"I'm not coming over tonight." Anya informed me.
I knew if I asked why I wouldn't be able to avoid the nearly painful bluntness. Still, I had to know. "Why not?"
"Olaf threw me into a wall and my head hurts. Besides, if you have no hand you can't touch my clit, and if you can't do that there are no orgasms. Sex without orgasms is pointless."
I wanted to argue, possibly explain not everything in the world was about orgasms. Before I could even start, she patted my head like a dog and stepped away. It was pointless to walk after her, so I went into my apartment. I switched to boxers, a warm highly un-sexy pair I had had for ages, the kind that was only held together by sheer determination. My wrist hurt, and it was time to crawl into bed wearing previously mentioned soft pajama bottoms.
Of course though, because evil was strong in Sunnydale, there was a knock at the door. I really didn’t want to deal with it, but the only kid on the block without a doorbell had by adulthood learned how to tell the knocker that's only going to wait thirty seconds from the knocker with patience apart. This person wasn't going away any time soon.
"Fuck. Spike, go away."
"No. I need-" He seemed to do a cartoonish jaw opened doubletake as I turned to go to the kitchen and revealed the basketball sized bruise from the sledgehammer. I didn’t care if he gawked, I just wanted him out. So I started rummaging through the cabinet to see if there was food I could give him for his blood.
"I have no Wheatabix, you know. I'm not fifty years old."
"For your ever so poncy information, that's not what I needed. But it looks like you need too. I'll be back, don’t go to bed you big prat." Spike whirled around, with the flowing cape there was just no other word for the move, and left. I sighed, annoyed. Now I wanted wheat cereal. Stupid Spike.
I thought about pulling on my robe, but in the end didn't. Why the hell should I care if Spike was uncomfortable with my semi-nudity? If it got him uncomfortable enough to leave earlier that wasn’t a bad thing. When he came back though, he didn’t seem perturbed. He had a handle of alcohol, so I let him in. The night quickly became hazy.
When I woke the next morning, he had scribbled something on my cast. It took strange manoeuvring and a reflective surface to read it, but when I finally managed, it said come to the crypt if you mean it in the morning.
I had no idea what he was talking about, but I couldn’t phone and ask, as burial chambers had a distinct lack of electricity. I slipped on clothes and went over to make sure I hadn't signed a contract releasing my first born. Not that Anya would ever have children, she didn't like little people.
As soon as I opened the door and stepped into shadow he was there, like he had been waiting specifically for my entrance. He grabbed my face with both hands, and kissed me. For a moment I was shocked and let him, then I came to my senses and tore myself away. "What the hell are you doing!"
"You came to the crypt, you wanted it."
"I came to the crypt wanting to know what the hell was going on. And you molested me!"
"So then you don’t remember? Oh. Right then. Carry about your day." He waved a hand dismissively, and moved towards the coffin, which I knew was where he kept his booze.
There were two ways to go about it. Ask him what I was supposed to remember, and no doubt be horrified. Or I could go back to the apartment and saw my cast off, and get another clean one with the money that could have gone to savings. I took a step towards Spike, and saw him rip open a hole in a bag of blood. Right, second option it was.