Chapter 39: Becoming
awesome banner by sourbuckley
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A/N: That's right! The cat's out of the bag in this one... *holdsbreath*
"No, none of that. You'd end up with a real bloodbath."
A movie was on in the living room. Over the cinematic dialog, Buffy could hear snippets of laughter and conversation. She caught a whiff of marijuana smoke and beer. Lindsey had texted to ask if he could invite some friends over tonight, and she'd numbly responded with a yes.
It took all she had to leave Spike there at the hotel, after everything he'd said and done and made abundantly clear: He genuinely loved her. He would never abandon her. He was an extraordinary man who was handing her an ideal life on a silver platter... but the fact remained, Buffy was his daughter-in-law.
Unprepared to face facts, or her husband, or his friends, or facts, Buffy bought a little time by crouching in the hallway, rubbing Huey's ears. She was sure he'd been walked, but she could probably justify another one...
"That you, babe?"
I run from one guy to be with another I immediately want to run from, Buffy thought. There is something seriously wrong with this picture.
"Uh huh," Buffy said, mustering cheer as she entered the living room to greet Lindsey and his friends. "Hey, guys."
Lindsey craned his head back on the couch to see her. "Hey."
Feeling like she had to, for show, she gave him a soft peck on the lips.
He shot her a sly grin, as if he thought it meant more. Or maybe it was because he was drunk and high. Either way, it made her uncomfortable. She pointed at the screen. "Dirty Harry?"
"Ah, she's a keeper," Whistler said. "Knows the classics."
"Yeah, she is," Lindsey said.
"No, it's-- My mom had a thing for him," she shrugged, compelled to prove the opposite. "I've never seen the whole movie. But I get why it's a guy classic."
"'Guy'...? Guy, girl, that's irrelevant, this is a timeless tale of good versus evil. The triumph of, of man over monster and machine!"
Todd Whistler was an ACLU liaison. He talked like that a lot.
"Also, he's got a big gun," Buffy said.
Charles coughed, said, "No doubt," and offered her the bowl.
"No thanks, I don't smoke."
Accepting the bowl, Parker asked, "Why's that?"
Lindsey got along with Parker Abrams, but she didn't. Earnest humanitarian though he was, he had no qualms about loving and leaving the ladies. Namely Caridad, who cried on her shoulder for three weeks. When Buffy had confronted him, he'd tried to come on to her. And it had almost worked. Luckily, they happened to spot Lindsey in a coffee house singing his heart out and Parker was left in the dust. "I don't like to dumb myself down."
"I remember now," Parker said smugly, flicking the lighter. "Control Girl."
Buffy was about to set him straight when Lindsey wisely interjected, "You hungry? We hijacked the Kogi truck." To illustrate, he picked up a taco, its orangey insides showing through its paper wrapping.
She hadn't even thought about food; hunger was trumped by the nagging sense of dread building in the pit of her stomach. "Maybe later." She patted his shoulder. "I'll leave you guys to your guy stuff."
"There she goes again, groundlessly discriminating," Whistler said, shaking his head in disappointment. "We do allow girls in this treehouse, you know. Especially girls who smell like whatever perfume you're wearing."
"Respect, son," Charles chastised him with a knee-nudge.
"What? You don't smell that? It's like cherry blossoms."
Sniffing her arm, Lindsey said, "Did you just shower?"
"I... Yeah." Subtly snapping her arm back, she explained, "I had a power yoga class. Like every Friday."
"Oh. I thought you worked out at lunch."
"Right. Elliptical at lunch, then power yoga and meditation after work." She'd even triple-checked the schedule to make sure it was possible. "It's a thing I do."
"Huh," Lindsey said, mulling that over.
It was nerve-wracking, lying to a roomful of lawyers. Hopefully, they were all too stoned to notice.
"Freddie took me to power yoga once," Charles said. "That shit was no joke, I couldn't walk for days. But she's real flexible now, so I ain't hatin'."
Buffy took the ensuing I have great sex with my wife, too high-five as an opportunity to dash, but Lindsey held on to her wrist.
"Sit with me. Eat. Drink. Be merry." He kissed her hand and added, "Please?"
Too weary to make a convincing argument, she caved. "Okay. I'll go change."
She went to the bedroom and mechanically began her just-saw-Spike routine: remove office clothes, check for any tell-tale signs on fabric or body, hide golden Pratt Hotel key in lining of underwear drawer, put on comfortable t-shirt and sweats, pretend to be faithful wife.
How long could she keep this up?
* * *
Maybe dumbing herself down was exactly what Buffy needed.
