CHAPTER ONE

“Move in with me.”
“Huh?” Buffy was coming down from the high of her first orgasm of the night when his voice had sliced through the pleasure fog that surrounded her brain.
Brushing a chunk of hair out of her eyes, he smiled at the state he had put her in. “Move in with me,” he repeated.
Buffy sat up abruptly, the mood having been instantly dissipated. She clutched the white sheet to her chest. “Yeah, I heard you, and again with the ‘Huh?’ ”
His cocky smile vanished at her shocked expression. “Well, I just thought . . . I mean . . . you’re selling your mom’s house and I think our relationship has been moving along rather nicely. What’s the point of going through all the hassle of finding a new place? It makes sense -- both financially and relationship wise.”
“Angel, how long have you been thinking about this?”
“A while.”
“And you only decided to tell me now!”
“I thought I’d surprise you.”
Buffy looked at him incredulously, “I’m surprised.” He furrowed his eyebrows, his lips slightly pouted. He looked so hurt and . . . Boy scout-ish. Buffy hated that look. She had to make him understand.
“Angel, we’ve only been going out for . . .”
“Five months, I know, but Buffy, it seems like so much longer.”
“Yeah, I know.” She recuperated and rethought her approach. “You still live with your father -- I’ve never even met the man. Don’t you think it’ll be a little weird for some random girl to suddenly appear in his home?”
Angel smiled to himself knowingly, “Unless we tell him, I guarantee he won’t even notice you‘re there.” Buffy’s eyes widened at his nonchalance, so he continued. “He’s neck high in paperwork. It takes quite a bit a toil to hand down a multimillion dollar company.”
“And shouldn’t you be a part of those festivities?”
“Buffy, it’s all out of my hands now. All I have to do is show up on Tuesday, sign some papers, and the law firm of Wolfram and Hart is officially mine. I want you to be there for it. There’s a party that day in celebration of the handing down of the company -- I want you to come as my girlfriend.” He saw she needed more convincing. “I want to show you off to everyone, waltz you around the dance floor.” Angel smiled hopefully.
Buffy was happily surprised that he would consider her important enough to be there for one of the biggest days of his life. Sure, their relationship was still in the development stages, but Buffy felt like a little girl in love when she was around him. Ever since her mother had died six months ago, Buffy had been holding up the front of the strong daughter. She was an only child and that meant all friends and family members looked to her. If Buffy could be strong, that gave them the incentive to keep themselves from breaking down. Angel had been a shoulder to cry on -- he would even sit with her into the late hours of the night in the graveyard in front of her mother’s tombstone. Angel insisted she act like a normal girl around him -- not some superwoman out to change the world. And Buffy enjoyed the change -- he never looked to her for solutions or great endevors.
Buffy gazed off into the abyss of stark sheet as she thought -- Angel studying her face. Then, her eye’s became animated, eventually meeting his -- her features radiated doubt, so he waited until she finally uttered an answer -- “Yes.”

TBC

Author’s Notes: I know, I know -- we’re all screaming “That chapter sucked! Where’s the Spuffy!” I had to get that out of the way, I hope it wasn’t too painful to read. Spike will make his grand entrance (And I do mean GRAND) in the next update!

CHAPTER TWO

Sun glazed over the honey blonde as she gazed at the passing elements. They had ventured into what she had come to describe as “rich bitch” territory. While the house she grew up in was by no means small, these were triple the size. Why would anyone want to live in a house like that? It’s so impersonal and museum-ish. Could you imagine dusting that place? Cutting the lawn? Why would you subject yourself to that? Then it dawned on her -- they pay other people to do it. The people that live in these houses don’t take care of them, they just live in them. Buffy scolded herself at her momentary stupidity. Then, she scolded herself at her long-term stupidity.

Angel had convinced Buffy to move in with him. OK, fine. What he failed to mention was that they would be living in L.A. Angel couldn’t run the entire company hours away from it’s headquarters. Buffy had quit her job as guidance counselor at the local high school and packed her bags in mere days.

But her mother would of been proud. Buffy had always promised her mother that one day she would make something of herself and do something with her life. Buffy had bee a slightly difficult daughter. Her actions had caused them to move once, landing Buffy in Sunnydale. But she had gotten through the rest of her adolescence there, although with many dramas and threatened expulsions. And her mother’s diagnosis of a brain tumor had changed Buffy, including sending emotional waves of guilt crashing over her. Guilt over causing her mother so much unneeded pain for all those years.

But Buffy was moving on with the first man she ever cared for. Starting over elsewhere within what will soon be her new respectable family. At least Buffy assumed they were respectable.

