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"And then you twirled your moustaches and cackled evilly?"
Spike's head jerked sharply around to stare at Buffy. "You getting all sarky over my apology?"
"No. I'm getting 'sarky' over your seventh apology. And that you seem to be casting me as the damsel in distress."
"I'm-"
"Sorry? Annoying? Ever-so-slightly wimpier since you got the soul? You know, if anyone gets to be the damsel, I think it's you."
"Strangely I forget the part where I was tied to the railway tracks."
"The girl, then. Classic Oprah scenario. And I'm the red-neck guy with the drink problem going 'she don't deserve no respect,' which definitely makes you the battered wife."
This comparison surprised a laugh out of Spike. "I think I'm insulted."
"Well you should be. Those women are idiots. Not enough sense to go and find someone decent, all that sitting around, saying 'he loves me really' - like that matters. No self-respect - you just want to shake them. Which is the problem, I guess, and why I get to be the red-neck."
"A remarkable solidarity with your gender, there."
"They go on Oprah, which means I get to judge them," said Buffy lightly. "And I was mostly talking about you, anyway. You were virtually a stereotype. You'd take me back every time I'd walk out, put up with anything as long as you could convince yourself I loved you really. The only part missing is where you snap one night when I've had too much whiskey and stab me to death with a kitchen knife."
"I just tried to rape you."
The ease in the air dropped dead; Buffy winced and shrugged. "Well I guess metaphors only go so far. In real life I'm a Slayer, not a drunken red-neck. And you're a vampire. It's pretty hard to slot us into an Oprah episode." She glanced over at Spike, then away again. "Mostly, I'd rather not think about last year at all. I really don't like red-necks."
"Lucky. Or you'd be looking to get yourself kicked out of the feminist club, love."
"I'm the Slayer, I was born with honorary membership." Buffy allowed herself a small smile. "Basically, I'm allowed to make excuses for you, and you're not. And you're allowed to make excuses for me, but I... Well I don't want to any more. I think then we're covered on the equality front."
"Your logic is a beautiful thing."
"Pfft. Logic and people aren't mixy."
"No they aren't."
A minute or two passed to the muted sounds of the potential Slayers inside the house.
"I'm sorry too," said Buffy. "But you made it so very easy to walk all over you. And you're so very irritating."
"That sounds awfully like an excuse."
"No, it's... knowing your weakness. I'm just saying, it would be easier for me to be a better person if you'd ditch the big 'kick me' sign on your head. You're enabling me."
"Fine. I renounce my last apology. Also apologies two through six. I think we're agreed that the first should stand. I suppose I'll just go and find myself a strapping tetotal red-neck who'll treat me right."
"Cool."
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