Title:  Pillow Talk

Author:  Miss Murchison

Rating:  NC-17

Disclaimer:  All characters are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, etc.  Only the lame plots and dialogue herein are mine.

Notes:  A Spuffy story that starts in early Season 6 before deviating from canon.   A slight change in circumstances, a different decision or two, and you wind up with very different results.

Thanks: To Keswindhover and revdorothyl for the beta.

The story begins here.

This chapter marks the beginning of Part II of the story. The first part took the story from one kind of pillow talk to another. Part II begins with yet another conversation.

There will be three parts in all. There is a list of links to the individual chapters here.

Part II, Chapter 2

Rushed as she was, Buffy made time on her way home from Spike's crypt to stop by a house a few blocks from her own.  The woman who opened the door gave her a genuine smile, but not much information.  Buffy didn't press the matter.  She was sure that the very worried-looking Mrs. Levinson really didn't know where her son was.  Buffy had held significant cred in that household since the time in high school when she'd talked Jonathan out of shooting himself.

She and Mrs. Levinson exchanged mutual promises to let each other know if the prodigal turned up, and Buffy ran the rest of the way to Revello Drive.  She still had time for a shower before starting her shift. 

Buffy unlocked the front door and was about to head up the stairs when she heard someone knocking on the back door and went to open it. 

Willow stumbled inside so quickly that she had to grab on to the countertop of the kitchen island to keep from falling. 

"Are you all right?"  Buffy asked.

"All magicked out, I think."  Willow managed to stand on her own.  "I couldn't find my key, so I thought, no problem, just a simple spell and, 'poof!' open door."  She held up her hands, splaying her fingers wide in illustration, then dropped them.  "Except my head's all kind of muddled, you know, and first I sort of exploded the porch step, and then I couldn't do anything at all."

Buffy opened the door again and looked outside.  Sure enough, one side of the step had caved in.  "I'll ask Xander to fix it."

"No worries."  Willow was staggering towards the stairs.  "After I have a little nap, I'll put it back the way it was."

Buffy followed her. "What were you doing all that magic for?"

"Oh, just for fun." Willow stopped and turned around so fast Buffy ran into her, then backed down a riser, away from the smells of burnt herbs and stale beer.  "Amy and I had this really amazing contest in the Bronze where we tried to see who could do the wildest thing."

"You were using magic in public?"

Willow turned around and staggered up the rest of the stairs.  "Oh, we put everything back the way it was and made sure no one remembered a thing," she said over her shoulder.  

"You did the memory spell again?" Buffy stopped halfway up the stairs.  "I mean, the forgetting spell?"

"Yeah.  I'm kind of tired now, though."  Willow reached her bedroom door and leaned on it. "Got to go in that room, with all Tara's things gone, and—I just couldn't face it last night, you know?"

Buffy slowly climbed up to the landing.  "Um, I have to get to work in a little while, but if you need to talk—"

Willow shook her head.  "Not now. I've got to get some sleep.  Maybe when I get up I'll see if I can find Tara and apologize so she comes back."

Before Buffy could think of a response to that, Willow had gone into her room and shut the door. 

Buffy shook her head, worried about what Willow had been doing, but relieved she didn't have to talk about it just then.  She went into the bathroom and turned on the shower.  "Mmm, hot water."  She stripped off her clothes and hopped under the spray.  The shower head was set to fire hose strength, and the droplets hammered her skin bright red in a few seconds.  She reached up a hand to switch to a gentler spray, then changed her mind and left it as it was.

As the water drummed against her skin, it activated sensory memories of the night before, of Spike's very different touch, of the way her body had felt as it moved, slick with sweat, against his, and how very alive she had felt.  The violent rush of water made her feel alive too.  Alive in a good way.  But the feeling was as strange as it was bracing.
 
As she rubbed shampoo into her hair, Buffy realized that although she'd felt better on some days than others lately, there had been no days when she'd actually felt good. 

Oh, there'd been flickers of happiness sometimes, when she was with Dawn or when she'd gotten into a good fight. And when she'd been under the eating spell, but that didn't count. She hadn't had a truly, really happy moment on earth since the moment she jumped off the tower, knowing she'd made things all right and that she was done saving the world, at last. 

