Part One....
"Three hundred and sixty four days of
drought," Buffy grumbled as she struggled
to get
the door unlocked while balancing a
grocery bag, her purse, the dry cleaning,
the mail, and her favorite leather jacket.
"Now, I gotta build an ark."
When she'd left to run her errands, the sky
had been a little cloudy, but she hadn't
expected
it to rain.
**I have got to pick up a newspaper once in
a while**
She dropped her load on the
kitchen table
and examined her jacket for water damage,
swearing under her breath, using words her
mother would have
been horrified to hear come
out of her mouth.
After satisfying herself that the burgundy
leather was unharmed,
she scanned the
mail and put away the groceries.
When she picked up the bag to throw it
away, she saw a piece
of paper on the
table beneath it.
A note to her, written in Dawn's messy scrawl.
I knew you'd forget, so
I'm leaving
this to remind you that I'm spend-
ing the night with Wil and Tara.
Please feed my cat.
Buffy
smiled. Her sister really had her pegged.
She HAD forgotten about the overnight
visit. It had something to do with
Dawn's
final exams, and needing Willow's math
and science brain to help her cram.
**Just as well...MY math brain
couldn't get
her ready to make change at McDonalds**
Crumbling up the note, she tossed it into
the trash and
then located a can of cat food
in the cupboard.
"Midnight!" she called out. "Chow's on...come
and get it while
it's.." She grimaced at the
gloppy mess as it plopped into the cats food
dish, "...completely disgusting!"
As
she placed the dish on the floor, the cat
strolled into the kitchen.
"Hi, kitty." Buffy watched the feline walk
by
with her ' cat attitude ' going full blast, not
even acknowledging another presence in the
room. "Stupid cat,"
she murmured.
Her eyes widened with surprise when Midnight
turned to stare at her malevolently, as though
she
knew that she was being insulted.
Buffy had never cared for cats, being
much more of a doggy lover. But, Spike had
shown
up at the door one night, carrying a tiny
scrap of black kitten that he'd found on it's
own in the park.
Dawn
had fallen instantly in love with the
scrawny little beast, and had begged Buffy
to let her keep it.
She'd given
in without a fight. Dawn had been
so completely vulnerable at the time. Losing
the woman she thought of as her mother,
find-
ing out about her own bizarre origins, and then
that mess with Glory. A mess they'd all
barely escaped from
with their lives.
Squealing with delight, Dawn had thanked
Spike sweetly, then ran upstairs to fashion
a bed
for the kitten out of a shoe box and an
old towel.
Buffy had turned to Spike with a pleased smile.
"That was
nice of you," she'd said.
Spike, not wanting to appear to be ' nice ' in
any way, had tried to soft pedal it.
"Well,"
he'd shrugged. "I couldn't just let
it die, and I wasn't hungry, so..."
"Eww...yuck!" Buffy had yelped, punching
his
arm and trying not to laugh.
That had been a good moment between
them, something they'd been having
more and
more of. The bond that had
started to form during their 'Glory' days
had grown stronger, and she had begun
to depend
on Spike...not just for help or
protection for Dawn, but for company
and friendship as well.
The others had
moved into more
committed stages of their own rela-
tionships, often making Buffy feel left
out and alone.
But
Spike always made sure she didn't
feel that way for long.
The more time they spent together,
the stronger the
pull between got,
until it had finally reached it's nadir
one night in her living room.
He had come to the house
early in
the evening, and had gone with her
on her rounds. They'd prowled around
four different cemeteries that night,
but
the hunt had been unsuccessful
and they'd been back at her house
before eleven o'clock.
Dawn had been spending
the night
with a friend, and Buffy hadn't felt
like being alone. It hadn't taken a
lot of effort on her part to
coax Spike
into sticking around for a while.
They had watched a movie on cable,
and played with the cat, after
which
Spike had produced a deck of cards
from his coat pocket and tried to teach
Buffy how to play poker.
