph. “Are you planning to see her again?”
He cocks his head, a thoughtful expression sliding into place. She knows it’s on purpose, and it’s all she can do not to smack his shoulder.
“Hmm…wasn’t planning on it. Maybe if I run into her again at another of your shindigs…”
“I don’t think we’re going to have another for a while,” says Buffy quickly. “Still cleaning up from yesterday. It got pretty wild, and I think Anaheed and Tumble are homebodies at heart.”
She nods sagely.
“Oh, Melissa-Alyssa,” sighs Spike. How will I mend my broken heart?”
Buffy’s nails dig into her palm.
He halts, and for a second she thinks he’s going to turn serious and her heart skips a beat.
“Guess I’ll just have to find a late night soap,” he says, jerking his shoulder, and she realizes they’re in front of the apartment building he appeared from. “Maybe a Lifetime movie…”
She eyes the building speculatively, because she’s never seen the place Spike now calls home, nor have they talked enough since he returned for her to find out how he’s living there in the first place- until tonight most of their conversations have consisted of biting one-liners.
A very insistent part of her is urging her to angle her way inside. She’s pretty sure he would take her bait, even if he also saw right through it, and nothing has to happen if she goes upstairs with him. They can just...hang out. Watch Lifetime together.
Scarily, the idea is not unappealing, but the other part of her, the one that has alternated between despair and self-recrimination ever since waking up naked, says that’s a bad idea. She’s already had her fun for the week- possibly for the whole freaking year- and she and Spike have reached such a good place tonight that it’s best not to push their luck. Going upstairs with any wistful intentions, even ones she doesn’t plan to act upon, will lead to awkwardness.
She can invite herself over later in the week and plan ahead for it; she can “spontaneously” bring a pizza and a wine bottle and after dinner they can patrol together and…
Take it from there.
She doesn’t know how she got from dreading seeing him tonight to planning an unofficial date, but the picture in her head is irresistible.
“Slayer! Earth to Slayer!”
“What?” She glances at him, startled.
“I said, you seem out of it. Do you want me to walk you home?”
Her first instinct should be to scoff at the idea that she needs an escort, but instead she feels all melty inside.
“I-” I’m fine, she means to say.
“All right,” she says instead.
Damn. Now she’s going to invite him inside.
He looks surprised that she accepted but not displeased, and without speaking, as fluidly as though he always meant to in the first place, he turns in the direction of her apartment and resumes walking.
The silence is comfortable, but a little to her own surprise, Buffy finds she doesn’t want silence. She wants to know more about his life now- everything there is to know.
“So you have a TV?” she asks, which is inane but the first question that pops to mind.
“First thing I got,” he says cheerfully. “Gotta have my telly fix. Went too long without it.”
Well, whose fault is that? she wants to say. Maybe if you were on Earth where you belong…
She refrains. “How’s Passions?”
He sighs in a way that is far too blissful given the subject matter. “Wonderful. Awful. They’re all behaving completely out of character and sleeping with people they shouldn’t and ignoring what’s in front of them and generally ruining their lives. It’s a train wreck.”
“Sounds like,” says Buffy, bemused by his enraptured expression. “Hey, have you been watching Dancing with the Stars?”
Her apartment is only ten minutes from his, a shorter distance than she realized and she’s glad- although it’s still too far for a blanket-covered run during the day- and they’re still discussing Harmony’s latest number when they reach it.
“…Can’t believe you think she was better than that Bachelorette runner-up!”
“I’m just saying, her kicks were really…kicking. If she’d been that flexible when we were-”
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” warns Buffy, and he laughs, eyes sparkling, completely unrepentant.
Her attempt to look reproachful only lasts a few seconds and then an unfamiliar combination of nervousness and shyness overtakes her. She glances at the door, wondering if Tumble and Anaheed are asleep yet and hoping they are.
“Do you…want to come in?” she asks.
His eyebrows shoot up and he looks almost alarmed. Confusion fills her, accompanied by no little dismay.
“You actually want me to…investigate the scene of the crime?”
Buffy blinks at him. “What?”
“It was blank in the bedroom with the…”
“Oh!” she gasps, remembering. “Oh, god no. That’s not what I-”
Would he be able to smell whomever she had…?
Oh, oh, no, this was not happening now.
“I didn’t mean that!” Her cheeks feel like they’re on fire, but he doesn’t tease her; he’s too busy looking like he might pass out from relief. “But, um, yeah, maybe this isn’t the best time.”
His nod is curt, and when he looks at her again his face is wiped clean of expression.
Buffy swallows. This isn’t how the night is supposed to end, with awkward silences and buried emotions, not after having taken such an unexpected turn for the better.
“Spike…”
But she’s not sure what to say.