After watching the bowl circulate twice, she'd decided to give it a try. Lindsey was amazed and amused and suspected she'd been replaced by a clone, but she'd just wanted to shut off the wailing What the hell are you gonna do? siren in her head.
Which it did... sort of. Combined with her beer buzz, the drug relaxed her and quieted her fears, but it also gave her a surprising sense of clarity.
Buffy finally saw this whole mess from the outside.
Fitting comfortably in Lindsey's embrace, she could see that they appeared to be a perfect match. He was smart and handsome and her age; they shared a unique sense of humor, a similar outlook on life, and one deep, unifying psychological connection:
They both felt tragically unloved by their fathers.
It was a feeling, she realized, that they both needed to get over.
We're not kids anymore. They made mistakes. They made bad choices. Just like us.
Buffy looked at her husband, riveted and pumped up by the climax of the film.
She touched his face, and he turned to her. He searched her eyes, and smiled. Then, he brought her close, kissed her head and kept her there, tucked under his arm.
He didn't understand.
But she was starting to.
She was also starting to feel sleepy. His shirt smelled good...
* * *
Buffy came to on Lindsey's chest, roused by a burst of raucous laughter. The movie was over. "What time is it?"
"Not even ten-thirty," Lindsey said, touching her hair. "You passed out cold."
"Weed rookie," Whistler teased her.
With a laugh, she said, "And how."
Charles said, "We should head out."
"No, you all stay," Buffy said, and kissed Lindsey's stubbly cheek before extricating herself from his grasp. "I'm just gonna relocate. 'Night."
As their fingers came apart, Lindsey said, "See you soon."
* * *
Spike was kissing her neck.
Breath hot and amorous, he ran a hand up and down her side, over her shirt.
With a soft moan of approval, Buffy weaved her legs through his, touched his strong, muscled arm and backed into him, circling her hips.
"Ohhh, baby," he whispered, roving beneath the shirt to cup her bare breast.
Every sensation was so rich, so intoxicating; the neck-kisses, the nipple squeeze, even the simple tug of her undies down her thighs...
"Mmmn..." she hummed, feeling him rub his thick tip against her welling entry. "Yeah..."
"Oh, fuck," he said, pushing through. "Ohhh, baby, hohh baby, I missed you so much. Hohhh."
She arched her back, reached behind her to caress his face. "Touch my spot." Was that stubble?
He found her clitoris.
Her eyes flew open and she turned to look.
"Ow!" Lindsey yelped as she elbowed him in the chest, tried to defend himself as she thrashed and wriggled and kicked her way out of his grasp. "Okay! Ow! Jesus! What the hell!?"
Shielding herself with a pillow, eyes adjusting to the moonlit room, Buffy realized what she'd just done.
Panting and disheveled, kneeling at the edge of the bed, he gulped and said, "What the hell, Buffy? What the fuck was that?"
"I - I was asleep. I didn't know..."
"Who I was?"
"...W-why did you do that while I was asleep?"
"I don't know! I was horny, you were giving me signals out there, you invited me back to bed last night--"
"I said not yet!"
"You had your hands all over me just now! You said 'Yeah'! 'Touch my spot'! To me, that says you're awake and you want it, too."
"I - I'm still high, I was," she tried to breathe, "confused..."
He squinted at her and said measuredly, "About what?"
She looked down and away, and he stood up, breathed out.
"Are you fucking someone else?"
Oh, God. "What?"
"Simple question," he said, nostrils flared, lips thin. "Yes or no answer."
"Lindsey--"
"Don't fuck with me!" He lunged forward and ripped the pillow out of her arms. "Tell me the fucking truth!"
"You're scaring me!"
He paced the room, growled in frustration and shoved her dresser, making it crash and topple onto its face. "Fuck this!"
Eyes shut, she heard him storm across the loft and out to the balcony.
Shaking, Buffy found her sweats, and put them on.
* * *
Buffy walked out into the chilly night air, zipped up her hoodie, and slid the balcony door shut.
Lindsey, dragging on a cigarette, kept his sights on the moon. "I'm sorry I scared you."
Buffy approached the railing, touched its cold metal surface, then hugged herself. "I'm sorry, too."
His eyes slid her way. "For what?"
She looked down at the street, and said it: "I have been seeing someone."
All of that secrecy, all of those lies, all of that time... and it came out so easily.
Of course, it wasn't easy for him to hear. He was still taking it in, shaking his head, letting it out. Finally, he asked, "Who?"
"You don't know him," she answered, and that was the truth.
"I just wanna know one thing," Lindsey said, voice shaking. He stubbed out his cigarette and crossed his arms. "Did this start before or after I told you about Lilah?"
