Mindstorm
by William's Girl
Prologue
12/30/03 Sunnydale, CA
Officers Connery and Moore stepped into the elevator of the Drake Apartment
Building and pressed the button for the third floor. As the elevator began to
move Moore turned to Connery and for the second time asked, “What, exactly, did
Dispatch say the woman said again?”
“She said, ‘She’s dead and I can’t get her to leave the apartment. Oh my lord.’”
repeated Connery with a deadpan expression and bored tone.
“You’d think we’re coming up on Halloween instead of New Years, huh?” asked
Moore a bit nervous. “Probably some loon thinking she’s seen a ghost!”
“Man, you just never know. You’re new here. I’m telling you, a few more years
working the streets of Sunnydale and you’ll have all kinds of stories,” said the
older officer as the doors to the elevator opened.
The two walked side by side around the corner and down the hall, checking the
apartment numbers. As they rounded the next corner an impossibly thin woman ran
up to them. Her eyes were almost comically wide. She was over eighty if she was
a day yet her short hair remained jet black, save for the 1/2 inch wide strip of
white apparent at the part. Her wrinkled lips had been meticulously painted with
bright red lipstick, which was now smeared. She had been dressed to the nines in
a red dress and matching pumps, but the effect was spoiled by the splatters of
vomit that covered her shoes and skirt.
“Oh! Officer’s I’m so glad you’re here. It’s awful! Simply awful! I can’t get
her to come out…and she won’t say anything! Not that she normally says anything-”
the woman began to babble.
“Whoa! Slow down, Mrs.-” started Moore.
“Robert’s” she said. “Mrs. Robert’s. Oh! I must look a sight. I’m so sorry!,
I-” began the woman as she pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of her dress
and dabbed her forehead and her upper lip.
“Why don’t you tell us what’s going on?” asked Officer Moore as he lifted his
nose into the air and sniffed. “God! What’s that smell?”
“That’s just it! It’s her, Mrs. Summers. The neighbors were complaining,
about the smell. I couldn’t track it down at first. But then it seemed to be
coming from her apartment. I knocked and there was no answer. I thought it could
be a plumbing problem so I went in and that’s when I found them!” explained Mrs.
Robert’s as she covered her mouth with her handkerchief and shook her head.
“It’s alright!” soothed Connery as he gently placed a hand on her shoulder.
“Why don’t you show us?”
“No!” she shouted. “I’m not going back in there. I-I can’t!” she said taking
two steps backwards.
“Just give us the apartment number, Mrs. Roberts” suggested Moore.
“3B,” said Mrs. Roberts as she looked down at her soiled clothing. They are
in 3B. And, if you’ll excuse me, I have to- to get out of these clothes. I’m in
1A if you need anything else. Oh, God, how on earth am I ever going to get that
smell out?”
The two police officers proceeded down the hall towards apartment 3B. The
front door was standing open. The horrible acrid odor was even more pungent
inside than outside. It was the unmistakable odor of decomposition, of death.
“Christ!” said officer Connery as he pulled out a handkerchief and covered
his nose. In doing so he managed to brush up against a stack of mail on an entry
table and knock it over.
“You’re making a mess!” scolded the more meticulous Moore.
“Somehow I don’t think the owner will notice,” said Connery through his
handkerchief as he proceeded to walk into the living room. As he passed through
the door he held one hand out behind him, a signal to his partner that he should
stop.
Moore froze and swallowed hard when the more seasoned officer turned to him,
a pained expression on his face. “Call the coroner, and call Child Protection
Services,” said Connery before turning to slowly walk into the room.
Moore plucked his radio off of his utility belt and called in to Dispatch. He then slowly proceeded to follow his partner around the corner and into the room. The room itself was sparsely decorated, like the rest of the apartment. It was like dozens of other furnished apartments he had seen since coming to Sunnydale. But, this one would stand out forever in his mind. It wasn’t so much the image of the dead woman, laying in repose on the sofa; he had seen dead bodies before. It was the sight of the small, frail looking child that sat next to the body heedless of anyone's presence, as she rocked back and forth, staring into space, and clutching the dead woman's hand fast to her breast.
