Shot in the Dark

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Chapter 18: Fancy Meeting You Here
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“Aren’t you going patrolling?”

“Hunh?” Buffy looks up blankly, relieved that she can stop pretending to read her pysch textbook.

“Buffy, you’ve been ‘reading’ that page for about twenty minutes. And it’s past when you normally patrol.” Willow knits her brow at Buffy, looking up from her desk across the room.

“No, I’m just, studying it. Also, I’m behind. What with the missing class and...well, I can patrol later.” Buffy nervously taps her pen against the edge of the book, wishing Willow would go back to her homework.

“It’s Spike, right?”

“What’s Spike? What do you mean?” Buffy sits up straight suddenly, nearly tipping over her chair.

“The spell? Spike? The uh...sweaty nakedness?” Willow squirms as she lifts her eyebrows.

“Oh, that! Pfffft.” Buffy manages to laugh a little at Willow’s suggestion, hiding the flush that races up her neck and into her face with her hair. “I’m fine now, Will. Like you said, all gone. Back to the more comfortable hating.” Buffy determinedly avoids eye contact with Willow, fearing that her true feelings will be revealed in her eyes. She sighs and stares at her book, her mind heading to a place Willow would not dare follow. The nakedness alone would send her into a blushing fit. Drop it, drop it, drop it, she prays.

Willow stares at Buffy for a few more seconds, “Well, I’m...uh....glad to hear it, then. The whole sitch was giving me a case of the wiggins, to tell you the truth. Of course, yesterday, you did say you were happy...” Struggling with her vision of Spike, Buffy swivels her head to meet Willow’s earnest face and questioning green eyes. She resists the urge to dart out the door. The tack of this conversation is way on the uncomfortable side, drawing things to the surface she wants left alone. Specifically, her feelings on the blond vampire.

“It’s a spell. Must have been the spell talking then and the post-sex good vibes. All the...um...En-door-pins?”

“Endorphins.”

“Right, those. Feel good stuff. But now, now back to healthy hating of Spike.”

Willow tilts her head and look at Buffy, wondering who exactly Buffy is trying to convince with her words. She decides to continue talking, see if Buffy is covering something.

“This is some spell, I‘ll tell ya. Guess the gods don’t mess around. Well, actually they do. Since they are, in fact, messing around with you and Sp...” Willow realizes she’s said just a shade too much and lets her words fade. Buffy’s expression is unreadable. “But you are back to normal now?”

Buffy resists the urge to scoff at being described as normal and decides lying and diversion may be the easiest way out of this conversation. “Oh yes, very. What time is it?”

“Nine thirty.”

“Bloody hell.” Buffy mutters under her breath, borrowing Spike’s words, wondering if this night will ever end so she can escape this spell.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. Um, I think I will patrol after all.” Her smile is small and not remotely convincing, but Willow nods.

“Be careful.”

“You know me.” Buffy grabs her bag and tucks a stake in her waistband. On the way out the door, she tosses out, “Oh, and Will. I may sweep the cemeteries on the south side tonight, so I’ll probably crash at Mom’s. See you in History?”

“Patrol. Mom’s. History. Got it.” Buffy decides squirming with her thoughts of Spike alone instead of in the same room with Willow may be a smart move.

Buffy stomps down the stairs and out of the dorm into the cool night air. Damn Spike. Damn Cupid and damn his pointy arrows. She exhales strongly, willing herself calmer. Buffy managed to hide her alarm from Willow that the lust she feels toward Spike is not dissipating. In fact, the amount of time that has passed since she’s seen him is making her skin itch. He is a drug and she is not ready to quit.

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Meanwhile...

“This is bloody ridiculous. I can’t stay in here forever.” Spike paces the crypt in circles, cursing and kicking at random objects. Continuing to move is the only thing that remotely dampens his craving for the Slayer since he woke up at sundown. “Red said the bleedin’ spell would be over in a few more hours. Just need to steer clear for a few hours. Not so hard.” He paces in tighter and tighter circles, hands clenching into fists. “See what’s on the telly...”

Spike drops into his armchair and fiddles with his newly found television. Some creative extension cord work and wiggling of an antenna brings him a slightly fuzzy black and white image. He flips through the few channels he can get until he finds an old horror movie.

“There we go. One of my favorites.” Spike tries to lose himself in the movie, chuckling as the creature chases the hapless humans through the woods, but inevitably, his mind wanders. To her. He wonders what she is doing right now. Patrolling? Picturing her in action makes Spike throw his head back on his chair with a groan. Her lethal grace when slaying has always been a turn-on, even before the spell showed up and made it an obsession. Spike’s eyes cut between the TV and the door, struggling with the decision. Finally, he realizes that if she comes anywhere near his crypt on patrol, he will almost definitely drag her in here and have his way with her on the nearest sarcophagus. And then, when the spell wears off, she would introduce him to the business end of a stake. Sighing, he decides escape is the best option. He clicks off the TV, leaves the crypt and disappears into the dark of the cemetery with a quiet rush of black leather.