She cast him a sidelong glance, then looked down in shame.
He scoffed. "I'm a chump. I'm a grade A fucking chump."
"No, you're not. You're a wonderful human being--"
"Fuck you!" He sat down in a patio chair and put his head in his hands. "I went into therapy for you. You let me sleep on the couch, thinkin'..." He spit out a gust of air. "How could you do this to me? What kind of person does that?"
Body vibrating from the sting of causing him pain, she said, "The kind who doesn't know what she wants."
"So, what? Now you do? Now you're leaving me?"
An ambulance siren echoed in the street below, and her clarity came back. "Yeah."
She slid off her wedding ring and placed it on the patio table beside his cigarette pack.
He looked at it, but didn't touch it.
When she opened the balcony door, she heard him say, "Who are you?"
She squeezed the door handle, took a breath, and left him.
* * *
"My name is Buffy Summers-Pratt. I lost my key to the penthouse suite." She'd walked out with only her purse, too dazed to think about anything but the monumental changes she'd made, and had yet to make.
"May I see your ID?"
She nodded, and passed the VIP concierge her license. He keyed a few things into the computer, and she heard a beep.
"Have a seat, Miss. It'll be just a moment."
She sat down in the lobby. More than a moment passed, and her phone rang. It was Spike.
"Hello?"
"What's wrong?"
"Huh?"
"It's 2am and you're trying to get into our hotel room without a key--"
"How did you...?" She glanced at the concierge. "Oh. They called you."
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
"Do you honestly expect me to believe that?"
"I'm sorry they woke you. Please just go back to sleep--"
"Fuck sleep, I'm already on my way. Now tell me what happened."
"Don't. Don't come here, Spike. Please."
"Buffy."
Buffy looked up at a crystal chandelier. It blurred and refracted until she blinked, a tear spilling down her cheek. Swiping at the tear, she said, "I told him."
There was a pause. "You...?"
"I told him. I didn't tell him it was you, but... I told him."
"Get your card and go upstairs. I'll be there as soon as I can."
* * *
Buffy sat in the dark, perched on the chaise by the windows, staring out at the cityscape and the stars.
"Buffy?" His voice, out in the main hall, broke her reverie. "Are you still...?" He came into the bedroom. "Buffy."
Spike obstructed her vision and crouched in front of her.
She smiled at him warmly, and touched his cheek.
He cocked his head, and said in a stunned whisper, "You're leaving me, too."
Her smile didn't fade. He read her so well. "I'm sorry, Spike. This has been so..."
"If you say 'nice' I might heave."
"Wonderful," she said. "Hard. Exhilarating. Painful... Enlightening."
With a pained, frustrated frown, like he was holding back tears or shouts, he huffed.
"It's time for me to clean off my plate," she explained. "To become Buffy Summers."
"That's not what I meant when I said--"
She touched her thumb to his lips. "I know what you meant."
"Buffy." He took her hands in his. "You don't need to start over, all right, you need to listen to your heart."
"I can't be with you, Spike," she said, placid. "Not now. Not like this."
"Now is all there is!" Eyes glistening in the moonlight, he beseeched her, "Life is short, Buffy. Time is precious. When you find something special, you hold on to it and you don't let go."
"Maybe, when I get back..."
"Back... From where?"
"I'm gonna travel the world. Run wild, like I've always wanted to."
"You can run wild with me," he said in exasperation.
She realized he'd never actually seen her in this state before: certain. Resolute. Immovable. All of those times she'd fought him in the past, she really had been daring him to change her mind. But not this time. "Thank you, for everything you've done for me. I will always treasure--" She trailed off, too choked up to continue.
A tear fell out of his eye and hers at the same time. "Oh, Buffy..."
She kissed his lips. He held her neck.
"Let me..." He took a deep, quavering breath. "Let me have this last night with you. Just..." he whispered, "to hold you."
Spike Pratt had changed her life, and she was finally seeing that he'd changed it for the better. Buffy knew that for as long as she lived, she would never forget this amazing man. No one would ever come close. But she also knew that she had to move on.
...Tomorrow.
Buffy brought him to the bed, and turned down the covers.
Tonight, she would be his.
Read on... >>
A/N: I know, it looks bleak, and you hate me right now, but trust me! This WILL end Spuffily! Also, the next chapter will BLOW YOUR MIND
...I hope
A NOTE ABOUT PLAGIARISM: Don't do it. Call me crazy, but I don't like finding my hard work pasted into other people's stories. If I find out you've plagiarized me or any other author, I will make sure everyone knows it. If you're not clear on what 'plagiarism' means, the definition is here.