Chapter 1
12/31/03 San Diego, CA
“Oh! Now that’s just too much!” laughed Lorne as he clutched at his stomach
and walked over to his desk.
“Let me guess, you’re sharing my story. Let’s all have a great big laugh at
Spike’s expense!” shouted Spike throwing his hands up in the air. “Is there
anyone in this office that hasn’t heard of my humiliating experience?”
“Sorry, Spike,” said Fred leaning into the office, I think we’ve pretty much
all heard.
“Xander! I swear you’re like an old woman! Can’t you keep anything to
yourself?” asked Spike.
“Um, I hate to break this up. Really I do,” started Fred giving them a
nervous smile and pushing her glasses back up on her nose, “but the boss just
got a call about a new case and Xander’s up. He needs to see you, Xander.” The
thin, slightly nervous secretary then glanced up shyly at Spike and quietly
whispered, “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone you’re moving in with a-a
prostitute.”
“I am not-” began Spike before rounding on Xander and continuing “You! You’re
in trouble mister-”
“Oooo! Will there be spanking involved? Can I watch?” interrupted Lorne.
“Eww!” responded Xander, wagging his finger. “There will be no spanking! And
no watching! Not of any kind! If there is to be any retaliation it will involve
manly punching or crude practical jokes. Geesh, Lorne! Keep joking like that
someone’s going to think you’re gay,” finished Xander before leaving the office
that the three men shared.
Spike pulled out his chair, sat down and propped his feet comfortably on top
of his desk. His desktop was relatively void of personal items. He had just
transferred to San Diego from Los Angeles County a few short weeks ago and was
in the process of wrapping up the tail end of training for his new Child
Protection job.
“Um, Lorne?” asked Spike as he absently picked up a Rubik Cube and began to
fiddle with it. “Why doesn’t Xan know you’re gay?”
“He’s a bit homophobic,” said Lorne with a wave of his hand. “It makes him
nervous,” he whispered before pulling out his own chair and sitting down.
“But the other night, when we were at your apartment you introduced Mark as
‘your partner’,” pointed out Spike. “Don’t you think that should have clued him
in?”
Lorne shrugged, “People see what they want to see.”
“But, you live together,” confirmed Spike.
“True,” admitted Lorne.
“In a one bedroom apartment,” added Spike.
“Uh-huh,” said Lorne, absently as he sorted through his mail.
“Just what kind of ‘partners’ does he think you are? Business partners?”
speculated Spike. “Like, by day you’re a mild-mannered social worker and Mark is
a third grade teacher, but in your off hours you band together to…what?”
“Oh! Maybe we fight crime like Batman and Robin!” added Lorne obviously
inspired.
Spike appeared to mull it over for a moment and then said, “Sounds plausible,
Batman and Robin were obviously gay. No self-respecting straight guy would walk
around wearing tights or trying to resist the temptation that is Cat Woman.”
“Oh! We’re talking about comic books now?” asked Xander as he walked back
into the office and sat down. “I love comic books.”
“Actually,” began Lorne, “I was just about to hear Spike’s version of
yesterday’s events. You have the floor.”
“Bloody Hell!” groaned Spike as he brought his feet back down to the floor
and leaned forward in his chair. “Alright! Here’s the long and short of it. I
get off a bit early yesterday and head back to my Uncle Rupert’s place where
I’ve been staying. I get in the elevator and there’s this bird-”
“Translation,” interjected Xander, “hot chick.”
“Oi! Who is telling the story?” asked Spike.
“Sorry,” responded Xander.
“So,” continued Spike, “the elevator door opens up and we both get out on the
same floor. We walk down the hall and end up right at the end. Apparently she
lives across the hall from my uncle. Just as we get close to our respective
doors the bottom falls out of her grocery sack and stuff goes everywhere. Course,
being the helpful bloke I am I start to help her gather up her belongings-”
“And here’s where the story really begins…I swear this is just like one of
those movies with Doris Day and what’s his name?” asked Xander.
