DoubleMeat Palace    

It's Buffy's first night shift, and it's dead. She asks the older woman working the counter with her if it's okay if she takes another break, and the woman, sort of dazed like all the others, says it's not a good idea. Buffy wants to know why, and remarks that there's no one there. The woman says yes there is, and points.

Spike is standing at the counter, looking over the menu.

"This'll make my day complete," Buffy sighs, and goes to the counter. "What?" she says brusquely.

"What's in the doublemeat nuggets?" he says, just like a normal customer. She's not having -that-.

"I'm working," she says, "go away."

He smiles. "Yeah, and you chose to be in the consumer service profession, and I'm a consumer." His lips twitch, like he's trying to keep back a smirk. He's not entirely successful. "Service me."

She -so- doesn't need this. "Order something or go," she says, deadly serious, not joining in the game.

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Spike gives her a hey-I'm-trying-here look, rolls his eyes slightly. "Give a bloke a chance for his eyes to adjust," he says. "Damn fluorescent lights. Make me look dead." She's not responding to that, either. Okay, try another tack. "Some demons love 'em. The way they vibrate makes their skin twitch." The almost-smirk is back. "Is that the kind of demon you are, love?"

And still with the stone face. None of his usual tricks for gettting to her are working.

"I'm not a demon," she says quietly. "I don't know -why- you can hit me, but I'm -not- a demon."

"Ohhhh," he says, "I see. That why you took this job?" He looks around the restaurant. "Prove something to yourself--a normal job for a normal girl?" He gives a brief headshake. "Good way to drive yourself crazy, that is."

She stares him down. "I'll be fine," she says, just on the verge of snotty.

He leans on the counter, serious now, no more games. "Buffy," he says softly. "You're not happy here." His eyes are full of genuine concern; he's worried about her.

She looks into his eyes. In a very small, pleading voice, she says, "Please don't make this harder." She knows he's not playing with her any more.

"You don't belong here," he goes on, his voice low. "You're something b... You're better than this." He looks at her, begging her with his eyes to realize that.

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She does. But... "I need the money," she says, almost a whisper. She doesn't like having to admit that to him.

Can she really be this daft? "I can -get- money," he says, rolling his eyes as though to say, "Why are you even worrying about this when you've got me to help you?" She just looks at him, very vulnerable. "Walk with me now," he says, softly, coaxing her, "Come on." His voice holds a promise to take care of her.

She wants to go with him. She -really- wants to, wants to let him take care of her, but... "I...I need to go help Gary with the fries." She starts to turn, but he reaches out, grabs her arm.

"You gotta get out of here," he says, nearly desperate. "This place'll do stuff to you." She jerks her arm away and walks toward the back. "This place'll kill you!" he calls after her.

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Later...

Buffy is starting a basket of fries. One of the other employees comes back from his break and tells her she can take hers now. She turns to go, but sees Spike walking by the window. He pauses for a second when he sees her, and she takes off the awful cow hat, runs her hand through her hair, stares at him. He breaks their gaze and goes on, an odd, almost determined look on his face.

Cut to the alley. Buffy is up against the wall, her hands on Spike's upper arms. He's bracing with his left hand on the wall, and his right hand isn't visible. He's moving against her, fairly slowly, taking his time. He's lost in her, seems to be breathing her in; he moves his head, almost as though to kiss her, but she seems to give him some invisible signal that she doesn't want him to do it, and he doesn't. She turns her head to the side and looks over his shoulder. He buries his face in her neck, and she stares into space. She looks very forlorn and lost.

(For those of you who watch soaps regularly--this is the classic "thinking about someone else while the one I'm in a relationship with is kissing me" look. )

--

Dori

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