A few hours later, Buffy sat on the couch wearing a tank top and a pair of shorts, giving herself a manicure. As she tsked over the sorry state of her fingernails, the door opened. Looking up she watched as Spike slunk into the trailer, his eyes looking everywhere but at her.
"Hi," she said cheerfully, tossing the emery board onto the side table.
He mumbled something unintelligible and shuffled over to the easy chair. Flopping down in it, he dug into his breast pocket for a fresh pack of cigarettes and a lighter, still not looking at her. As he lit one and took a deep drag, he leaned his head back to stare at the grungy ceiling.
"Spike...Spiiike," she cajoled, still slightly amazed at how good she felt. "Oh, Spikey."
"Don't call me that," he growled.
"Ooh yeah, you're the big, bad vampire."
Spike's eyes finally fell on her, full of disbelief. "What happened to mopey girl?"
"You fucked her into submission."
Spike gaped until the cigarette burned his finger and he stubbed it out in an empty pop can, blowing on his injured digit. "Are you sure you didn't go nuts?"
Buffy smiled and drew her legs up underneath her. "Not nuts, just on the road to recovery, thanks to you forcing me to confront what I did...what happened to Angel," she said softly.
He gave her a skeptical look. "I don't know, Slayer. You seem to be TOO cheerful now."
Buffy thought about it for a moment, then shook her head slowly. "Not too cheerful. It's just...I've been dead inside for so long that I may be overcompensating," she struggled to explain.
"Well then," he began, then fumbled for another cigarette, finally getting one lit. "I guess you don't need me anymore."
Buffy stared at him, her eyes narrowing as she tried to find a hint of emotion in his expressionless face, his empty eyes.
"Mortal enemies and all that," he finally continued, taking another deep drag on the cigarette.
"Yeah...mortal enemies," she replied slowly. "You know, I'm not really sure that's true anymore. I just don't want to kill you." Buffy flashed him a quirky smile.
Spike growled and his lips twisted. "Girl, we are so much safer being mortal enemies than whatever the fuck we've been the last few days."
She nodded, knowing it was true. "Right. You're right. I know that. You're a vampire, a vampire without a soul, bloodthirsty, killer, etcetera. I'm a slayer. I slay vampires. Sacred duty and all that."
"See? We can never be friends. We can never be lovers," Spike answered flatly.
"A little late for that," Buffy muttered.
He glowered at her and put out his cigarette before jumping to his feet to pace again. "I'm not a replacement for Angel. I can't be. I refuse to be. I've been there, done that, and been fucked royally for trying."
Watching him pace, Buffy wondered at the bitterness in his voice and finally opened her mouth. "Drusilla?"
He turned on her, standing over her and glaring. "You were right. She's a big ho. Her precious Angelus came back and she was all over him like a bitch in heat. They pretended nothing was happening as if I couldn't hear them going at it all day in the room above my fucking head. Daddy was back and all he had to do was look at her and she was leaping for his cock." He sneered, his arms flailing as he ranted. "Stupid bitch. I gave her everything she ever wanted. I worshiped the fucking ground she fucking walked upon and she dumped me for a big wanker with a hair gel fixation!"
Buffy felt a flash of pain at the truth of Angel's relationship with Drusilla, and all the cheer in her fled, but she kept her mouth shut about that and let him rant. She understood that he needed release too. "Where is she now?" she asked quietly.
"Hell if I know," Spike growled, pacing again. "I took her north, to Canada, just as I promised you. She didn't speak to me for two weeks. Then...then everything seemed okay. For nearly a month I thought we were happy. We were building a little coven. I'd bought her new dolls and all the pretty dresses she could want. And the sex...oh shit, the sex was fantastic. It had been so long since Prague." His voice took on a dreamy quality as he remembered.
Running his fingers through his hair in agitation, Spike flopped down on the couch next to Buffy and stared at the ceiling. "Then one evening I woke up to find her driving stakes into my hands and feet, pinning me to the floor, crucifying me for Christ's sake." He snorted in disgust. "She giggled the whole time, giggled like the nutter she is."
Buffy turned to look at him, watching the anger and pain flow across his face as he stared straight ahead.
"She stood there, looking at me, giggling, and said that I had been a naughty boy and she had better things to do than hang around with a naughty boy," he forced out through clenched teeth. "Then she kicked me in the nuts and stormed out."
After a few moments of silence, Buffy ventured a question. "Do you know where she went?"
"I've been following a trail of corpses and fledglings. She always did pick the oddest people to turn," he mused, then continued in a harder voice. "Stupid bitch."
"She didn't come through here. I think I would have noticed."