His shoulders hunch as though he’s cold. “Think I’m gonna head back.” He jams his hands into his pockets.
“Thank you,” she blurts out, and he’s surprised into meeting her gaze.
“For talking to me about this stuff.” Her throat feels like it’s closing up all of a sudden, but she perseveres. “Today wasn’t really…fun. I don’t think last night was either. In retrospect. But tonight was. I mean, it was better. It helped a lot. So thank you.”
For several long, tantalizing and horrible seconds he just looks at her. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. A knot of worry that they’re not on the same page after all twists in her; maybe he didn’t understand her emotional turmoil before and was only pandering to her.
Just as she’s about to say in an exaggeratedly deep voice, “You’re welcome, Buffy!”, he steps forward.
Her breath catches. He’s only inches away and-
His hand pauses an inch from her face, his fingers curling around air instead of her cheek. His gaze darts from her lips to her eyes. Regret flashes across his features. His arm sags.
“Sorry,” he says, his voice rough.
She exhales with a little gasp. “S’fine. Don’t be.”
His smile, if it can even be called that, is bitter and rueful. “S’not the best time in a lot of ways, isn’t it.”
No, she wants to protest, but she thinks of last night and this morning and how much she doesn’t even know who she is at the moment, much less what she can afford to be for others.
“Probably,” she says softly. “Timing subject to frequent re-evaluation, though?”
His smile becomes genuine. “I’d like that.”
She nods. He steps back.
“Text me if you want me to patrol with you,” he says as he starts walking backward.
She wants to tell him he shouldn’t ever feel he needs an invitation, but she also doesn’t want him to think she expects him to wait around for her every night, so she just chirps, “Yup!”
And because she feels a sudden urge to delight him and give him something in return after everything he’s done for her, she decides to admit the thought she suppressed earlier. “You know how I said before that I didn’t feel satisfied?”
“Yeah?”
She looks him dead in the eye. “That was the other reason I didn’t think it was you.”
His jaw drops. His eyes bulge.
When she can’t repress a preening grin, his mouth snaps shut. The next second it’s finally curling into the leer she’s been waiting to see again since-
God, since Sunnydale.
He starts walking again. “You’re a bloody tease, Slayer!” he calls, but there’s no anger in his tone and he’s smirking.
“You make it too easy!” she retorts.
He finally turns his back on her, bringing his hand up in a wave as he does. Buffy already has the key in the lock when one last thought strikes her. She whirls around.
“Spike!”
He turns, and even though he’s not far, it’s dark enough that she can’t see him clearly anymore.
“I’m really glad you’re back!”
Please don’t leave again.
His pause is just long enough for her to start to feel uncomfortable, and she thinks that even if it weren’t dark, she wouldn’t be able to tell what he was thinking. She hates that, even though she knows that in the grand scheme of things, it is his turn to be the inscrutable one of their pair.
“Me, too, Slayer.” His voice floats across the distance between them, quiet but distinct. “Me, too.”
Relief washes through her. She smiles.
“Good night, Spike.”
“Night, Buffy. See you later.”
Fin.
Thank you for reading, and if you’re inclined to leave a comment, I’d love to know whom you think Buffy slept with, if anyone.
I tend to think she actually didn’t sleep with anyone and that it’s all a big trick to mess with shippers.
However, if she did sleep with someone, a big part of me thinks it was Spike (obviously, that’s not what I want). A one-night stand that Buffy doesn’t even remember would show just how much they’ve changed, and there are definitely some consent issues that could damage Spike’s romantic lead cred and strain the relationship.
Title: Firmer Ground
Summary: In an attempt to allay some of her worries about the previous night and fill in the gaps in her memory, Buffy asks Spike an awkward question. Follows directly after S9 Issue #1 “Freefall.”
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 4,200
Disclaimer: The characters belong to Joss Whedon, this is just for fun, etc.
Author’s Note: Apparently the comic writers don’t care if Buffy was sexually assaulted during her blackout period, since they’re using the “Whom did Buffy sleep with while completely inebriated and unable to give consent?” question for humor. However, I care, and my Buffy and Spike care, too.
Usually my fics that are inspired by the comics are very readable/understandable even if you don’t like or don’t read the comics. Unfortunately, this isn’t really one of them. Here’s what you need to know if you don’t like the comics but are still interested: Buffy threw a huge party, got obscenely drunk, and possibly slept with someone. After piecing together parts of her memory the next day, she still doesn’t know whom she slept with. The issue ends with Buffy, Spike, and Willow patrolling; this fic starts a little while later, after Willow has left.
This turned out to be much longer and shippier than I anticipated. I guess I just can’t help myself when it comes to these two.
LJ cuts aren't working properly for me, which is why the cut is above the summary