“Rock Hudson?” suggested Lorne.
“That’s it!” shouted Xander excitedly.
“Go on, sweetie!” encouraged Lorne.
“So,” said Spike. “She says something about my being her 4:00 as she unlocks
the door and invites me into the apartment. I walk in because my arms are full
of the chit’s groceries and I start to lay the stuff out on the counter. Next
thing I know she’s pointing out the way to the bedroom and saying something
about hoping that the Queen sized-bed is sufficient. She tells me to go on in
and that she’ll be there in just a minute.”
“Okay, so you think she’s offering…” began Lorne.
“Nookie!” interjected Xander. “Isn’t this hilarious? So, tell him what you
said!”
“I think it was something profound, like, ‘huh’?” admitted Spike. Then she
says, “I just assumed you’d want to, you know, see stuff before filling out the
application. I mean, there’s no need to fill out an application if you’re not
interested.”
“And here’s the best part-” interrupted Xander. “Our Romeo says, ‘Oh, I can’t
imagine that there’s a bloke alive that wouldn’t be interested, Pet.”
“And, that’s when she gave me the application to rent the room in her
apartment,” finished Spike.
“Okay! So does the young lady have any idea that you thought she was a-”
began to ask Lorne.
“No! And she’ll never know!” said Spike pointing back and forth between the
two of them.
“Right!” nodded Lorne. “It’ll stay between you and me and the rest of the
Department of Social Services,” said Lorne rolling his eyes, “our little secret.”
“Man, you’re just lucky that you were actually looking for an apartment!”
said Xander. “So! Where is this place?”
“Over on Goldfinch, in Mission Hills,” said Spike as he stripped off the blue
denim shirt that he had been wearing over his t-shirt, and sat back down at his
desk to start reviewing his e-mails.
“Goldfinch?” asked Xander, looking down at the paper he held in his hand.
“Yeah, 4435 Goldfinch,” said Spike as he began to read the latest e-mail from
his supervisor. It contained the long list of cases that he was to be assuming
responsibility for as of January second. “Looks like they’re not wasting any
time assigning cases to me,” said Spike as he rolled back in his chair and began
searching through a desk drawer. “I’ll have to hit the ground running on Monday.
No more slacking off!”
“We’re too short staffed to let you just sit around looking pretty,” chimed
in Lorne as he picked up his ringing phone.
“Um, Spike?” asked Xander. “What did you say your new roommates name is?”
“Buffy, Buffy Summers,” said Spike as he pulled out a legal pad and began to
scribble down the list of case numbers.
“Elizabeth Summers?” asked Xander, still looking at the piece of paper.
Spike turned around and raising an eyebrow at Xander asked, “Do you know
her?”
“My new assignment,” said Xander holding up the sheet of paper. “Seems she’s
the only living relative of a court dependent from LA. They wanted someone to go
down there in person and talk to her about taking the kid, otherwise they’ve got
to find long-term placement on New Year’s Eve and-”
“Why wouldn’t they just call her? That’s what they normally do,” said Spike
as he stood up and walked over towards Xander.
“There are extenuating circumstances. This is strictly a courtesy request.
Seems like the girl’s mother passed away. They found her in the apartment,
locked up with the deceased. She’d been there a few days, Spike. The coroner
notified the next of kin, it was the deceased’s estranged husband. He’s the one
that gave CPS the name of your Elizabeth as the girl’s sister,” explained
Xander.
“I take it he’s not the girl’s father?” asked Spike.
“No,” said Xander, “it says father unknown. The worker from LA thought it
would be best to deliver the news in person-”
Spike reached for the report and frowned as he reviewed the details. After a
moment he looked up at his new friend and said, “Why don’t you run along home to
that pretty wife of yours? I’ll have a chat with Ms. Summers and call LA back.”
“You’re sure? It’s my case and-” started Xander as he started to put on his
coat.
“Go!” said Spike. “And, it’s still your case. I’m just doing this one thing,
got it?”
“Thanks, buddy! I owe you!” shouted Xander as he left the office.
Lorne hung up the phone, turned to face Spike and asked, “Tell me I didn’t
hear what I thought I heard.”
