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![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif) holding_forever
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) spike_survives | |
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How did I get myself in the same damn situation again? I was minding my own business, found meself a nice tropical island, with fruits so fucking juicy and sweet that I could go for days at a time without blood. With nice, friendly people, good folk who don't stake master vampires. With beautiful women, with skin like the finest milk chocolate, all of them hot blooded and great lays. And I left all that behind as soon as she called me.
I stomp on the cigarette stub like it's my own stupidity. Slayer just called yesterday like I was the bloody whelp, who lived three houses away. Oh, she was polite enough, but the short of it was that I ran to her like a dog to its master's heel.
Love's bitch. I was so fuckin' right!
She called me on the fuckin' phone! I dragged my sorry corpse out of that death alley the poof led us into. I got my shit together. Yeah, right, as together as a fucked up vampire with a bastard of a soul can be. And did she do anything to find me? To help me? To comfort me? I would've even taken a mercy shag from her. Like I always did. But no. She didn't give a rat's arse about me then. And now she calls me on the phone. Like she's ordering a pizza.
I light another fag. I'm twenty feet from her house, no time to enjoy it all the way, but I needed another one. Haven't seen her in almost three years. Wonder what's it gonna be like.
I can see her house. My steps are slowing down. I've been dying to see her for months, why the fuck am I slowing down?!
The front door jerks open making my heart give this unholy, undead lurch in my chest. The girl runnin' out the door 's not her. It's the chit. My heart sinks back like a stone. The door slams shut behind her, like another barrier falling between me and the Slayer.
The Nibblet's real upset. She storms by me, passing only inches from the tree behind which I stopped. She doesn't sense the presence of a vampire so close? Where does this girl think she lives? Disneyland?
She's speeding away. I look at the house, look at the girl's figure striding away. But then she stops. She's just sitting on a bench at the end of the street, head cradled in her hands. I look back at the house. I can almost smell the Slayer. I'm in the middle. I take another drag, let the smoke out slowly. I take the first step toward the house when some screwed up fatherly instinct or something turns me around like a puppet on a string. I can't leave her there. Her body's screaming "vampire candy".
I make sure she doesn't sense me coming. I wanna scare her back to her senses. She's delaying my long awaited reunion with the Slayer. I'm right standing behind her, so close that she should be able to sense my presence. I put my hands on her shoulders, gripping hard when she tries to pull away. I'm not letting her stand up, or run, or turn around. She's beginning to shiver. I can't let her see that I'm enjoying her fear. I'm here to be her guardian again. So, I speak. My voice sounds lower, more gravelly than I intended. How long has it been since I didn't say anything?
"You should be more careful, Bit. Any number of beasties around after dark."
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I should have seen this coming.
I should have known she would run off to save the world the minute he called her. I thought we were past that now. I thought that the world had been saved and all the apocalypses were now over. This time, for good.
I thought for once I was going to have a normal life, with a normal sister. How stupid can one person be? I’m the sister of the Slayer. Not the *only* slayer, but the only slayer he would call when things got a little dicey.
I’m supposed to start my sophomore year of college next week and instead of going clothes shopping with Buffy, I’m sitting on a wooden bench down the street from my house crying my eyes out because my sister just informed me that she’s leaving tomorrow for Italy.
We were just *there*.
I love Angel almost as much as Buffy does, in a brotherly sort of way, not in that ‘hot I want to jump your bones’ kinds of love like my sister has, but still, I love him but really….could he not have taken care of just this one thing by himself?
Couldn’t he have called Spike?
I’m sure he would have…..
There are suddenly a pair of cold hands on my shoulders. I know instantly they belong to a vampire. It’s August in Cleveland for crying out loud. No one but the undead have hands that cold around here in August. I start to shiver uncontrollably. I can’t help it. I’ve put myself in needless danger and all for what? Because I was acting like a two year old throwing a temper tantrum because my sister was leaving to do her job.
It’s her destiny after all and what kind of person would I be if I stopped her from fulfilling that?
It is then that I hear his voice and the cold hands that had been holding me in my spot like vice grips slowly released me. I know instantly why Spike isn’t the one running off to help Angel. He’s been called to fulfill *his* destiny…..
“You could have stopped me before I made such an ass out of myself,” I say as I wipe the tears from my eyes and stand.
When I turn and look into his eyes, he smirks. That cocky, self-assured grin that has always told me that he finds me amusing….whether I’m trying to be or not.