Gingersnaps
had served as chips, but
Buffy couldn't remember what beat what.
She kept showing him her cards so he
could explain
what kind of hand she was
holding.
After an hour, he had gotten fed up and
refused to play anymore, telling her
that
she'd never understand and suggesting
that, in the future, she stick to playing
the sort of baby games that
her immature
brain could process.
Buffy had thrown her cards at him, then
started pelting him with gingersnaps.
Laugh-
ing, Spike had jumped to his feet, daring her
to come and get him.
She'd accepted that dare, tackling
him in
the entryway and sending them both to the
floor in a tangle of arms and legs.
The first to recover, Buffy
had pounced on
him. Straddling his waist, she'd pinned his
hands to the floor and yelled for a stake. Spike
had flipped
her over his head, then chased her
around the house, finally ending up in the kitchen.
Unaware that Buffy had stakes
hidden in
every room, he had allowed her to corner
him.
She'd brandished the weapon in her hand, and
he had
immediately fallen to his knees, hands
raised in supplication, pleading for the slayer to
spare his worthless life.
He'd
offered her money, furs, jewels...anything
her heart desired. By the time he'd gotten
around to washing the dishes and
bathing the
cat...two chores she detested...he'd reduced
her to a fit of child like giggles, and she'd declared
that
she would be merciful.
After asking her politely to drop the stake, he
had picked her up and slung her over his
shoulder,
then carried her into the living room
and dumped her on the sofa.
When Buffy had stopped laughing and
caught
her breath, she had smiled at him
kneeling on the floor beside her. It had been
such a long time since she'd acted silly
and
playful, and she'd enjoyed it so much that
she'd thanked him by giving in to a sudden
impulse and kissing him.
Spike
had been as surprised by her
behavior as she was, but he'd recovered
quickly. Slipping one hand behind her
neck,
he'd pulled her closer, deepening
the kiss.
Making soft little whimpers in her throat,
Buffy's head had begun
spinning in a
mightily pleasant way. Kissing had always
been one of her favorite activities when it
came to the
art of foreplay.
Whether it was slow and tender, or pas-
sionate and fierce, she enjoyed it all, and
she considered
herself to be quite proficient
at it.
But, if SHE was proficient, then HE was
expert. In the hundred and twenty
odd
years of his existence, Spike had learned
everything there was to know about kissing
and how to apply the knowledge
in a given
situation.
Spike kissed like there was no tomorrow,
and it was obvious that he enjoyed doing
it,
that it wasn't just a means to an end, but
an end in itself.
Buffy had learned THAT for the first time
during
Willow's case of witchcrafty hiccups
after Oz had left town.
Whatever else you might say about Spike,
you had
to give credit where it was so fan-
tastically due...he knew how to please a woman.
Buffy had been on the giving
and the receiving
end of many kisses, and Spike was, hands
down, the BEST kisser she'd ever had her lips
on...bar
none.
That night on her sofa, Buffy had again been
treated to a demonstration of his consid-
erable skills. She
had burrowed closer, want-
ing more and more. More of his kiss...more
of his touch...more of everything.
But
when she had begun tugging at him,
trying to pull him up onto the sofa, he'd bailed
out on her.
Catching her
searching hands in his, he'd
held them in a firm grip while he slowly
brought her out of the kiss.
They had stared
into each other's eyes
for a long moment, until Spike broke the
spell. Leaping to his feet, he'd stammered
out a
strained "g'night slayer" and almost
ran from the house, leaving Buffy in a state
of arousal that she'd not felt in
a very long
time.
Sleep had not come easily that night. Every
time she'd closed her eyes, all Buffy had
been
able to see...was Spike. As the hours
crawled by, she'd finally come to terms with
the realization that she was damn
well sick
and tired of denying her feelings, and owned
up to the mutual attraction born on that long
ago night when
they'd seen each other for the
first time.
The whole of the memory was bisected into
two halves in Buffy's mind.