“You were talking on the phone the entire time! How could you have possibly
tracked our conversation?” asked Spike dryly as he put his shirt back on.
“I can multi-task. It comes in very handy when trying to eavesdrop,”
explained Lorne.
“Well,” said Spike standing up and reaching for his leather coat. “There’s no
good time for news like this. Might as well get it over with. Looks like I’ll be
looking for an apartment again.”
“Happy New Years!” shouted Lorne after him as he took off down the hall.
Chapter 2
Thirty year old Spike Giles paced in front of the door to what he had been starting to think of as his future apartment, “Good evening Miss Summers,” he murmured before shaking he head and stopping. He reached up and nervously ran his hand through his short-cropped bleached blond hair, making it stand up on end. He puffed out his cheeks, exhaling and said to himself, “Try again, mate.”
Spike leaned against the wall of the hallway and nervously tapped the heal of one of his Doc Martens against the toe of the other as he reached in the pocket of his duster and pulled out a rumpled pack of Marlboros. He looked inside at the one cigarette that remained in the pack and scowled. Two years ago he had lost his mother to breast cancer. Before she died she begged him to promise her that that would be the last cigarette he ever smoked, and he had yet to smoke it. Every time he looked at it he remembered her pain and the incredible void he experienced with her death.
He put the pack back into the pocket of his duster and then he reached into the pocket of his blue jeans for a stick of gum. He tucked the motorcycle helmet that he had been holding under one arm. As he proceeded to open up the stick of gum the helmet slipped out and loudly struck the hardwood floor, awkwardly rolling until it stopped, knocking up against the front door of Buffy’s apartment.
As he bent down to pick it up he heard the unmistakable sound of the door opening. “Come on in, Will,” he heard her say, “I’m almost ready. You’re early!”
Spike stood up and peered into the apartment. Already she was nowhere in sight. Where she had disappeared to so quickly he couldn’t begin to guess. He stepped inside and quietly closed the door. As he turned around he was greeted by the vision of her walking out of the bathroom, shaking out the loose curls of her long mane of honey-blonde hair. She was wearing a stunning red dress. It was cut on the bias, dipped low in the front, and hugged her curves in all the right places. In her hand she held a mismatched pair of shoes. “What do you think? Should I go with the sexy strappy sandal or the more conservative pump?”
As her eyes met his, her beautifully red-glossed lips formed an almost perfect “O”. “Spike!” she said, surprised, looking around.
“Yeah?” he asked following her gaze.
“What are you doing here?” she asked. “Where did Will go?”
“You’re expecting another Will?” he questioned.
“No, just the one. Where did she go?” asked Buffy again.
Spike tilted his head and tried desperately to focus on what she was saying and not on what had become his suddenly uncomfortable blue jeans. “Where did who go?”
“My friend, Willow. Didn’t she let you in?” asked Buffy.
“Ah!” said Spike. “No. You let me in. Thought you were talking to me when you shouted out the invitation. Will is my Christian name, luv.”
“Oh!” said Buffy smiling up brightly at him. “William Giles. I like it. It suits you.”
“Once upon a time, perhaps. Not anymore,” said Spike. “Care to model them? It’s hard to imagine which would look best.”
“Sure,” said Buffy as she leaned down and easily slipped the pump on and then the sandal.
Spike swallowed, cleared his throat and then took a step back to take a good look at the overall affect. “Maybe if you walked a bit?”
Buffy dutifully turned around and took a few steps away from him. Spike watched appreciatively as she moved, the skirt of her dress swaying along with her hips. For a moment he became lost in thought. Before he knew it she had spun around and was walking back towards him.
“Well?” she asked, expectantly.
“What kind of an impression are you trying to make, exactly?” he asked.
Buffy frowned and said, “Hmmm. Sexy but not slutty. I’m a fun but serious, looking for a special someone but still independent Buffy.”
“So this is a first date?” asked Spike. “Not that it’s any of my business.”
“Huh? No, no date. I’m just going with Willow and Tara,” offered Buffy. “But you never know when you’re going to meet Mr. Right!”