“Well??” I say in that exasperated tone I have when I’m the one in the wrong, but trying my hardest to lay the blame on someone else.
It works….sometimes.
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“You could have stopped me before I made such an ass out of myself.”
It makes me smile. Somehow it's my fault she's behaving like a dozy prat. She's wiping her eyes before she turns to face me. After all she's been through, she still has tears.
"Well??"
My little girl's demanding. I remember her being all sunshine and roses, the only ray of light in my dingy crypt and my dingy existence. She's not beaming anymore.
"My fault, Bit. What’s with the water works?" I ask, although I can guess the answer.
I watch her, trying to reconnect with her, with my past. Not the little girl who was sneaking in my crypt. Not the defiant young woman who threatened to set me on fire while I slept.
I put my arm around her shoulders as we walk back to her house. I put a lot of effort into seeming casual. I'm smooth, but sometimes that requires a lot of thought.
She stopped talking a while back. Come to think of it, she fell quiet and disentangled herself from me right by the tree where I had stopped earlier. We're at the door. I'm not reaching to open it, she's not moving either. We're both afraid to face Buffy. Strangely enough, for the same reason. We love her and she's leaving us. Again.
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We both just stand there, together, as if mentally willing the other to open the door. Neither of us wants to face Buffy, she’s leaving us, again.
Finally, after long moments, I gather some long forgotten inner strength and reach for the door. It’s an inevitable moment that won’t go away no matter how long Spike and I stand here; we might as well get it over with.
I turn the handle and walk inside, silent, waiting for someone else to make the next move. I did the hard part.
I wait for Spike to join me, and I wait some more before it hits me.
"Come in Spike," I invite quietly.
He shuts the door behind us and then we do it again, we freeze in statuesque positions, waiting….
Buffy breezes by us, phone up to her ear, arms full of laundry. If she sees us, she doesn’t acknowledge. I’m not sure if it’s me she’s ignoring or Spike.
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She finally opens the door. Her body language spells anxiety in bright neon letters. I realize that Buffy was right to call me. The chit seems more nervous than she was back in Sunnyhell. It's been radio silence for three years, I remind myself. Who knows what other horrors she had experienced in that time.
She walks inside diffidently. I don't even try to follow. She's bound to remember about the invite. She does. Her voice chills me. It is so subdued. Where had gone the lively, lovely girl I used to know? I forget to worry about it when I sense the Slayer getting closer. The past hits me harder this time. The want. The need. The hunger. The irresistible attraction. She's ignoring me for the moment. This grates, but it gives me time to observe her. She's every bit as beautiful as I remember.
Buffy's all light and energy. Her enthusiasm gets through to me, even if it's directed toward God-know-who she's talking to on the phone. But just as I start to brighten up, I sense the girl next to me shrinking in on herself. I feel her trying to retreat further inside her mind. So when she climbs upstairs, I follow her. Which is stupid, because the Slayer's leaving in a few hours, and I'll have all the time in the world to get to the bottom of whatever's eating up the Nibblet.
Man, I'm good! She's not even aware I'm behind her. She goes in her room without bothering to close the door behind her. She sits at her desk and when she reaches to turn on the computer, she startles seeing me.
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I've seen a room like this only once before. Wesley's office after Fred's death. Except for the skirts and shoes, I amend, but the memory is like a warning signal. Hope I'm overreacting.
"Bloody hell, Bit, whatha did? Blew up a library?" I ask trying to ease the tension.
She's wound up like a spring all of a sudden. You'd think the girl never had a vampire in her bedroom. She's not Buffy, I remind myself. Won't see Dawnie here boinking the undead. Buffy and Angelus. Buffy and me. It's strange how the memories no longer scorch my soul.
I look around her stuff, holding back the impulse to grab her shoulders and shake her until she comes back to me. Can't do that. Won't work with her. I gotta play the detective. I'll take it easy. It's not like I don't have the time.
I listen to her lying to me, because whatever she's saying with this new voice can be nothing but lies. I nod, I smile, I'm Mr. Considerate, the first cousin of Mr. Polite. I'll pretend whatever it takes to get to her. To get inside her darkness and pull her out.
And I wonder. Was it a monster? Was it a man? Was her heart broken? Was her body... my mind recoils at this point. I have to learn patience again.