The first half was
a little sketchy. She remembered being at
the Bronze with Willow and Xander, but
couldn't recall
what she'd been wearing. She
knew that she'd done some homework, but
not what class it had been for. The three of
them
had danced a little, but Buffy could not
have said what music had been playing. She'd
had something to drink, but didn't
know what.
The second half of the evening, however, was
was as sharp and as clear as a freshly cut
diamond.
She'd
heard the request for a phone with which
to summon the authorities to deal with an
assault going on outside...some
big guy trying
to bite someone.
Reacting on instinct, Buffy had run outside to
take care of the situation herself.
Forgetting
her stake, she'd yelled at Xander to move his
ass and get her one.
The vamp had been one of those
cocky shits
who actually believed that THEY would be the
one to bring the slayer to her knees.
Without even breaking
a sweat, she had cor-
rected that misguided notion.
But the memory that stood out clearer than
any other, had
been hearing the vampire
call for help just a moment before she'd
dusted him.
Wondering just who in the hell
' Spike ' was,
she had turned at the sound of mocking ap-
plause as he'd stepped out of the shadows.
When her
eyes got a message to her brain,
the first thought it had produced was 'That is
the hottest guy I have ever seen and
where has
he been all my life?'
Thoughts of Angel had been briefly wiped
from her memory bank, until she knew
who...what...she was facing.
Hearing his subsequent death threat, and
knowing him to be another vampire still
hadn't
doused the sizzling electrical charge
zinging back and forth between them, stun-
ning her into brief immobility.
His
body was lean but strong looking, and
he moved with an inbred grace that Buffy
hadn't encountered in any other vampire.
The
clothes he'd had on suited him, es-
pecially that ankle length leather coat he'd
been wearing. Unrelieved black, the
only
touch of color a red shirt he'd worn loosely
tucked into his jeans.
With fair skin and white blonde hair,
and
eyes so dark blue that they appeared black
as well, he was a study in contrast.
But it was his face that
really commanded
her attention. Perfectly sculpted from white
marble it was, with high cheekbones, and
a well formed
nose. A smart ass smile and
a scar over one eye were all that kept him
from possessing an angelic beauty.
Certainly
more so than Angel's. Dearly
as she'd loved him, she'd never really gotten
that ' one with the angelic face ' descrip-
tion.
He was definitely attractive, but
his features were far too blunt to be called
angelic.
All in all, Spike was
an arresting sight, and
Buffy would have been willing to bet that
his game face was just as enticing.
She'd had
a brief moment of "Oh, boy do I
want that!" followed by "What am I, nuts?"
and then finished with "No fair...how come
the
only guys who get my motor running turn
out to be demons in sheeps clothing? What
is this...some sort of slayer test
that the
stupid council thought up to make sure I'm
fighting on the right side?"
Even though it was highly unlikely
that
her newest adversary would turn out to
be a good boy, she still found him sinfully
attractive and wickedly sexy.
Knowing
that such feelings for a member
of the undead brigade went against every-
thing Giles has spent so much time and effort
to
pound into her head, Buffy had locked
them away, burying them so deeply in
her subconscious mind that even SHE hadn't
been
aware of them.
But that pull between them just would not
go away and leave her alone. In time, they
had gone
from a slow simmer straight to a
full boil when Willow's dyslexic witchcraft
had betrothed them.
When the magic
that had driven them to
nausea inducing displays of affection had
finally ended, they had been in the middle of
one
of those ' earth shaking ' kisses she'd
been enjoying all night.
Their eyes had met in stunned silence for
an
instant before they began to play out
the behavior that they thought they should,
the gagging, the wiping, and the swearing.
But
that instant, that microsecond of aware-
ness had been the most shocking revelation
of her life.
Granted, she
was hardly the most experienced
woman in the world, but she'd felt that brief
desire in him that wanted her to ignore
everyone
else and keep doing what she'd been doing.