"No, she headed on down I-70 to Kansas City, after wasting about half of some fanatical church in Topeka" His voice took on an admiring tone. "Oh, it was a lovely sight. Half the dead flock had gay bashing signs sticking out of various orifices. Pure poetry." At Buffy's clearing her throat, Spike shook himself and continued. "I felt drawn here...and I was hungry, so I stopped." Spike shrugged. "I think she's heading to New Orleans. One of her favorite proteges is the mistress of the master of the French Quarter."
"Why do you want her back?" Buffy just had to ask. "She IS a big ho, Spike. She's probably fucking some other vampire as we speak."
Spike growled half-heartedly, then sighed and buried his face in his hands for a moment, rubbing at his sore eyes. "Love...love is insane and it'll drive you insane if you let it."
"Love makes you do the wacky," Buffy murmured in understanding.
Spike sighed again. "I need a good stiff drink." Rising to his feet, he reached for Buffy and pulled her up with him. "There's a bar down the street. Let's go get plastered."
"Um, I'm just sort of underage here."
He ran his eyes over her slender body and grinned lasciviously. "Uh huh. Go put your shoes on. I'm buying."
"And I don't drink," Buffy added feebly as she hurried to her bedroom for her shoes.
*****
The bar was nearly empty for a Monday night and they found a quiet table at the back. As Spike went to get a couple of beers, he tossed some change to Buffy and told her to go put some music on the jukebox. She was still reading the song titles when he strolled back across the smoky room.
"I've never heard of most of these bands. The Marshall Tucker Band? Jethro Tull? Bungle in the Jungle? What kind of song name is that? The Band? Oh, that's original. What, are these country groups?"
Sighing, Spike took the change from her, inserted it in the machine and pushed a few buttons, then tried to tug her away from the jukebox.
"Oh, jeez, my dad listens to these guys. Lynyrd Skynyrd. He plays air guitar when he thinks I'm not watching."
"Free Bird is a classic," Spike muttered as they reached the table and the song began to play.
"Yeah, this is the one. When I was in junior high, my girlfriends and I used to watch professional wrestling and some wrestler used this as his theme song. He was old."
Closing his eyes briefly, Spike shoved a beer at her and slumped into a chair. "Drink, now."
Smiling at her success in teasing him out of his anger at Drusilla and into being frustrated at her, Buffy took a sip of her beer. "Better than Billy Idol I guess," she said innocently.
Spike's eyes narrowed and he growled across his beer bottle before downing half its contents. "You trying to piss me off, Slayer?"
"Am I succeeding?" she asked lightly.
"You ever see the movie 'Near Dark'?"
"No."
He grinned evilly at her. "There's a lovely scene in a bar full of vampires. Blood and death everywhere. I tried draining a guy into a beer mug once. It's a lot harder than it looks, but not impossible."
Buffy frowned at him and took a healthy swallow. "Just try it, peroxide boy."
Spike chuckled and finished his beer. "I think some tequila is in order here." Taking his empty bottle, he headed back to the bar.
As she sipped her beer, Buffy watched him swagger from the table, her eyes fixed on his hard ass. As heat surged through her, she fanned herself with her hand and took another big swallow, grinning.
Returning with a bottle of tequila and two glasses, Spike straddled the chair and poured them each a shot. Buffy eyed hers warily. "Are there worm bits in this?"
"In this cheap shit?" He downed his shot.
Hesitantly Buffy swallowed hers, then coughed and choked at the strong taste. Spike hit her on the back a couple of times, laughing.
"You'll get used to it."
Gasping for breath, Buffy finished her beer. "Whoa."
He poured them each another round as the guitar solo started.
Buffy gave him a suspicious look. "You trying to get me drunk so you can have your way with me?"
"Slayer, I can smell your arousal." Spike grinned and drank his second shot as she sputtered and turned red. "I don't think alcohol is necessary to get you into bed."
"What about Drusilla?" she choked out.
"Oh, I'm going to find her," he said with all sincerity. "I'm going to find her, beat her, fuck her within an inch of her unlife and drag her somewhere she hates. Russia I think. No one fun in Russia to party with."
"Good plan." Buffy took a careful sip of her second drink. It went down a little smoother and she began to feel all warm and tingly. "So...what's happened between us the last few days..." she began carefully.
Spike's eyes narrowed and went hot as he looked at her flushed face and moist lips. "You know as well as I do, Buffy, that there can never be anything between us...unless you want me to turn you."
"Thanks for the offer, but that's really not my goal in life," she quipped as she slammed back the rest of her drink.
Their eyes met, both unreadable and deep. Each felt a hint of sorrow at what could never be, but they nodded at each other and smiled in understanding. Spike poured them each another drink and they raised their glasses.
"To getting our lives and unlives straightened out," he proposed.
"To mortal enemies...who sometimes can become surprising friends."
The glasses clinked and they threw back the burning tequila.