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This won't do. I need a plan. I nearly snort at that. Me and plans. La dolce vita on my beloved island turned my brain to mush. Couldn't plan my way out of a paper bag right now.
I take out the packet of cigarettes instinctively. Not in my element here.
"Still with the no smoking policy, are you?" I ask. She'd better say yes.
She looks away when I turn to face her.
"I'm going downstairs for a smoke. You have any plans for later tonight?"
She looks at me like I'm simple. I probably am. I lived like a fat cat on that island. She would’ve liked it there. I wonder if she still loves Garfield. I remember teasing her about choosing a Garfield T-shirt when we went to the mall once. That summer.
I leave her alone, with her books, her laptop, her sadness. I hurry downstairs again. Need to have a talk with the Slayer. I hope the poofter hanged up by now. He's so damn needy! Like she's not flying to him in a few hours.
We go through the niceties. I have to keep myself from laughing. This is what I end up with after all I've done with her, to her and for her? At least we’re civil. I see her waiting for me to slip up. To beg again. For a real word. For a touch.
"What happened to the Nibblet?" I ask out of the blue.
Buffy gives me a look like she can't believe I just asked that.
'Yeah, luv,' I want to tell her. 'No more begging and crawling. 'm not under your spell anymore.'
I don't say any of this, of course. Because as much as I hate myself for it, I'd crawl on my knees to her if she gave me the faintest hope.
She informs me tartly that nothing happened to Dawn. She puts an emphasis on the name, making sure I understand she doesn't approve of my nicknames. She never liked when I called her Goldilocks either. I remember.
She tells me that Dawnjust grew up.
Is she blind? Or am I seeing things again? That ghost upstairs is not a grown up.
"I'm going out for a smoke," I repeat what I told Dawn not half an hour ago.
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"Need to eat something, Pet," I tell her.
All right, so sometimes it's fun to see her unnerved. A little payback never hurt anyone. She wants a fashion show! But at least she was smiling. Her eyes were sparkling again.
"Why so skiddish? I said eat, not drink, Pet."
We find a table in a cathedral of fast food. We order hamburgers, fries, chocolate pancakes and milkshakes. If we do this every night, we're gonna have to come back soon to get some bigger clothes. Speaking of clothes, I have to admit that I secretly approved of her choices. The jeans at least looked real good on my hot, tight little body.
Across the table from me Dawn's lost in thought. I take advantage of the comfortable silence to do some thinking of my own. Her ghostliness bothers me. It's like no one else is able to see her. She is the loveliest creature in this entire mall, and I didn't catch a single boy ogling her. I have to know why. Now, the guy in the last store I can understand. But they can't be all gay or blind.
I thought I saw a couple of boys looking at her earlier, but they didn't do a god damn thing about it. Maybe my presence scared them off. Or maybe I'm too close to see what's the problem.
"Gotta visit the little vampires' room. Don't go anywhere," I tell her and leave the table.
When I'm sure she's no longer looking at me, I hurry away, finding a spot from which I can assess her and her surroundings. I see boys looking at her. I can tell that their first reaction is positive. And rightly so, she's fucking gorgeous. But when they try to get closer, it's like they hit an invisible wall or something. They just stop, and walk away. Their body language remains neutral after that first appreciative glance. What the fuck is wrong with this generation? Things couldn't have changed this drastically in the two years I had fallen off the face of the Earth, into my sweet tropical paradise.
If I were younger and, let's face it, more alive, I wouldn't stand here just looking at this beautiful young woman. I'd be on the chair next to her, my mouth latched to hers, wiping away with my lips and my tongue that spot of chocolate on her upper lip. When the pink tip of her tongue darts out to lick the chocolate I feel the hint of trace of a suggestion of a twitch inside my pants. Damn it to hell, if it's working even on me, why aren't the others affected?
I take a mental step back, and I see it. There's something like a force field surrounding her. Everything in her body language says only one thing: "I'm taken".
Sodding arseholes!
Now, if Dawn was a regular girl, this could only mean that she's deeply, and apparently unrequitedly in love. But she's not normal, none of us are, and in our world this can also mean that some joy-eating demon sucked the joy out of her. A two-fold challenge! Point one – snoop around the mundane half of her life to find the guy who stole her heart. And point two – snoop around the other side of town, to see if anyone put the kibosh on her.
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I’m in the middle of my very own pity party when cold hands brush against the back of my neck.