She had seen it in his eyes, and he must have
seen it in
hers as well.
Feeling deeply guilty for inadvertently causing
the whole mess, Willow had done everything
short
of tying herself to the railroad tracks and
waiting for a train.
Although her friends frequent and fervent
apologies
had begun to grate on her nerves,
Buffy had never so much as hinted that the
experience hadn't been quite as harrowing
as
she'd made it out to be.
A few kisses? There, there...don't beat your-
self up over it. She'd survived worse.
Not to
worry.
Except...except that it hadn't been "just a
few kisses."
Stopping just short of actual
intercourse,
they'd done just about everything else that
could be done.
Before the evenings festivities had kicked
into
high gear, Giles had dozed off on the sofa with
a damp cloth over his sightless eyes.
Buffy had gone upstairs
for a blanket to cover
her sleeping watcher, not realizing that Spike
had been right on her heels until he'd closed
the
bedroom door...and pounced!
She'd gone along willingly, literally throwing
herself at him in her desire to
be intimate
with her brand new fiance'.
Spike had pushed her up against the wall,
pinning her to it with his
body and kissing
her until her knees began to buckle.
Before she'd realized his intent, he'd
pulled her blouse
up beneath her arms,
then slipped his hands around her back
and unhooked her bra.
Touching her in all the right
places, he
had covered her face and throat with
hard, wet kisses, all the while whispering
the required ' sweet
nothings ' to her,
telling her how beautiful and sexy she was,
and how much he'd always wanted her.
He'd unzipped
her slacks and snuck one
hand into the front of her panties, cupping
her sex and rubbing her as he'd thrust
his tongue
deeply into her mouth where it
touched and played with hers.
He used his free hand to take hold of
hers and
guided it down to the impressive
bulge between his legs. Her fingers had
automatically formed themselves around
the
erection that was straining the front
of his very tight jeans, and he'd begged her
to take it out and touch him properly.
Staring
up into his eyes, she had unbuckled
his belt and popped the top snap open. The
zipper had begun to descend on its own,
forced
down by the pressure of his hard shaft.
Just as her fingers had reached to slide
inside, Giles had called
out from downstairs.
The slightly panicky note in her watchers
normally measured tone, was the only thing
that
had kept them from anticipating their
wedding night, right then and there.
That had been the last time they'd made
contact with any sort of sexual connotations,
until that night in her living room.
For some reason she'd never
been able to
accurately pin down, neither of them had
brought up the subject of their mini make-
out session on the
sofa again, and Buffy
had begun to think that she'd dreamt the
whole thing up.
Part Two....
"No dream
I've ever had was that good."
Buffy turned off the kitchen light and
went upstairs. She intended to take full
advantage
of her solitude by hogging every
drop of hot water in the tank.
The big question, of course, was why
Spike hadn't
tried to follow up on the
kisses they'd shared. This went com-
pletely against everything she thought
she knew about
him.
Maybe it was because the first time he
had tried to declare himself, she'd punched
him dead in the face.
**And
as we all know, there's nothing quite
like breaking a guy's nose to encourage
amorous feelings**
Not that he
hadn't deserved it. Being nailed
in the ass with a cattle prod **and just where
the hell did he lay his hands on a cattle
prod
anyway?** chained to a wall, and
threatened with the loss of her vitals didn't
exactly make her want to hand over the
key
to her heart.
From that day to this, Spike had never again
told her that he loved her.
He'd stood beside
her during the most
horrible experience of her life..and she'd
had some pretty horrible experiences,
so that was
really saying something..but he
hadn't uttered the words out loud.
And the one and only time he HAD con-
fessed
his love, he hadn't even asked her
to love him in return. All he'd wanted was
for her to acknowledge the possibility
that
someday...maybe...she wouldn't completely
loathe him.
It couldn't have been easy for him. A vampire
pouring
his heart out to a slayer? Admitting that
he thought only of her, dreamed only of her,
and wanted no one but her.