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Buffy strolls down Main Street, desperate to avoid patrolling a bit longer. Despite what she said to Willow, she has no intention to head towards a cemetery while she still feels this burning for the blond vampire. Seeing him would undoubtedly undo her completely. And what if the spell has already stopped working on him? The thought makes her heart sink in a most alarming way. It’s getting later and just about the only thing still open on Main is the coffee shop. Buffy decides sitting down for a mocha would kill some time. Take in some yummy chocolate-flavored caffeine and then figure her next move.

The night is warm and she settles herself at one of the small tables by the street, cupping the large mug and staring into space. She feels like her life took a sharp left turn two days into Bizzare-O-Land and yet... So reluctant she doesn’t even want to admit it to herself, Buffy muses that it wasn’t all bad. In fact, bad is not one of the words that springs to mind at all. The closest word she can think of is...naughty. A smile plays with the corners of her mouth as she remembers the taste of chocolate, his ivory skin twitching as her tongue danced across it. She finds herself not hating Cupid quite as much as before. True, toying with her is not to be taken lightly, but it’s not like she had never thought about...well, he was damn attractive, no matter how evil and bloodsucking. Shaking her head, she takes a sip from the still warm mocha, letting the smooth liquid slide down her throat slowly. Chocolate again. She laughs again, soft and light, lost in remembering.

“This seat taken?” The deadly deep voice runs straight up her spine as her hands lose their grip. His hand shoots out to catch the cup before it can hit the table. “You should really work on holding on to your drinks, pet.” Her eyes, still blank with a cross between shock and the overwhelming need to flee the warmth melting her thighs, finally rise to meet his. The blue is still startling, clear and deep like a mountain lake. There is mirth dancing there as he lightly sets the cup down, withdrawing his hand. His hand waves toward the empty seat and she nods, wordless. Spike drops into the chair, sprawling his legs out under the tiny table.

Moments pass, the only sound Buffy’s breathing and what she swears is her audible heartbeat, pounding away. Desperately, she hopes he believes that he startled her, not that she wants to knock the table out of the way and straddle him right here on Main Street. She mentally rolls her eyes for coming up with that vision. Not helping.

She tries for the obvious and kind of snarky. “What are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you too, pet. What’s it look like, getting coffee.” He waves at the waitress and she acknowledges him with a nod.

“You drink coffee?” Good, small inconsequential talk.

“Just jam-packed full of surprises, aren’t I?” He cocks his head at her, studying her very mixed signals. A bit scared, definitely nervous and something else. All the scents on the street, including the strong coffee smell, make it difficult for him to pick up her distinctive Buffy scent. She looks to be trembling a little bit. ‘Course he did apparently scare her. She was really lost in her thoughts, even laughing when he spotted her. At first, he thought he could walk by without saying a word. Main Street was the last place he expected to see the Slayer . Otherwise, he would have avoided it. But the second Spike picked up that flash of blonde, he was screwed. No way to walk away. His tongue had darted out and run over his lips in anticipation of being that close to her again. Didn’t even take the time to make up an excuse for talking to her before walking up. His mind had not been working all that well lately. And besides, he did drink coffee.

No more words are spoken as Spike’s coffee is dropped off by the waitress. He concentrates on the dark liquid for a few seconds before taking a swig. Buffy struggles for something to say that would definitively convince him the spell was no longer working on her. She can’t, absolutely cannot let on that she still wants him in the worst way. He seems very nonchalant, as if nothing happened, as if they hadn’t been rolling around on the floor together buck naked only yesterday. Damn him. Something that will get him to leave her alone, remove the temptation so she can reluctantly return to sanity. If she could just come up with one of her snappy insults, make him mad. Just as she works on the perfect comment, she feels his leg brush against hers under the table and she starts, nearly overturning the whole thing.

Buffy blurts, “So, wanna go patrolling?” Damn! Where did that come from? Not an insult, obviously not going to make him leave. Stupid hormones hitting the override switn hen her mouth.

“Sure. Why not?” He is slightly taken aback, but if she wants to gloss over everything and get back to work, so be it. He starts to get up, leaving some cash on the table. As if he’s going to tell her she looks delicious in that halter top. Wild horses couldn’t... “Nice top.” He clenches his jaw. Quick, quick, change it, fix it. “Going to try the half-dressed approach to slaying tonight, eh? Lure the vamps in and then take ‘em down?” Okay, lame but covered. Nearly bloody complimented the chit. This is going to be harder than he thought.

Her laugh was sharp and unexpected. “Maybe.” And flirty. “The Slayer must use all her resources.” Mentally clutching her head, Buffy turns away from him to hide the flush in her cheeks, feels a light sheen of sweat rise up on her exposed skin. Obviously her brain is no longer in charge of her mouth. Other parts of her body have taken over.

“Let’s go.” She strides purposefully for the cemetery, not looking back to see if he follows. She hears his footsteps behind her, confirming that he does.

He cocks his head as he walks, enjoying the view of her swaying backside as she moves with confidence down the street. Spike mutters to himself, under his breath, “Going to be a long bleedin’ night.”