You know, Spike never ceases to amaze me. Just when I think he’s ditched me for bigger and better things, he waltzes back into my life and with a present to boot.
“Spike…I thought…well you know, I’m not exactly Miss Ohio or anything and I kind of figured you…wow, it’s gorgeous, the necklace I mean, but I’m sure you probably knew what I was talking about….did you pay for this?”
I’m babbling and I know I am, but I just can’t help it. Something about the way he looks at me with that smirky grin just sends me into all kinds of diarrhea of the mouth. And when that finally stops it’s that smiling like a goofy barely-a-teen syndrome that I’d honed to perfection a few summers ago.
The idiot has no idea what he does to me. I just wished I had the nerve to tell him. Or show him, that would work too. Well, one would think anyway. With me, on the other hand, it would probably be all shits and giggles for him, watching me make a total moron of myself.
I look down at the necklace again and sigh with gleeful contentment. He may not do things like this for the reasons I’d like, but a girl can pretend can’t she?
“There’s an old drive-in down by the overpass that just got refurbished. I’ve been dying to check it out,” I offer.
Yeah, I’m dreaming it’s a real date, which potentially could lead to a hot and heavy make out session, so what?
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A drive-in? I kind of wanted to take her back home. Maybe fall asleep together on the couch in front of the TV. Memories from that summer when we only had one another keep coming up. Sometimes it's the pain of my failure to save Buffy, to protect Dawn. Other times, like now, I remember the little things we did together to pass the time. To keep away the hurt.
"Dyin', ay? Can't have that, can we, Bit?"
She huffs a little when I call her that. Maybe Buffy was right, and the nicknames aren't appropriate anymore. She's fallen back into that creepy, un-Dawn-like silence that I hate. We're in the elevator, going down toward the level where we left the car. I need to jolt her out of the silent movies.
"Bloody hell, Nibblet, whatcha write?" I ask looking at the location she had penned on my forearm.
I push my arm in front of her. She hesitates for a second before touching it, but she reaches out and traces the lettering with her fingers. All of a sudden, I have shivers running down my spine. So much shyness and warmth in that touch.
The drive-in turns out to be a very bad idea. The place is packed with couples, who are engaged in or about to be engaged in or have just finished a variety of recreational activities. It's not the sort of thing I usually resent, but with the company I'm keeping might not be appropriate to get all worked up by the sexual tension all around us.
Luckily the movie is action/adventure and not some romantic comedy laced with sexual tension. During the more boring scenes, I look over at Dawn. She seems to have let the movie drag her in its unreal universe. She's let her hair down, and I reach for it as if I'm hypnotized. She doesn't look away from the screen, but she moves closer to me, pushing her head into my hand like a kitten. I keep stroking it, and soon I find myself threading my fingers through it. I lost all interest in who's on whose side, and who's shooting who in the movie. I'm lost in the silk shimmering in the moonlight. My subconscious however, is busy centralizing the smells and sounds from outside the car and turning them into insidious sensations.
When the faint whisper of a moan passes her lips, the sexual tension that has been piled up steadily almost undoes me. With that unexpected lightning bolt of lust I startle back to some sort of lucidity. I pull my hand away, and glue my eyes to the screen.
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The drive-in was an even better idea than I thought! It’s like a teenage hormone-fest, couples making out left and right and with Spike’s vampire senses I know he has to be going out of his mind with the sexual tension.
I decide to play it all calm, cool and collected and ignore the fact that the car next to us is rocking back and forth due to the activities those inside are partaking in. Subtle hints are more my style. I inconspicuously let my hair down and when I deem the time just right, I lean a little in Spike’s direction. All the while never once taking my eyes off the movie, because that would, you know, give me away.
In the next moment, I feel his hand touch my hair. I move in a little closer, pushing my head into his palm until I feel him run his fingers through my hair. The shiver runs from my head to my toes. This is what I’ve been waiting for.
His fingers continue to snake through my long hair and when they reach my scalp, they massage it in long languid strokes. I think I may die right here in this car.
I try edging a little closer, I want more of him. I want more, now.
He fists his hand in my hair and the tension makes me moan in delight. This is exactly how I’d imagined…..
He suddenly retracts his hand from me as if I were doused in holy water and had burned him flesh and bone.
I burn my eyes into him now, wanting to know *why* I’m not good enough, but he refuses to look in my direction.
My life sucks beyond the telling of it.
