Becoming Me

Disclaimer: see Chapter 1

5: TALK IT OUT

“1 large Whopper, 1 large fries, 2 large drinks, and a kids’ Happy Meal?” the employee repeated skeptically.

“He doesn’t eat much,” Spike replied, gesturing at his actual body. The pimply teenager’s eyebrows only went higher as he took in the size of the blonde female placing the order.

“Right-o, that’ll be $33.80.” Spike handed over the cash just as he felt Buffy’s hand on his arm.

“Spike, we’ve gotta talk.” The former-vampire nodded and gestured for her to follow him to the soda machine.

“So, Slayer. Spill.”

Buffy watched the level of Mountain Dew rise in one of the large paper cups. “Spike, you can’t fill my body up with this much junk food! And besides, Mountain Dew – EEW? It’s bad enough that I have to drink platelets, but I refuse to get fat on your watch. Large burger, large fries, large soda, and a Happy Meal, even if it is sans legs? That’s about 200 calories too many.”

Spike stared at her for several long seconds of silence. Then, “Is that how you get so skinny? You starve yourself and patrol off the few ounces you do eat?”

“Spike,” she said, obviously not amused, “I’m not anorexic.”

“No. Just obnoxious.”

The employee tapped the pick-up counter impatiently. “Your order is ready?”

The pair fell into silence as they went to pick up their breakfast and locate a table. As she passed him with her beeline for the booth she wanted, Buffy muttered, “You are so embarrassing.”

“I’m embarrassing, Slayer?” Buffy turned, mouth open, to spit some spicy retort out at him, but she found herself caught in his penetrating stare. How does he do that? she thought. I thought it was a vampire thing, but my human eyes seem to be working fine for him... After she realized she was gaping at him, not to mention looking into his eyes intently, she managed to tear her gaze away. Stupid vampire.

Buffy and Spike avoided each other’s gaze for Spike’s entire hamburger. Spike noticed with frustration that Buffy seemed to be ignoring him effortlessly, sipping on her Coke and reading the advertisements on the tray insert. In contrast, he was finding it nearly impossible to ignore her – he would hear her chewing, or shifting in her seat, or see her in the periphery of his vision. Once or twice he tried to alter his position to increase the comfort level of the booth, but every time he moved his legs they bumped into hers. If he consciously tried to stop thinking about her, unbidden images rose to dance behind his eyes. He remembered kissing her soft lips, remembered sinking his fangs into her sweet-smelling skin and letting her blood pool up on his tongue, remembered holding her while she slept...

“What?” she asked in annoyance.

“Nothing.”

She rolled her eyes. “You were staring at my neck!”

“Well, actually,” he began, “It’s my– ” He shook his head. “Slayer, we need to talk.”

She popped several of his fries into her mouth. Spike thought they had to talk? What the fuck about? She decided to ask.

“Bloody hell, Slayer. About this...thing – whatever it is – that we have.” Spike mentally slapped himself. His speech was even less eloquent than hers. Why couldn’t his inner poet rear his poncy head when he was actually needed?

Buffy raised her eyebrows.

“Not that I’m saying...It’s just, we teamed up for a purpose, but before that – there were clear reasons why I never killed you. Why I never really tried. And I’m starting to think there might have been similar once that were keeping me alive. Cos you’re one hell of a good fighter, Buffy.”

There it is again, she thought. Him, making with the “Buffy”...

“The tension building between...Th- It’s like a rush, the thrill and the fear, when we’re around each other, Slayer. Don’t tell me you don’t feel it.”

Buffy cocked her head, in a way that drove Spike crazy when she did it in her own body, with her golden hair slipping over her shoulders. “Spike...What are you saying?”

“Just- It's not so unusual. Two people...in the workplace...feelings develop.” He chanced a look at her face, to gauge her response.

What he saw made him regret opening his mouth in the first place. Some things obviously worked better as private thoughts than as conversation starters. “No!” she shouted, not quite sure whom she was trying to convince. “No, no, feelings do not develop. No feelings.” In her frenzy Buffy tipped over the paper cup of ketchup, spilling the thick red paste over her tray and the table.