She,
true to form, had totally shot him down.
Forgetting, or pushing to the back of her
mind, the kisses and touches they'd
shared
mere weeks ago, she had rejected him with
violence and hateful words, capping it off by
barring him from her
house.
Even then, he hadn't given up. He'd followed
her home that night, begging her to talk to
him, to give
him just one chance to prove that
he'd changed.
She hadn't wanted to listen, hadn't wanted to
accept that he
had any real desire to change,
or even that he COULD.
Because that would mean she had been
wrong...and she hated
being wrong.
If she had admitted the possibility that
Spike had changed because of his feelings
for her, it would
mean that he'd done it without
benefit of soul restoration. Left to his own
devices, all by himself, he'd made a choice.
This
brought on the painful knowledge that
if Spike could choose, then Angel/Angelus
could have done the same.
But
he hadn't. And he never would have.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Buffy stared at herself in the mirror
as her
past was painfully rehashed in her mind,
understanding...maybe for the first time...that
she hadn't really
rejected Spike because she'd
hated him, no matter what she'd said to the
contrary.
She'd done a fairly good job
of convincing
herself of it at the time, but now she finally
had to step up to the plate and admit that
she'd actually
rejected him because she was
afraid not to.
She had already loved one vampire, and it
had blown up in her face
so violently that you
could hear it on the moon, causing a great
amount of pain and a double dose of danger
to her
and everyone she loved.
Could she honestly risk having it all happen
again?
She shook off that disquieting
train of
thought.
**Yeah, but...things are different now...SPIKE is
different now**
Angel had left
her for what he considered
to be her own good.
Then, Riley had left because she'd been
unable to give him what
he needed...the
whole of her heart.
Poor Riley. He'd figured out long before
she did that her feelings for him
were not
all they should be, despite her heated denials.
His need for the kind of satisfaction he'd
gotten in
that vampire whorehouse he'd
been frequenting, had been so strong...so
uncontrollable...that she would never have
been
able to understand or fulfill it, or to
put it behind her and begin to rebuild
their relationship.
She may have
forgiven, but she would never
forget.
The image of him, of what she'd caught him
doing, was so indelibly burned
on her brain
that she'd feared she'd never be able to look
at him the same way again.
Angel and Riley had both
left her, each for
his own reasons.
Spike would never leave her. She knew this
just as surely as she knew the
earth revolved
around the sun.
He had stayed during the days when her
favorite after school activity had been
playing
dodge ball with her stakes, screaming at
him to hop the noon stage out of Sunnydale
cause the town wasn't
big enough for the both
of them.
If he'd remained during that sort of treatment,
why in the world would he go
now that things
were looking so delightfully up between them?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
**What's
his damn problem anyway? What, am
I suddenly icky or something?**
Stripped down to her bra and panties, she
studied
her reflection with a critical eye.
**Nope...nobody here but us non-icky
type people**
Her hair was a pleasing
shade of light
brown and honey, thick and shiny with
health. Her complexion was clear and
smooth, and her light green
eyes were
large and long lashed.
Buffy's gaze wandered down her body.
There was nothing wrong with her figure
either.
A fast metabolism allowed her
to eat pretty much anything she wanted
without having it show up on her hips,
or across
the seat of her pants.
She turned to one side.
She had once despaired of ever
developing a more womanly
shape
and size, even in spite of her mother's
assurances that the females in her
family were late bloomers.
Buffy
had almost fallen for the old "late
bloomers will still be beautiful when they're
very old, while the early ones sparkle
for a
while and then fizzle out" trick.
But just as she had been about to look
into the cost of breast augmention
surgery,
Mother Nature had finally gotten off her ass
and done her job.
In no time at all, Buffy's breasts became
full
and firm, and nicely rounded.
In the months before she'd thwarted her
most recent apocalypse, she had been in
such
a stressed out state of mind that
her appetite had all but disappeared, and
she'd become dangerously thin all over.