I slide over as far towards my side as I can get, if the door hadn’t been shut, I’d be out on the ground by now. Crossing my arms over my chest, I turn and stare out the window and fight the tears that are threatening to fall once again.
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At first she's glaring at me. Then she retreats as far from me as the space allows it. She was enjoying my touches, but she was probably happier not thinking it was me doing it. This solitary life she seems to be leading must be getting to her if she chose to come here with me. Like a mock-date.
Still, the way she's acting now hurts. It's on a smaller scale the way Buffy treated me. Good enough to shag when the lights were out, but... beneath her. It's like those fucking words are branded with a hot iron in me.
Bit's not like that. She's just unhappy now. I wonder who she might want to be here with her. Somehow, I have the feeling that it's not some spotty faced college boy. She'd go for someone older. I have to find out.
A particularly gory scene catches my attention for a while. An "Eww" from Dawn makes me smirk. She had picked the theatre, but she couldn't pick the movie. If we'd be home now, she could hide her face in my shoulder. I could put my arm around her, and whisper some silly or nasty thing that would make her giggle.
I dare to sneak a peek at her. She's squeezing her eyes, but she soon smoothes her face. She's back to the mystery angel pose. I love it, but it freaks me up at the same time.
So, as soon as she falls asleep tonight, I'm going out to find some Wicca to hire to check out Dawn's aura or whatever the fuck she's gotta do. Bright and early tomorrow, as soon as she's out of the house I'm going to hunt for her diary. She kept one in Sunnydale, hope she still does.
The movie's over. We drive home in silence. I make a wrong turn on purpose to see if she says anything. She doesn't.
The house seems empty without Buffy. It feels like a mere husk. This can't be right. Why?
I pick up a tank top discarded on the living room couch. I'd know it's Buffy's even if I couldn't smell her on it. Dawn is looking at me from the hallway. I drop the sweater back on the couch.
When she offers to show me my room, I follow her doing some rather strenuous thinking. I realize that I didn't see any signs of her personality anywhere. She's lived there as long as Buffy, but it's like she left no trace of herself anywhere outside her room.
She thanks me for a lovely evening. The door closes behind her leaving me wondering if she meant it or there was some really understated irony in it.
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I go through the motions with Spike for the rest of the evening, pretending that I’ve had a good time and thanking him for it. But, in reality, it’s just the same ‘ol, same ‘ol for me. I’m left to my own devices in my room.
I consider pulling out my diary, but pass. It isn’t like there’s anything to report anyway. I wanted there to be. I wanted there to be a glorious night of sex or at the very least some great making out, but it’s painfully clear that Spike looks through me and not at me. I’m a ghost of what he cannot have and I should have gotten that message loud and clear by now but I’ve always held out hope. Hope that one day he’d move on, and get over my sister and instead see me as a real possibility…for a real relationship.
Changing out of my clothes, I slip into a t-shirt and climb under the covers. It will most likely be another sleepless night for me. They’re growing more frequent as I get older. When I was a kid I could crawl into bed with Mom or Buffy and just having that warm body next to me would sooth my fears, allow whatever was plaguing my thoughts to vanish into thin air. Now, it’s just me….alone.
I stare at the ceiling and wonder what Spike is thinking about? Is he asleep or enjoying an old movie on the Classics channel? More than likely, he’s roaming around Buffy’s room, picking up her clothes, smelling her scent, wishing he was the one she was running off with and not Angel.
I try closing my eyes, hoping that I’ll only be able to see black.
All I end up seeing is blonde.
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Fucked up nightlife in Cleveland! I didn’t realize how useful was the Californians' self absorption and their easy going attitude toward the unusual. Oh, I knew that on my beautiful, sorely missed island people accepted me and the witches because they were still in touch with super natural. Well, the ones who didn't have cable yet, anyway. The people here actually pay attention! I had to use the hypnotic gaze to get a couple to forget seeing me in front of a full length mirror without a reflection to look back at me.
I hit two fake psychic reading parlors, three completely useless magic shops, and something that advertised to have a special on "aura cleansing". Bloody worthless, all of them!
It takes me a while to find a genuine clairvoyant. I can tell she's genuine because she acts like one of Terry Pratchett's characters. "Mrs. Cake" – that's how I refer to her despite the clear sign on the door declaring her to be named Celestine DeMontrachet – answers my question before I get the words out.
