first_summers | Riverview >> Inbox

Scared is no excuse. Be scared later. You've always had lousy taste, Goldilocks. Makes sense it's why you're here now.

[ She stares at the screen for a long time, trying to understand what he was saying. Was he... ]

What do you mean?

Men. Friends. Sometimes it was what was needed. I may be on the opposite side as you, but I'd still wager on you in any betting stance. They chose poorly. You feel too much, especially for a Slayer. Always alone. Always the Slayer. But you get cut deep. If they all turned their backs on you, makes sense why that portal-majig picked you up. You're lost.

[ He's not wrong, and even though it hurts, it's nice to see this side of him again. ]

I've only been lost since I lost you.

[Something inside him twisted so much that it was almost a physical pain. He let out a broken, choking laugh, happy if only because no one was here to hear it and question him. Life was cruel.]

See? Bad choices.

It was the best choice I've ever made for myself.

Keep that up and I'm going to blush.

I mean it, Spike. I'll never regret loving you.

And yet there you are, all by your lonesome.

Maybe one day I won't be.

That your way of asking for company?

[Angling for an invitation? Maybe...]

[ It hadn't been, but when opportunity knocks. ]

Do you want to come over, Spike?

[Did he? Would that be showing too much of his hand? Did he really care?]

You got anything to drink?

There might be something in the kitchen, but probably not. Pick something up on the way, I'll pay for it.

[ Because she wants to see him. Please. ]

[That dark side in his mind told him that this was too easy. That there was some shoe waiting to drop when he got there, but he still remembered that dream. Still remembered the taste of her on his tongue, and that's what prompted him to reply back:]

Be there in 20.

[ Twenty minutes is too long and yet nowhere near enough time. To make the passing of those seconds a little easier, she straightens up her room a little, not that there's actually much to straighten since she has yet to really personalize it. She brushes her hair, washes her face, pulls a white silk robe on over her blue tank top and pajama pants, and then... just waits.

Fifteen minutes. Ten. Seven. Too long for the way her stomach is twisting itself into knots. Far too long. ]

[He doesn't rush, but he doesn't take his time, stopping in to get something to drink. That's where he wastes the most time, actually. What does one bring over to drink at the Slayer's? Can't be too pricey, or she'll realize how much thought he put into it. Can't be pisswater either, otherwise it'll look like he's trying not to care too much.

He settles for a black label whiskey that he's gotten to like while being here, paying for it and heading over to the communal building with a look up at the sky. He's got hours until dawn, but it's still best to check and be sure. Wouldn't want to be trapped in the stairwell until nightfall. That'd make for a boring day.

Still, he shows up, nails with black-chipped paint on them that has him cursing silently to himself that he didn't take the time to redo them. Black trenchcoat, black boots, black jeans, black tshirt, broken up by the dark blue button up he had open underneath it. He'd been told it brought out his eyes.

... What did he care if it did?

... Why was he lying to himself? Taking a deep breath, he knocked quickly on the door, wondering if she'd open it with a stake or not.]

[ Honestly, Buffy wouldn't have given much thought at all to whatever alcohol Spike decided to bring. If it were expensive, she'd assume he chose that one because she offered to pay for it. Cheap would be explained by the fact that he's not the typical job type. No, she has other things on her mind while she waits, when she jumps at the knock on the door, when she takes her own deep breath and goes to open it, her hands very obviously empty. ]

Come on in, Spike.

[ There's a small smile there, her body language relaxed while her expression is just a bit nervous. She steps back from the door to let him in, hesitates just a moment, then gestures toward the kitchen. ]

I'll get some glasses.

[The invitation was still a surprise. Oh, sure, he'd been invited into the Scoobie den before, but there was always the 'And if you do anything, I'll kill you' comment that went along with it. Not that he'd been able to do anything. That had been why they'd allowed him in.

Still, he noticed the smile and the invitation, stepping in close to pass her by as he holds up the bottle.]

Hope you can stomach whiskey. I'm not much for girly wine.

[Of course, he could have gone for beer, something he knew they both drank, but... well. Shut up.]

[ It would have felt wrong not to invite Spike into her home, even if this one is nothing like the house she'd lost in Sunnydale. A simple apartment without much of her own touch, and shared living spaces at that, but... still. He's a part of her life and there's no getting around that. ]

Whiskey's fine. I might make a face. [ There's even another smile at that before she turns, somewhat awkwardly, to find two suitable glasses in the kitchen. There's not much to choose from there, but it's better than sharing swigs straight from the bottle -- like that day he wouldn't remember. ]

You make a face when you drink beer, Pet. Bubbly water's a bit too much for you.

{Was he mocking her? Maybe a little. Teasing, more likely. But he wouldn't have minded sharing swig for swig. Germs were never something he had to worry about, and there'd be the added bonus of that little bit of a taste of her. There was that predator part of him coming to rise again...]

[ For a second, she looks like she's going to both pout and protest that statement, but then she just shrugs with a look of acceptance -- since, well, he's not wrong. And she likes that he's teasing her again, it feels like the good old days. Or the good... future days, for him.

Retrieving two short glasses from a cabinet, she nods toward the private rooms before leading the way to her own. It's late and she doesn't want to wake anyone, but part of her has to wonder if it wouldn't have been better to do this anywhere else. ]

[He can smell that one of the rooms has more of a concentration of her scent. Her room. Her bedroom. Well, that was just bringing to mind a whole host of things, and he found himself wiping a suddenly sweaty palm over the side of his jeans. Right. It was just a dream. Just a stupid dream.

He wasn't in love with her. The future was a lie. This was just... well. Something familiar.]

After you.

[ Buffy doesn't think about those things, because it hurts too much to remember those days and know that this Spike hates her. Even if he doesn't really, he thinks he does, and he isn't the Spike she fell in love with. Not yet. He just... could be.

The room isn't different from any of the others, save for the few tiny personal touches she's made to it. A light blue blanket draped across the end of the bed. The beaded necklaces she'd recently acquired hanging from the lamp on the desk, a few papers from work carefully stacked beneath them. She walks inside and sets the glasses on the desk beside those papers before turning to Spike, crossing her arms awkwardly for lack of anything else to do with them. ]

Well, this is it. Nothing special. [ Nothing like what she used to have. ]

Right. Better than what they set me up in.

[Still, he looks around, moving over to go run his fingers over the beads dangling from the lamp. She never changed. Not really. Always that steel cord running through her wrapped up in lace and pink. She looked like she'd fall over in a storm, but he knew better.

Holding up the bottle, he gestured at the glasses.]

Shall I?

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