“Definitely the pumps,” said Spike with conviction.
“Right!” said Elizabeth as she kicked her sandal off and bent down to slip on the other pump. “Hey! You can help me choose earrings,” she said before turning towards her bedroom.
“You do realize I’m a guy, right?” he asked.
Buffy turned around to face him and placing her hands on her hips said, “Of course! That’s why I’m asking your opinion, silly!”
“Something is different,” he said, his forehead wrinkling in confusion.
“Well my hair isn’t pulled back in a ponytail, I’m wearing make-up and I’m not in jeans and a sweatshirt?” proposed Buffy.
“No!” he said dismissively waving his hand. “It’s not you, you were just as stunning yesterday its…the boxes,” he said as his eyes were drawn to the large boxes that were in the corner of the living room.
Elizabeth blushed slightly at his unwitting compliment and then asked, “Oh, that! You don’t happen to have a screwdriver and read ancient Sumerian do you?”
“Sumerian?” asked Spike following her back towards her room.
“I’m not very handy,” laughed Buffy. “Assembly instructions might as well be in some dead language for all the good they do me. There’s actually a smaller third bedroom. I bought a desk and shelving so that I could set up an office in there. Willow and I had used it as an office before, but the furniture was all hers.”
“Willow, is the friend you’re going out with tonight,” Spike said as he shook his head at the long ornate black-jeweled earrings she held up.
“Yeah. We run a business together, Seasons, we plan events and parties. We used to be roommates too,” she said holding up a pair of red crystal earrings. “But, then she found true love. She and Tara are really committed to one another and Tara’s great. When Will told me that they wanted to live together I couldn’t help but be happy for her-” continued Buffy as she started to again fish through her jewelry box.
Spike looked over her shoulder and pointing at a pair of simple square-cut ruby earrings said, “Those.”
Buffy looked up, surprised. As she put them on she said, “My mother gave me these for Christmas the year I graduated from high-school. They used to be hers.”
“Buffy, there was a reason I came, luv-” he began.
She looked at him expectantly and said, “You’re not bailing on me, are you?”
“No, nothing like that. It’s business. It’s about your mum and sis, actually,” began Spike.
“My mom and sister?” asked Elizabeth, confused.
Spike pulled the paper from his pocket and said, “Best you sit down.”
“I don’t want to sit down,” said Buffy feeling a bit agitated. “How do you know anything about my family?”
“I don’t know much, Pet. This came across the fax at work today. One of the other social workers was assigned the call but once I realized, I…” Spike brought his hand up to again nervously run it through his hair. “Buffy, your mother’s passed away, luv. I’m terribly sorry. Seems it was a few days ago, but she was found yesterday. Your little sis is alone. She needs a place to stay. LA CPS thinks the best place for her is with you.”
Buffy looked up at him slowly, her eyes glistening with tears. “What?” she asked as she struggled to take it all in.
Spike led her over to her bed and she mechanically sat on it. He took her hand in his and quietly repeated, “Your mum’s passed away, pet. I’m sorry.”
She looked at him, her upper lip quivering and asked, “How?”
Just then, they were interrupted by a harsh buzzing sound. Both sets of eyes were automatically drawn to the living room where the buzzer was located. “Willow and Tara,” said Buffy as she pinched her nose, and shook her head trying to prevent the inevitable flow of tears.
“Shall I buzz them into the building?” asked Spike.
“No!” shouted Buffy, looking panicked. “I d-don’t want…I’m not ready,” she started.
“They’re you’re friends, right?” asked Spike.
He watched as Buffy stood up and stiffly walked out of her room and over to the intercom by the door. “Willow?” she asked.
“Hey, Buff!” said the cheerful voice. “Buzz us in!”
“You know? I think I’ve caught some awful flu thing,” said Buffy into the intercom before giving a sideways look at Spike. “I was just about to page you. It’s ugly, really. I don’t want to let you up and expose you. You two go and have fun, alright?”
“Well, do you need anything? I hate to leave you alone,” said Willow hesitantly.