"Of course I know what you are. You're a vampire. And you're definitely not invited."
That hadn't happened to me before. I wonder if I should ask the question. Just so the Universe doesn't get out of whack because of me.
"Do you know what I am?"
"Never did before, but as long as you keep your fangs to yourself, I guess I can give it a try."
"Umm, do you give consultations on the doorstep?" I ask, feeling stupid.
"Do you have something of hers? If that doesn't work, I have to see her."
"I have a friend who's acting strange lately. I want to know if someone put some hex on her."
I'm getting the hang of this. I hand her the set of keys to the house that she gave me when we got back. "Mrs. Cake" looks at me with the expression of a schoolteacher faced with an eager, but not too bright student.
"These are yours now. She's given them to you. I need something that's hers, and hers alone. Don't get worked up, I'm not a voodoo priestess!" she says.
I suppress the angry response. Life on the island made me real jumpy about black magic. I'm about to ask her what sort of thing would be useful, when she speaks.
"Something she wears. If she cares about it, even better."
I spoke a few seconds after than her.
"What sort of thing? Don't wanna be coming here all week bringing the wrong stuff. Aww," I exclaim when she gives me a thump on the back of the head.
"A T-shirt is fine!" she snaps, making me swallow the quip about nicking Dawnie's knickers.
The night is dragging to an end when I drag myself back in the Summers' house. Can't wait for her to leave to go through her room. Now I have two reasons to invade her privacy.
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I’m startled awake in the moments just before the sun rises, there are noises downstairs and if my senses haven’t totally left me they sound like they’re coming up the stairs. I debate mentally whether I should just pull the covers up over my head or get up and check things out. I decide I have a better chance of avoiding slaughter by crazy ax wielding guy if I’m up and armed.
I grab the baseball bat that liens against the wall next to my bedroom door and stand quietly. The noise seems to pause for a brief moment and then continue down the hall. I crack my door slightly to catch a quick view of whatever it is that’s come to kill me. I grumble in annoyance when I see it’s only Spike, obviously just returning from a night out on the town. Glad to see my company last night was fulfilling.
Closing my door back, I stand and look around my room. It’s too early to get dressed and head to campus to get the rest of my books for this semester and I’m way too wide-awake to go back to sleep now.
I opt for my laptop and a little catch up with my friends to start my day. I power up and do a quick check of my email. Nothing of any dire consequence, that can’t wait until later. Moving on I decide to check my friends list and make my own journal entry. Since Janice decided to stay instate and attended UCLA, Live Journal is about the only way I get to stay in touch with her.
Keying in my password that I found out the hard way I needed to keep private or else anything I said could and would be read by my sister. For some reason all those years, growing up her diary was off limits to me, but when she got up the notion, she could hope online and read anything of mine she wanted to. Not any more, she’s not on my friends list and will never be for that matter.
It doesn’t look like Janice has updated since the last time I checked. Guess it couldn’t hurt to add my woes of last night to my blog-o-depression.
~This guy that I really like asked me out last night. He’s a little older than I am, okay maybe a little is a tad bit of an understatement, but isn’t age just a number? I think that’s the saying anyway.
Anywho, it didn’t turn out exactly the way I was hoping it would. I guess I don’t really measure up to his past conquests. I’m not giving up hope yet though. I think that eventually he’ll get over *her* and come around.
I mean I’m right here!
Hello….all you have to do is open your eyes!~
When I finish my entry, I notice that I’ve spent way more time online than I had intended. I log off and shut down the laptop, grab some clean clothes and head down the hall to get a nice hot shower.
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I wake up around noon. There's a note from Dawn stuck to the fridge telling me she's off to buy the rest of her books, and if I needed her to buy anything to eat or whatever I should call her on her cell. The number's scribbled underneath.
Oh, I'm going to call her all right. To make sure she doesn't catch me snooping in her room.
I climb the stairs in a few leaps. Her door's open, which doesn’t really bode. She either has nothing to hide, which would be a big disappointment. Or she's hidden it so well, she's not worried. I hope for the second as I walk in.
I take mental pictures of the room, so as to be sure to get everything right after my unconstitutional and quite methodical search.
In half an hour I'm convinced she no longer keeps a diary. Major setback in my snooping plan. She probably has friends, and she might just confide in them. But I have no clue about her life outside the Buffyverse as I heard her calling it once.