Damn. Bloody hell and bugger. He’d certainly botched that one up. As he stared at the red mess, Spike wondered with detached interest whether or not the damage was irreparable. “Not talking ‘bout poncy feelings. I mean heat, passion–“

“This– This is insane! Crazy, ok?” Buffy stood up, clambering out of the booth. “We shouldn’t be talking, there shouldn’t be anything to talk about. What you’re saying...It-it’s wrong, and, and it’s not real.”

Already losing, he reminded himself. Not much else I can say that’ll screw this up more than it already is. “But it is real, Slayer. No matter what you, or I, have to say about it.” His blonde head had been turned downwards, studying the ketchup, but now he looked defiantly into her eyes.

“To you, maybe. But you’re sick, you’re a vampire!” Buffy ran her fingers though her platinum hair, realizing that the gel made the task no easy feat. “But me, all I have to say is...Whatever you say when you refuse to say anything.”

“Slayer –” God, how did she do that? Just by talking, she made his body feel all warm inside. Okay, so it was actually her body, but it was still warmer than usual. Especially in the between-the-legs vicinity...

“No! Just – leave me alone!”

His stomach twisted, as if she’d punched him with more than just words.

The nerve she’s got, to say that to me...I’m helping her out, slaughtering my bloody reputation to help her take a break from Sunnyhell, and she says to sod off? He stood up as well, pain-based anger fueling his outburst. “Fine! Bloody fine. You know, if you get your rocks off living at Burger King, then feel fucking free to do it, as it’s fine with me!”

Spike started to walk away, with of course no intention of actually carrying through with his threat. He wanted her to beg him to stay, to apologize and maybe offer to consider what he’d said.

Two steps later, he heard the first sob. It was immediately followed by three more sobs and then a wet-sounding gasp. She’s crying again?!

“Spike...” she squeezed in between noises that sounded a good deal uglier, “You’re wrong, you’ve got to be...I know what lust is like; it’s wrong, and it only leads to bad places...” Like Angel. And Acathla. And the sword. “Trust me...you don’t want to start...”

“Slayer...” He was at her side again, wrapping his arms around her, much like he had in the mansion. Only it was more awkward, considering he’d suddenly become the smaller one of the pair. “You needn’t worry your pretty head. I’m nothing like Angel. And ‘sides, if you shag me, I can’t suddenly turn evil, since I already am.”

Suddenly she looked at him, teary but icily penetrating eyes holding his with a ferocious glare. “Gee, thanks, Spike. Cordelia can has more tact.”

Bugger.

* * * * * *

Amelia Reinhardt sifted through a portfolio of papers, crushing the phone between her ear and her firm shoulder. “Yes...180 North Appleton...Definitely, you should...Prices? I’ll let you know...Mm-hmm...Well, thank you, Mr. Barry. Good day.”

With a curt sigh, she replaced the phone on the hook and snapped the portfolio shut. She allowed herself one and a half minutes of reclining peacefully in her chair before getting back to business. Even if it was the kind of business that didn’t pay as well as real estate.

Amelia opened one of her desk’s drawers, examining its contents. She carefully selected several objects and placed them on the desk’s surface, peering at them through a magnifying glass. The antique kitchenware glittered at her in an almost conspiratorial way, as if they were in on the secret of her game.

Amelia knew the price she’d paid for the silver spoons, forks, and knives had been far more expensive than their worth...Or rather, more expensive than their worth as antiques. But when she brought her fingers near the polished metal, her senses picked up a reassuring buzz. Her grumpiness about the overpricing melted away – her new magical dining utensils just might fetch her a small fortune on the demon market.

She needed to build up as much money as possible if she was to carry out her plans. And she wanted to carry them out as soon as possible.

* * * * * *

The sun had moved and there was no longer a save pathway of shade leading to the Desoto. Spike went ahead to unlock the car and open the passenger-side door, and Buffy made a wild dash under the cover of the duster. Even though Spike wasn’t expecting a barrage of thanks, he ended up being disappointed nonetheless by the untrateful silence that followed.

Buffy said absolutely nothing to him; she just slouched in her seat and adopted a pouty face. Gazing at it, Spike realized that pouting wasn’t really such a bad look for him. If he ever decided to give up being evil and menacing in the future, he decided he should seriously consider adopting the pout expression.