“It’s probably just a 24-hour thing. I’ll probably be right as rain tomorrow. You two go and have fun. Have a glass of champagne for me!” said Buffy as she leaned her head against the intercom and released the call button.
“You have my cell,” said Willow. “Call if you need anything.”
And then there was silence. Spike watched as several minutes passed without Buffy moving. He removed his leather duster and laid in over one of the living room chairs. He looked around the apartment trying to look for clues about just whom this girl was, what made her tick. And he realized, for the first time, how sterile it all looked, how impersonal. The furniture was of good quality and although there weren’t many pieces what she had was tasteful. But it looked like a showroom, devoid of pictures, or any of those other touches that can make a space feel lived in, that makes a house a home.
“What do I need to do?” he heard her ask.
Spike walked over to her and placed his hand lightly on her shoulder, “I’m sure this is quite a shock,” he began quietly.
“Don’t,” she said as she stepped away from him. She looked up at him, tears staining her cheeks, eyes still moist and said, “Don’t be tender. Don’t pretend like you care. You don’t even know me. You don’t know anything.”
Then she turned around and without another word she walked back to her bedroom and closed the door with a quiet click.
Chapter 3
Spike stood there for a few minutes looking at her closed bedroom door. “What
the hell are you going to do now?” he mumbled to no one in particular. And then
he heard them, quiet sobs.
He didn’t think twice. He stood up, walked over to the closed door, and
quietly entered the room. Buffy was lying on her side on the bed, facing away
from the door. Her hair was splayed out across one pillow and she held the
second pillow clutched to her. He approached the bed, sat down behind her, and
automatically began to run his fingers through her hair, “Some of what you said
in there is true. I don’t know you-”
“What are you doing?” she asked as she suddenly sat up and pulled away.
“Trying to comfort you?” he hesitantly suggested.
“But the door was closed!” stated Buffy, incredulous that he had invaded her
privacy.
“Yes,” he admitted nodding.
“And, I specifically left you on the other side of the closed door!” said
Buffy pointing at the door.
“True, but the comforting thing doesn’t work so well that way. See, we social
workers use this technique called empathic listening and in addition to
occasional vocalizations like, ‘tell me more’, ‘I understand’, and ‘hmmm’, it
requires actual eye-contact,” said Spike.
“Did I ask for your comfort?” responded Buffy, obviously agitated as she
climbed off the bed, moved over to the dresser and angrily pulled a tissue out
of the tissue box. “No!” she yelled as she wiped at her eyes. She hastily
reached for a second tissue and in doing so knocked over her jewelry box.
Spike knelt down and quietly said, “Let me get that.”
“I can do it!” snapped Buffy and she fell to her knees. “I can take care of
myself! I don’t need-I d-don’t-”
Spike watched for a moment as the woman before him began to frantically pick
up the dropped pieces of jewelry and replace them in the box. Within a few
seconds, though, her motions ceased and she just sat there, staring down at the
floor, sobbing.
Spike swept aside the remaining pieces of jewelry, slid closer to her, and
gently wrapped his arms around her trembling body. And, she let him. They sat
that way as minutes ticked by. How many passed neither one of them knew. Slowly
Buffy’s sobs subsided. Her head was still buried in his chest and she dreaded
having to look up.
“I’m sorry you had to see me like this,” murmured Buffy quietly, as she
started to pull away, too embarrassed to look him in the eye.
“I’m not,” he said reaching out to lightly caress her face, gently guiding
her head towards him so that he could search out her eyes. Then he smirked,
reached up and grabbed a tissue and handing it to her said, “Except for the snot
part. I could have done without that. Blow.”
Buffy’s eyes widened and she immediately brought the tissue up to cover her
nose and did as directed. As she finished she moved to climb back to her feet.
Spike jumped up and held his hand out to her. She placed one hand in his, the
other on the edge of the dresser and stood up. “Thanks,” she said, quietly, her
eyes still glistening with tears.
Spike pulled the front of his now tear stained t-shirt away from his body and
looking down at it said, “I’m gonna go change. I’ll be right back. Then, we’ll
talk.”