I try to think back. What did I know about her in Sunnydale? We talked for hours back then. And it wasn't always me telling grim stories from my bad ass past. I seem to remember one friend. Janice, wasn't it? Hmm, what else? Nothing comes to mind.
Let's try a bit of role playing. If I'm Dawn and I have a crush on a boy, what would I do? I'd talk to my best friend. I can't always hang with her, so I probably call her on the phone a lot. I should look for an address book, something with phone numbers in it.
I'm sitting at her desk, opening drawers again. This time, I'm not looking for a hidden notebook. It must be something that's readily at hand.
My elbow hits the laptop as I bend down to look in the lower drawers. I'm such an idiot! Paper is passé. She probably has everything in her computer.
I turn it on, and then I stop. I'm not computer illiterate. Well, not for someone born around 1850, anyway. Even I know that someone can tell if someone else was on their computer.
Damn! There's a little envelope on the right corner of her screen. She's got mail. Would she know if I read it?
I turn off the gizmo, thinking hard who do I know who has a sodding clue about this stuff. As it turns out, I'm rather one sided in my choice of company. All the men I know are either demons, or Watchers. And all the women I know, I slept with and not called back.
And then there's him. Come to think of it he's both a Watcher, and somewhat of a demon. The annoying, joy-sucking kind of demon.
Andrew Wells!
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After I finish at the campus bookstore, I decide to stop off at the local Barnes & Noble© to see what new arrivals they have in, plus there’s a Starbucks© in there and I’m jonesing for a good latte. I brows their “just in” table and notice a couple of vampire novels.
“Huh, if they only knew,” I say much louder than I had intended to.
The little girl on the opposite side of the table eyes me as if I’m crazy. Huh, if *she* only knew! That was to myself; no need making a scene. Instead, I give her a half smile, hoping she doesn’t go screaming away, yelling for her mommy to come save her from the weirdo.
She smiles back as politely as I’m sure her mother has taught her and then moves on to the next table and obviously as far away from me as she can get.
I grab the newest Janet Evanovich and head to the checkout. After a polite decline of the store’s membership information, I pay and head over to the coffee shop. I order my latte just the way I like it and then grab the last table I see. I’m not in the mood to head home to Spikeville just yet so I decide to read a little of my new purchase first. Enjoying the atmosphere, my drink and a little Stephanie Plum and suddenly the depressing events of last night are swept under the carpet.
I’m doing my best to contain my giggles while reading. I honestly should know better than to sit in here reading from this series. Anyone who’s ever cracked open a Stephanie Plum novel knows exactly what I mean. Anytime you think your own life sucks beyond the telling of it, just read about the bounty hunter, she’ll top you any day, but in the funniest damn way possible.
“You look gorgeous when you laugh.”
I look up in wide-eyed horror. I knew the giggles were escaping me more often than I would have liked, but I had no idea I was drawing that much attention to myself.
“I….uhhhh….sorry?” I offer.
“No need, it was refreshing to see such happiness,” the tall dark and handsome guy returns.
I’m almost transfixed in his gaze but then I catch site of a blond head and I’m shoved back into my reality.
Spike.
“I’ve got to go,” I say quickly while grabbing my things and heading for the door.
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"Cash, huh?"
I have to bite my tongue not to give her a snide reply about not even being paid to babysit her. I promise myself that, if there is some sort of hex on her, and I break it, I'll ask for my expenses back. Like the hefty fee Celestine was charging.
I pay up, and lounge carelessly on an armchair, watching her get her cute little derriere walk out the door. As soon as she's out, I run upstairs and sniff around for her top. I hope I got her mad enough with the request for cigarettes so that she's going to think that she just forgot where she left it.
The fabric is soft and it almost feels like it's still retaining her warmth. I can't help burying my face in it. Smell's amazing. It's her own sweet aroma, mixed with a little coffee, and other scents.
Now, from this, two things happen. First, there's another stirring south of the border. Which brings the total to three times she did this to me in less than twenty four hours. Second, among all the other smells, I can trace one that's slightly more persistent. Like this guy has been around her for a little longer than anyone else.
I fold the shirt carefully, put it in a Ziploc bag I got from the kitchen, and put it in my room, under my pillow.
By the time she's back, I'm in front of the TV. She throws me the packs with a "smoking's bad" look. I smirk. I'm bad, too, baby.
"Any plans, Pet? I'm all yours."
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