It
was nice to look in the mirror and see
that things were back where they belonged.
She examined her legs with a particularly
strong
satisfaction. They were great legs,
even if she did say so herself.
Straight and strong, her legs had gotten
plenty
of male admiration whenever she'd
displayed them in the ridiculously short
skirts she'd worn through most of high school.
Factor
in a flat and firm abdomen, slender
hips, a small waist and...
"A pretty cute little ass, too."
...what more
could any man reasonably
want?
So, why didn't Spike seem interested any-
more?
**That's a real good question**
Shedding
her underwear, she padded
down the hall naked and started the
shower.
**Maybe he IS interested, but thinks
I
might beat the stuffing out of him if he
acts like it**
She opened the shower door and stepped
under the
hot spray. After thoroughly soak-
ing herself in it, she scrubbed her face clean
of make-up, washed and conditioned
her
hair, then shaved her legs and armpits.
With the necessities completed, she applied
a glob of vanilla scented
body wash on a
soft sponge.
She always smiled when she did this, ever
since she'd noticed what the creamy soap
looked
like as it squirted out of the bottle.
**Oh, stop it**
Buffy worked up a fragrant lather as she
guided the
sponge over her skin. Moving it
down between her breasts and over her
abdomen, she leaned against the tile as
her
body relaxed and became receptive,
sensitive to the lightest touch.
She jerked when she heard the shower
door
open, then gasped out loud at the
feel of a strong arm sliding around her
waist from behind.
"Slayer..."
A
mere whisper in her ear. A familiar voice,
soft and low with desire.
Without thinking twice, she pressed herself
back
against cool, hard muscle.
"Let me," the voice demanded, as the sponge
was taken from her hand.
"Yes," she
responded breathlessly. Drop-
ping her head back, she tilted it to one
side and exposed the vulnerable flesh of
her
throat with no worries.
The sponge passed over and around the
curves of her breasts, stimulating her high-
ly
sensitive skin. She released a faint
whimper as the lather trickled down over
her hard nipples, falling to the shower
floor
with soft plops.
There was an evil chuckle as the sponge
ceased its sensual torture.
She responded with,
"Hey! Don't stop."
"Never," he promised.
The sponge continued on its merry way,
over her stomach and down
her thighs.
"Open up for me, luv."
She complied with the request, but stopped
the sponge from reaching its
obvious target.
"No soap down there," she said. "Down there
is a bad place for soap to go. Trust me on this."
"Sorry,
sweetheart." The sponge fell to the
floor with a splat, replaced by a quickly rinsed
hand. "Better?"
"Mmm...yes.
Very much better."
Her knees were getting ready to abandon ship
as she was skillfully massaged between her
thighs.
"Do
you like that?" he purred. "Does it feel
good?"
"Yeah-huh," Buffy nodded. "Very good. SO
damn good."
She
was nearly beyond the power of speech,
reduced to monosyllabic words.
"And...if I do this?" He found the sweet spot
with
the tip of one finger, rubbing it firmly. "Or
this..."
There was sliding pressure inside of her, making
her body
jerk with instant response.
The pressure left, only to return immediately.
Over and over. Faster...harder...deeper...until
she
knew that she was about to....
Release hit her hard, and her head snapped
back, impacting painfully on the hard
tile
wall.
"OUCH!" she yelped as her eyes flew
open. "That..." Her jaw dropped when she
saw that she was
alone in the shower. "..hurt?"
She looked down, and her cheeks flamed
scarlet when she saw that the arm around
her
waist was hers. Not to mention the fingers
between her legs.
"Great," she panted, rolling her eyes. "Just
perfect."
Part Three....
Twisting the taps off, Buffy stepped out of
the shower and wrapped herself in a towel.
Back in her
room, she dried her hair and
smoothed lotion with the same vanilla
scent as her bodywash into her skin.