“Slayer?” He returned his focus to the road, hoping to keep the conversation as uncharged as possible.

She picked at the chipped black nail polish on her fingernails. A pile of little black chips of polish was collecting on Buffy’s stomach. “I don’t want to talk to you Spike.”

Spike felt the rumble in his mind that was usually voiced by a growl in his vampire body. The Slayer had a lot of bloody nerve. “Well I don’t really fancy talking to you either, so I guess that makes two of us then,” he shot back. Sodding Slayer.

She offered him one especially icy glare and then went pack to picking off her nail polish.

Way to calm her down, you daft wanker. Not that she doesn’t deliberately turn every conversation into the bloody Inquisition. Spike resorted to the feeble art of bribery. Nonchalantly he reached over her lap to flip open the glove compartment. He drew out a bag of truffles, dropping it in his lap. He extracted one sweet and undid the wrapper with his free hand and his teeth, popping the treat into his mouth.

Buffy couldn’t help herself. Her mouth was practically watering at the prospect of truffle melting on her tongue...No! She was supposed to be pissed off as hell at this guy. How come she constantly had to remind herself of that? The Slayer compromised with herself – she watched enviously as he enjoyed his candy, but kept her arms firmly crossed across her chest in a semblance of resistance.

He swallowed. “Want one?” he asked, his lips twitching into a small, mischievous smile. As if he thought the whole situation couldn’t be more hilarious. Without waiting for a response that he quite correctly assumed wasn’t coming, Spike held a tantalizing raspberry truffle in front Buffy’s face. “Those ones are the best,” he offered.

Buffy hesitated two seconds for show, and then succumbed. “Can I have it?”

“Say please.” He smirked; he was loving every second of this, Buffy could tell.

“Okay, fine. Please. Please give me a truffle.”

Grinning, Spike brought the sweet closer to her mouth and placed it ceremoniously on her tongue, withdrawing his fingers slowly enough to feel her lips closing around them. Although she wasn’t a fan of patronizing and altogether too sexy way he’d fed her, Buffy discovered that the truffles were as delicious as she’d imagined.

She noticed Spike reaching into the bag for a second helping, and she assaulted him with her pouting, pleading, puppy-dog look.

He thought it was bloody fucking gorgeous.

“Spike? Why did you have these in your car? Do you eat human food normally?”

He chewed a few times and swallowed. “Wouldn’t exactly call this food, luv.”

“Angel never ate any.” She ran her tongue over her blunt, human teeth. Of course, I’ve been eating some human food too. Not that I’m a normal vampire, by any means.

Spike gave Buffy a look that very clearly pronounced DUH. “’Course not. He might actually run the risk of enjoying it, and ruin his entire soulful, brooding persona.”

The Slayer rolled her eyes, but in a way she recognized that Spike had a point. Perhaps majorly over-exaggerated, but still a point. But thinking at all made her mind drift.

Angel and his soul.

Angelus.

Acathla.

Buffy’s mind relived those horrible moments, fighting Angelus, the demon who wore the body of her lover. Plunging a sword through his gut and waiting for the blow of sadness to hit through the shock. She wasn’t sure it had yet.

Spike looked over at Buffy, who was gazing fixedly out the window. She seemed to have forgotten about his presence, and she definitely had forgotten to be angry with him about the Angel remark. The whole deal was worrisome.

Buffy didn’t even know what hit her. Suddenly she careened full-force into a wall of water, and the world seemed to shrink as the wave swept over her head and crashed over her shoulders. There weren’t words to summarize her thoughts. There were barely even thoughts. All she had was a numbingly painful sensation that was beyond thought or understanding.

Spike pulled over sharply, running the front tire up on the curb. He popped her seatbelt and pulled her over the gearshift into his lap. She snuggled into his chest, sobbing wildly. Spike was dimly aware of how awkward it was to have a much larger person seeking comfort from his lap, but he didn’t give it much thought. He knew the Slayer had finally hit the largest wave of grief, which was an emotion with which Spike was fairly acquainted. From this point onwards, there would be less denial of what had happened, but probably plenty more sobbing.

Spike rubbed her back. “Shh, Buffy...Buffy, it’ll be alright. Not yet, but it will be alright.”

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