Ick, soap in her eyes.  She stepped under the shower head again and stuck her face directly into the harsh stream, letting it rinse out the shampoo and ease her stinging eyes.  White foam ran down her body, over her feet, and into the drain.  She picked up the bottle of conditioner.  It was almost empty.  Something else I need money for.

Last night had been different.  She'd been happy then, and not just during all those amazing orgasms.  She'd enjoyed getting angry at the van-dwellers and vandalizing them in return, and she'd enjoyed being with Spike, even before the sex.  And after.

The person she'd let herself be yesterday had been happy. 

Oh, no, Buffy.  You don't get away with pretending that wasn't the real you last night.  You weren't suddenly possessed by your Slayer instinct or Faith's morals.  You haven't got an evil twin.  And your doubts and fears were all there, you just pushed them aside for a while, made them wait their turn while you played. 

Playing had been fun.  It had been a good—well, a good night, if not a good day. 

Time to rinse out the conditioner, as she had the shampoo.  Lather, rinse, repeat.  Lather, rinse, repeat.  Life was so full of little chores that had to be repeated endlessly.

But now that she thought back, except for the bad stuff with Willow and Tara, the day part of yesterday hadn't been all that awful . . . at least not in retrospect.  She and Dawn had managed, together, to survive a dirty kitchen and a social worker's visit.  Buffy felt her shoulders straighten with pride at the thought.  An accomplishment!

A human accomplishment, too.  Those were always the really hard ones.  She remembered how proud she used to be when she'd finally gotten a good grade on a test or a term paper, or when she'd really been able to help Mom while she was sick. 

The thought of Joyce made her stomach twist again.  She missed Mom so much. 

Buffy turned and let the spray of hot water strike her back.  Suddenly, she was really, really missing Joyce, letting herself feel the emptiness instead of trying to shift another thought into her mind.  And, slowly, the emptiness filled with memories. 

Her seventeenth birthday, when Angel had turned evil and her world had turned darker than ever before, sitting on the couch together, two cupcakes on the coffee table in front of them, as they watched a candle burn down.  It had somehow all been bearable because Mom was there.

Except there had been three cupcakes, and Dawn had broken the mood by blowing out the candle and eating all of them.

Buffy shivered.  She realized the hot water had run out and she was standing under a tepid stream that would soon become icy.  She turned the faucet off and jumped out of the tub, snatching up one towel for her hair and another to rub herself dry and warm again. 

She'd wasted too much time in the shower.  She needed to focus.  There was no way she could spend today cuddling her pillow, even though the thought of all her chores and duties made her want to crawl under the covers and pretend the world didn't exist. 

So as she dried her hair and applied makeup, she made a mental list of Things To Do Today:

1. Find out what kinds of spells Willow is casting before she toadifies someone or accidentally destroys the world.
2. Ask Tara to find out if the bone is evil and if Dawn and I are demons.
3. Go to work.
4. Ask Nancy for an advance on my paycheck.
5. Find out who Jonathan's new playmates are and why they've decided to play Stalk the Slayer.
6. Buy groceries.
7. Have sex with Spike.

She'd rather face a half-dozen fyarl demons than the first two, and only the last one had any real appeal.  Although the thought of groceries in the kitchen cabinet and a real meal at home wasn't bad either.

Buffy dressed quickly and went down the hall to peek into Willow's bedroom.  There was a lump on the bed, under the covers.  It was snoring.  Carefully, she closed the door again.  Task Number One was going to have to wait a while.

She went back to her room and found the scrap of paper Tara had given her the night before.  After making sure her door was firmly shut, she dialed the number.

Tara picked up and rushed into an apology as soon as she realized who was calling.

"Buffy, I'm so sorry.  I forgot about the social worker's visit until late last night.  Did everything go okay?"

"Yeah.  Yeah, I think so.  Tara, can I talk to you about something else?"

There was a pause.  "Of course, Buffy."  Another pause.

"Could you come see me at work?  I get a break around 3 in the afternoon, when the lunch rush is over."

"Oh.  Okay."

"It's—" Buffy glanced at her alarm clock. "Tara, I'm sorry, I can't tell you any more now.  I have to run to work.  See you this afternoon!"

She set down the receiver and was halfway to downtown before she had time to wonder why Tara sounded so nervous.

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