After
rummaging around in her dresser
for a nightgown, she pulled on an over
sized jersey that her father had once
brought
home from a football game.
The garment was so big that it hung below
her knees, but it was soft from frequent
laundering,
and it carried memories of
a time in her life when things were still
good between her parents and the
only thing
she'd had to worry about
were her grades.
As she dropped her dirty clothes into
a hamper, her stomach growled,
remind-
ing her that she hadn't eaten dinner yet.
Down in the kitchen, she stared into the
fridge, searching
for something easy to
eat. She didn't feel like cooking only for
herself, so she grabbed the grape jelly,
then found
a half empty jar of peanut butter
in the pantry and made herself a sandwich.
She took a bite of it and returned
the jelly
to its sticky spot at the bottom of the
fridge.
About to reach for a can of orange soda,
her eye
was caught by a dark green
bottle.
It was champagne that Giles had presented
her with on her twenty-first birthday.
He'd
made a little speech about wanting Buffy's
first alcoholic beverage to be memorable.
A loud clearing of
his throat by Xander
had caused her watcher to amend his
statement to her first 'legal' alcoholic
beverage.
Giles
had advised her not to open it then,
but to chill it so she could enjoy it pro-
perly.
Buffy had stuck it in
the back of the
refrigerator and promptly forgotten
that it was there.
Examining the label now, she could
tell
that this stuff was expensive. She'd
seen enough wine lists in restaurants
to know that this particular brand of
champagne
cost well over a hundred
dollars a bottle.
"Let's see how memorable you are."
She easily withdrew the cork,
expecting
the loud 'POP', followed by the gush of
foamy liquid that she'd seen in so many
movies.
But, when
all she got was a soft 'pop' and
no gush at all, she frowned.
"What..have you gone flat or something?"
Sniffing
the contents of the bottle, she
felt a tingle in her nose that made her
sneeze.
She took one of her mother's
good
crystal wine glasses from the cupboard
and filled it with a golden flow of liquid
that sparkled and fizzed.
Remembering
her previous adventures
in drinking, she was prepared to wrinkle
her nose in distaste when she took an
experimental
sip. Instead, she found
herself pleasantly surprised at the taste
of the wine.
"Good." She took a bigger sip.
"VERY
good."
She drained the glass, refilled it, then
took both it and the bottle into the living
room. Pausing
in front of the window, she
peered out and saw that it was raining
even harder.
Making herself comfortable on
the sofa,
she took another sip of champagne.
As she began to feel giddily lightheaded,
she closed her eyes to
enjoy the sen-
sation.
The sound of laughter startled her and
she sat up straight. "Dawn?"
After several
seconds of silence, she
decided that she'd imagined the laugh,
and settled back into the fat cushions
of the sofa.
She
finished the wine in her glass, then
grabbed the bottle and refilled it.
Holding it up in the mellow lamplight,
she
watched the bubbles fizzle and
pop.
"Pretty." She admired the color as it
caught the light. "Almost too pretty
to
drink."
Turning the stem of the glass between
her thumb and forefinger, she shrugged.
"Almost." She
tossed back the wine
and stifled an unladylike burp.
She had a little difficulty lining up the
neck of the bottle
with the rim of her glass,
and they connected with a sharp 'clink'.
"Shit..."
Another burst of giggling distracted
her.
"All right...who the hell is doing
that?"
Common sense told her to stand up and
prepare to defend herself, but
when she
swung her feet down to the floor, her
wobbly legs warned her not to try.
Somewhere in her half soused
brain, Buffy
knew that she shouldn't drink anymore
of the champagne.
Disembodied laughter was a warning
that
something bad was about to happen,
most likely to her.
How would it look if something evil showed
up to pick
a fight and the slayer was
tipsy...hammered...plastered...bombed out
of her skull...three sheets to the wind and
the
fourth one....
"Aw, screw it," she muttered as she
poured. "I'm not driving."
She polished off the glass
in three long
swallows, vaguely trying to rationalize
her behavior.
