Near Enough by Samara

1 :: 2 :: 3 :: 4 :: 5 :: 6 :: 7 :: 8 :: 9 :: 10 :: 11 :: 12 :: 13 :: 14 :: 15 :: 16 :: 17 :: 18 :: 19 :: 20 :: 21 :: 22 :: 23 :: 24 :: 25 :: 26 :: 27 ::

Chapter 15

Author's Notes: I know there's no dance floor at Per Se, but I wish there was! Hope everyone enjoys the chapter and please, please review!

The next day was Saturday, and Buffy wasn’t expected to be at work. Which was a good thing, because her head hurt considerably. With a soft moan, she rolled over, burying her face into the pillow, knowing instinctively that Angel was already gone. No such thing as a five-day work week for him. Again, though, this was not a bad thing, all told.

After her confession in the alley, she had allowed Spike to lead her gently back inside where they had shared a dance laced with soft innocuous touches, small whispers and caressing looks. As they headed back to the table, Buffy’s heart burned a little more with every step. How was she ever going to get through this? Angel was smiling at her, possessiveness glinting in his dark eyes, and it seemed like everyone was looking at her expectantly. As soon as she reached her chair, she had lifted her champagne glass for a refill. And she continued to lift it, every time the dry, bubbly drink was almost gone.

Desperately, Buffy closed her mind to any internal protests and sought all of the liquid courage she could get as she somehow laughed and smiled through the cake cutting and the present opening. She barely remembered leaving the restaurant, except for the image of Dru leading Spike outside, one slim hand on his arm, that was burned into her eyelids.

Opening her eyes a tiny crack, she winced at the sunlight that seemed to rush into the room for the specific purpose of blinding her. Very carefully, with small easy movements, she sat up and fumbled for her robe and slippers. For some reason, she didn’t want to be in this bed anymore. Snagging an afghan out of the closet, she dragged it behind her listlessly as she went down the stairs and into the living room, curling up in the sanctuary of the couch.

Not even bothering with a pillow, Buffy just laid her head on her forearm and let the thoughts jumble up in her head. Spike. Angel. Dru. Pictures from the last evening and the whole of the past few months cascaded through her mind, in no particular order, significant moments mixing with mundane ones as they fought for dominance. She was just so tired.

Stretching her leg out, Buffy’s foot accidentally bumped the coffee table, sending another jolt of pain to her head and something skittering to the ground. When the sharp ache eased, she opened her eyes to see what had fallen. Her birthday presents from the previous evening had been dropped unceremoniously there last night, by either herself or Angel, she wasn’t sure. Again, her memory was kind of lacking. It was her husband’s gift that had fallen, the diamond earrings coming loose from the packaging and clanging on the floor. Gingerly, and with some distaste, Buffy retrieved them and set them back on the table. They were much too gaudy for her taste, and she would probably never wear them, except to please Angel. And in her exhausted state she wasn’t able to dissemble, even to herself, that pretending she liked something to please her husband would be enjoyable. In fact, if he were to come home right now, it might not even be possible. Buffy felt drained beyond any pretense, and if Angel were here, there was no telling what might come out of her mouth.

Would that be so bad? Her inner voice was at it again, and Buffy had no strength to argue today. Looking for a distraction, her eyes fell on Spike’s birthday present, and she smiled a tiny smile, the most she could manage in her current state. It was a small painting of her mountain, the one she climbed to think about her mother. The significance of the gift and the thought and trouble that had to have gone into locating it were more than enough to make it the most special present she had probably ever received, but on top of that, it was by Winslow Homer and worth several thousand dollars.

When she had opened it, a little apprehensive at what Spike might choose to give her in front of her husband, it had taken her a minute to get over the beauty of the simple watercolor and realize the significance of what she held in her hands. Immediately she had opened her mouth to protest the costly gift, but his voice at her ear stopped her.

“Let it go,” he whispered, his breath causing shivers to race up and down her spine. “Let me give you this.”

She had obeyed him and not made a fuss. After all, no one except herself and Drusilla would have any idea of how much it was worth. And now, seeing it lying innocuously on her coffee table beside Angel’s completely unthoughtful gift made her heart swell with love and pain. She turned over, burrowing into the couch, trying to stop the tears seeping from under her lashes and finally blissfully falling back into oblivion.

******************************************************************

Frustration and uncertainty flowed through Spike’s veins as he passed over the border into Vermont. He was about 180 miles away from his rental house, away from Buffy, and was for some reason reluctant to go further. What if she needed him? He had been hesitant to leave the restaurant last night; she was pretty much out of her head, after washing down vast quantities of alcohol and he didn’t completely trust in her husband’s ability to get her home safely. But Drusilla had propelled him out, and he had obeyed.

Again he shook his head, a glimmer of a smile gracing his lips as he thought about the dark woman and her machinations the previous night. He was certainly glad she was on his side in this…

This. What the bloody hell was this, anyway? A game? Winner take Buffy? He rebelled at the thought of his beautiful girl being no more than a prize for male egos. Oh, yeah. Not his girl. His muddled mind kept forgetting. She had certainly looked like his girl last night, clinging to him on the dance floor, the echo of her words, the most glorious words he had ever heard, hanging off her lips. The illusion had broken, though, with their return trip to the table and Buffy’s decision to hide her pain under a champagne induced smile. Which he completely understood, although it hurt to watch her step falter as she walked away, knowing that when she woke up the next morning, when the alcoholic fog began to clear, she would still have the pain to deal with and would more than likely be doing it alone. Because he couldn’t be there to do it with her. That wouldn’t help anyone.

With a bit of desperation, Spike slammed his foot down on the accelerator and shot forward, determined to put more distance between them. It seemed beyond his control when his body took over, steering him onto the next exit ramp. Looked like a nice enough town. He wasn’t stopping because of her. He wasn’t. Really.

Submit a Review!