DISCLAIMER: All BtVS characters were created by Joss Whedon and his minions, and are owned by many powerful people to whom I mean no disrespect by stealing them for a bit. I admit to owning nothing but any plots and characters that are my own original creations.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is set in Season 4 following the return of Spike, who is now assisting the Scooby Gang.
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“Whaaaaa,” Buffy whined, then tossed the book she’d been reading across the room.
“What is it *now*?” Spike hissed, looking up from the newspaper he’d been reading. He was clearly irritated by her tantrum, and with good reason. It was the fifth such tantrum that evening.
“I hate this. I’ll never pass my mid-terms.”
“Now, now, Slayer, I highly doubt there’s anything you couldn’t pass.”
“I passed up the chance to stake you didn’t I?” see said glaring at the blond vampire.
“And I thank you for it everyday,” he smirked, returning the glare.
“Whatever,” she said then turned away, flipping open yet another of the quickly diminishing pile of school books.
“You could have at least said you’re welcome, pet. If I knew you were going to sulk all night I wouldn’t have bothered coming over.”
“I never invited you anyway,” she retorted, her back to him.
“Oh, come on, Slayer,” Spike tossed the paper on the coffee table he’d been using as a footstool. Leaning forward, he spun her chair around for her to face him. “This *is* getting old,” he said somewhat sternly.
“What is?” the Slayer answered innocently.
“You and your gloominess.. If I’d known it’d be this bad, I’d have moved back to London. Even the wettest of days there is brighter than your moods have been lately.”
“I can’t help it. I miss him,” she said with a childlike whine, trying to turn back away from him.
Spike rolled his eyes, then held tight to the chair, keeping her in place. “I miss him,” he mocked, receiving a death stare. “Slayer, it’s been 6 bloody months already. He’s not coming back.”
“I don’t want to talk about this,” Buffy said, Slayer strength prevailing as she pulled the chair out of his firm grasp and once again spun away from his heated glaze.
“Why not? You’re always moping, and wailing about it. It’s getting bloody pathetic. And I know I’m not the only one who’s tired of it. Besides, it’s not as if Angel’s the only fish in the sea, pet.”
Buffy was far past incensed at this point. She swung back around, her own eyes glazed with anger. “Oh, and I suppose you’re swimming there with him, is that it?”
Spike sat back, his chest puffed up. “Well, as a matter of fact…”
“Shut up, Spike.”
“And this is the thanks I get for helping you,” he said with feign hurt in his voice.
“Helping me? Reminding me of the extreme lack of Angel in my life is not helping me. Why don’t you go fall on a stake, or drink some holy water with your hot chocolate.”
“That hurt, Slayer.”
“Too bad,” she said, her back to him again.
Spike picked up the remote and started flipping through the television channels. A few minutes later another book was added to the fast-growing pile across the room as Buffy let out another extended whine.
“Slayer?”
“What?!” was the irritated reply.
“Do you think I could have some of those little marshmallows w’ that hot chocolate?”
~~~ END ~~~
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