“You don’t have to baby-sit me,” said Buffy.
“Look, you don’t have any plans. I know that for a fact, now. I don’t have
any plans, either. I was just gonna cook myself some dinner and watch a bit of
television. It’s just as easy to cook for two. It’s not baby-sitting. It’s being
a friend,” said Spike. “Now, why don’t you wash your face and put on something
comfortable. In spite of my snarky snot comment earlier…well, I want you to know
that I’d rather see the real you, warts and all as they say.”
Buffy wrinkled her nose and said, “Eww, I don’t have warts.”
Spike raised his eyebrow and smiled, a genuine smile. Then he reached back to
rub his neck and said, “Kitten, we all have warts of some kind.”
As he backed out of her room and moved to leave the apartment he hollered
out, “Do you want to lock up behind me or leave the door open? I’ll just be
about ten minutes.”
“Was it suicide?” he heard her ask quietly.
Spike stopped, turned to face her and nodded, “Booze and barbiturates.”
Buffy swallowed and asked, “My sister, she’s in detention someplace?”
“Over at Oliveview, for now,” responded Spike. “I’ve got the number if you
want to call her.”
“I’ll leave the door open,” she said. Then she followed him back into the
living room and watched as he slipped out.
She walked over to the closed door and shakily raised her hands, one coming to rest on the deadbolt, the other pressed flat against the door. She took a step towards the hard wooden door and resting her head against it released a ragged breath.
Chapter 4
Thirty minutes later Buffy emerged from her shower and toweled off. Before
Spike had shown up she had bathed and painstakingly readied herself for the
evening. As soon as he left she felt the need to shower again. She told herself
that the hot water would help relax her and that the steam would help the
headache that was forming behind her eyes. But really, it was an irrational
desire to attempt to remove the stench of her past.
Although she had pulled her hair back before stepping into the shower, some
random lose strands had gotten wet. She pulled out her hastily clipped up hair
and brushed it back into a neat ponytail at the base of her neck. She then put
on a thin layer of moisturizer, slipped on her red silk robe, and walked out of
the bathroom and into her bedroom.
As she caught a glimpse of herself in her mirror she turned towards the
image, studying it for a moment. She leaned forward, sticking her tongue out at
her own reflection. Then pointing at herself she said, “You know what the
problem is Buffy Summers? Wherever you go…there you are.”
Suddenly she became aware that music was playing out in the living room. Not
just music, opera. She slowly opened the door and looked around. The kitchen,
living room and dining room were all clearly in view. Spike had lit the gas logs
in the fireplace and the candles on the coffee table, her expensive candles, the
one’s that were for decoration. He was in the kitchen, standing over a skillet,
singing along with Pavarotti while he stirred.
He must have sensed her presence because suddenly he looked up at her. He
picked up the remote for the stereo, turned down the volume, and then lifted up
a bottle of white wine. “Can I pour you a glass?”
“You listen to opera?” she asked, unable to hide the surprise in her voice.
“Sometimes,” he said with a shrug. “Seems fitting to listen to Italian Opera
when making a Bolognese, don’t you think? Besides, I didn’t think you’d like the
Ramone’s.”
“Who is Ramón?” asked Buffy as she walked towards him and accepted the
wineglass that he offered.
“Thought so,” replied Spike.
“Smells yummy,” she said as she hopped on the barstool that was at the
counter and peered over to look at what he was doing.
“You can’t go wrong with a recipe that starts with sautéing garlic and onion
in olive oil,” he said as he continued to stir. “Leastwise that’s what my mum
used to say. Before she died, that is. Listen, I’m sorry I barged into your
bedroom. At the time it felt like the right thing to do. I just couldn’t not
reach out to you when you were in such obvious pain. But I know that a closed
door, especially your bedroom door, is a boundary that I shouldn’t cross and-”
“Forget it, Spike,” said Buffy, taking a sip of her wine.
“Forget it?” he asked, perplexed. “No! I mean if we’re going to live together,
we need to have respect for one another’s space and-”
“You mean you’d still consider living with me? Even after seeing
psycho Buffy? Even knowing I’m going to have a nine year-old moving in here?”
she asked.