**I opened the bottle and it's gonna go
flat
and it was really expensive so I gotta
finish it else it'll be wasted and like mother
always said...waste not- waste
not**
"No, that's wrong...it's waste not-what
not...yeah, thass it...no, thass not it...maybe
it's where not..it
could be..is it why not..I
think that..."
She ran out of steam. "Never mind. Mother
said lots of stuff...I
can't be esspected to
remember every little thing she said, now
can I?"
The invisible laugh track sounded off
again.
"Okay, THASS IT!" Struggling to her feet,
dizziness suddenly swamped her, forcing her
to grab the am of
the sofa to keep from falling
down. "I want to know WHO you are and
what the hell is sooo damn bunny...FUNNY!"
Her
eyes darted around the room, peering
owlishly into the dim corners. "I got four
words for you...!"
She counted
them on her fingers.
"Do-Not-Mess-With-Me!"
Wait a second.
She recounted each finger silently, her
lips
moving.
"Okay! Okay, thass...thass actually five
words..BUT....
Putting on her meanest slayer face, she
pointed
accusingly at...nothing.
"I mean every one of those four words...those
FIVE words!"
She shook her head a
little, trying to clear
the haze.
"Are you looking for trouble? ARE you? Cause
ifff...you are...then you came
to the right place,
bucko! I'll GIVE you trouble. Give you all
the trouble you want...cause I'm...I'm the..."
She
frowned, trying to remember who she was.
"Oh! Yeah! I...am the slayer...the goddamn
chosen one. You screw with
ME.. and I...will
kick..your..ASS! Thass what I do! I'm an
ass kicker!"
When no one came forward to challenge
her,
Buffy flopped back down on the sofa and
smiled "Scared it off."
She picked up the champagne, carefully
lining up the bottle with the rim of her glass.
Unaware that she wasn't tipping the bottle
high enough, she
was surprised to see
that her glass was only half full.
"Hmm...guess it all depends on your point
of view," she
waxed philosophical, trying
to look down the neck of the bottle and
find what she wanted.
**This thing's empty...it
can't be empty.
Is it? All gone...nothing there...finished
up...over and out..oh, this is stupid...it
CAN'T be empty
cause I've only had**
"Uh-oh." Her eyes widened as she realized
she had absolutely no idea how many
glasses
of champagne she'd swilled.
**Well, let's be logical here. I've had
enough to empty the bottle or it wouldn't
be...empty.
But I don't know how many
glasses it takes to fill the bottle up in
the first place**
Trying to work through
it in her mind was
making her dizzier than she already was,
so she decided not to worry about it.
"Who cares,
anyway? Iss not like I'm
falling down drunk or..or something."
**That's very true...you're lying down
drunk**
"So
what if I am?" she asked pugnaciously. "Iss
MY champagne." She pointed to her chest
with her thumb. "I can do whatever
I want to
do...with it. I can wash the car...or..or water
plants...I can take a BATH in it if I want to."
Turning
sideways on the sofa, Buffy pulled her
feet up and leaned back against the armrest.
"I'm an adult, you know!" she
declared. "Over
twenny-one...and I got rights. The Consitution
of the United...America...says I do."
She pulled
her nightshirt down over her knees.
"They says that I got certain inalienand...an alien
an bull..rights...I got
'em...we all got 'em.
Like...like I gotta right to an attorney...I gotta
right to make speeches free...and I gotta
right to
arm bears...and I gotta right to get shitfaced
with MY birthday present."
**Not that I am...but I can
if I want to**
"Oh, well," she sighed deeply. "This is
a dead soldier, soldier." She placed the
bottle on the
table and saluted it.
Sliding farther down on her back, she felt
something digging into her kidneys. Send-
one
hand down on a search, it came back
with the t.v. remote.
"Nice to see ya," she said. Aiming it in
the direction
of where she remembered
the television being, she thumbed the
on button.