“Unless you don’t want me to? Maybe you’d rather have the place to yourself
now?” responded Spike.
“Rather, yes. But I can’t afford it, especially if I’m going to have another
mouth to feed and clothe. You know what real estate prices are like here!” she
said.
“So it’s settled then? You’re definitely going to take her?” he said as he
began browning ground sirloin in a second skillet and turned the flame off under
the onions.
Buffy watched as he took out a large pot, poured the onions into it, and then
dropped the first skillet into the sink. Her eyes narrowed as she began to
assess the number of glasses, plates, skillets and pots that he had pulled out
and she asked, “Just who is going to do all these dishes?” changing the subject.
“I’ll do all of the cooking, and cleaning this year, you take it over for
next year. How’s that?” he suggested.
“I’m not falling for that! There’s only a few hours left of this year!” said
Buffy.
Spike looked at her and said, “Here’s the truth. I love to cook, don’t mind
most house chores, but I hate having to do the dishes. So, if we could
work out some sort of trade that would be great, but, not tonight. Tonight I’ll
do the soddin’ dishes without complaint.” Spike looked back at the sink and then
added, “Or, I’ll come back in the morning and do them.”
Buffy laughed and said, “We’ll work something out.”
She then turned around and looked at the stack of boxes that contained her
newly-purchased office equipment and said, “Guess I’ll be returning that day
after tomorrow and trading it in for bedroom stuff.”
“I’ve got my own bedroom set in storage,” said Spike as he added the browned
meat to the pot. “You could give the Little Bit the room that you were going to
give to me. That already has a bed in it and I can move my stuff into the
smaller room.”
“You don’t need to give up your room,” said Buffy, seriously. “But, if you
prefer your bedroom set…I mean if it’s nicer-”
Spike had begun to pull open drawers in the kitchen and paused to look up at
her and say, “Can opener?”
“Second drawer over there,” she pointed.
“It’s not nicer. I picked it up from a consignment shop when I was a starving
graduate student. It’s done me fine for years though and-”
“Keep it in storage,” she said with a wave of her hand as she got up off of
the barstool and walked over to the fireplace. “I’ll get Dawn new stuff. Maybe I
could just get a small desk and put it in the corner over here,” she said
gesturing to the right of the French doors that led onto the balcony. “I don’t
really need an entire office. We can keep most of the stuff for the
business over at Will’s.” she said as she unlocked the doors to the balcony and
opened one.
Spike finished opening up the cans of tomato paste and sauce. He poured them
into the pot, added the herb mixture that he had brought over with him, poured
in a cup of Chianti and set the pot to simmer. He washed his hands in the sink,
dried them with a clean dishtowel and then poured himself some more Chardonnay.
As he moved towards the balcony he couldn’t help but notice how beautiful she
looked in the moonlight. The night air was cold for southern California, almost
bracing. There was a breeze coming from the west tonight, off of the ocean, and
it made her robe flutter around her legs. As he approached the door he saw her
shiver.
“Cold?” he asked wondering if she had any idea what kind of affect she seemed
to have on him.
Buffy nodded then tuning ever so slightly asked, “How did you mother die?”
“Cancer,” said Spike as he walked up behind her and placed his wineglass on
the ledge of the banister that surrounded the balcony.
“Was she a good mother?” asked Buffy. “Did-did you love her?”
Spike placed his hands on her arms and ran them up to her shoulders and back
down again in an attempt to warm her. “Very much,” he said as he felt her lean
back into him slightly.
“My mother was horrid,” said Buffy. “She was a drunk. I hadn’t spoken to her
in years. I think I’ve spent most of my life hating her, trying to get away from
her. I thought that I had put all of that behind me. But now, somehow…now that
she’s gone-”
“It feels like a piece of you is missing,” finished Spike.
“But why?” asked Buffy as she looked out at the city lights, puzzled.
“Because,” said Spike simply, pushing down the impulse to wrap her his arms and pull her close, “she was your mother.”