For all that Angel knew about her, Buffy knew a disturbingly little amount about his personal life. Whenever she would try to ask he’d distract her then slip into another room. Buffy knew so little about him or his family, so that’s what she chalked up her unsure feelings and nervousness to. With a sigh, Buffy returned to the outside view.

The California sun cascaded onto the many terraces and reflected off the high windows of the surrounding homes. Buffy wandered if Angel lived in one of these.

They turned right up a gradual sloped road that climbed for a good three miles. What seemed to be groomed wilderness surrounded them on all sides. Nothing could be seen for miles, but green lush grass and well trimmed trees of a mixed variety. It was as if they had suddenly slipped off civilization and into a neat pasture.

Buffy wondered out loud, “I think it’s really nice that people keep some lands untouched don’t you? I mean, the idea of claiming vast amount of wilderness as your own, with no one else allowed to enjoy it? It’s unfair so many are left to cram into smoky cites. Don’t you think?” She turned to Angel, who simply smiled, eyes still fixed on the smooth pavement in front of them.

Buffy furrowed her eyebrows at his silence. He knew something and wasn’t telling her . . . no surprise there . . . and was that bush in the shape of a “G”? Something wasn’t right.

“Angel, what is this? What’s at the end of this road?”

“My house,” he simply replied. His answer did not make her feel any better.

“Oh, and this isn’t a road.” He paused at Buffy’s confusion. “It’s a driveway.”

TBC

CHAPTER THREE

She was lead up one of the two staircases that wound to the front double doors. Pillars on both sides of her held up a terrace above them. At her philandering sight, and sudden inability to focus with all that now surrounded her, Angel rung the doorbell.

“You don’t have your own key?” she vaguely wondered.

“There’s always someone here,” he replied.

The door was quickly responded to by a thin, average sized man wearing delicate spectacles and a simple black tux. Wasn’t he a little over dressed?

“Master Liam, so nice to find you home,” the precise English accent was almost comical. Buffy glanced around for the hidden cameras. This was too much. “And you must be Ms. Summers. So glad to know you will be staying with us here in the Giles estate.”

Estate? “Thank you,” Buffy replied, hoping she sounded polite next to his to-the-book greeting. They were ushered over the threshold into the foyer.

“Wes, is my father here?”

“Why of course, I believe he resides in his study.”

“Thank you. Might as well get this over with,” he smiled at Buffy. “Come on.”

Buffy’s stomach lurched, but she followed him up the stairs, passing a elaborate chandelier suspended from the ceiling. The door, the only one of many that stood ajar, was at the end of a five minute hallway.

Angel knocked lightly and received a muffled answer from the other side. They entered to find Angel’s father hunched over a dark mahogany desk. The room was vast with high ceilings. Bookshelves stood where the walls would have been with the exception of the wall on the left which was floor to ceiling glass with heavy, musty maroon curtains framing it. Everything about the room was heavy. An odor of cigar smoke drifted through the air. Where the room was made cluttered by the unholy amount of books, its lack of furniture made it bare.

“Mr. Travers, please take a seat,” the older man spoke, gesturing at the plush chair in front of him, without raising his eyes from his paperwork.

“Hello, father,” Angel greeted.

“Oh, Angel, I’m sorry. I was expecting Quentin.” Angel left Buffy at the door to shake his father’s hand. The idea of “How impersonal” fluttered through her head. He wore a little too much tweed, but Mr. Giles seemed nice enough -- well-mannered, and relatively even, but good, natured.

“Father, I’d like you to meet Buffy Summers.”

Buffy stood stoic in the doorway. “Oh, hi,” she held out her hand in realization, making her way across the room. She watched as he shook her hand, then quickly proceeded to whip off his glasses and make a show of cleaning them with a handkerchief from his pocket. Buffy wished she had smudged glasses right now -- or something to keep her hands busy. She settled on tugging at her finger nervously.

From what Buffy had come to understand, Rupert Giles had come to acquire the law firm of Wolfram and Hart through pure dedication and hard work. He had moved to the states with his wife Jenny, who was now deceased, and son, Liam, when he was twenty-five. Starting slow and working his way to the top, he was handed the company by the original owners when he turned thirty-five. Now, he prepared to hand the company down to the next generation.

“I understand you will be staying with us from now on?” The elder Giles looked to Buffy. He had an ambience of importance around him which brought Buffy to respect him, but at the same time she felt an overwhelming desire to push his buttons, see how far she could go. She had a feeling Angel never had.

Buffy hoped his question was sincere, “Yes . . . That is if you’ll have me.” Buffy felt the beginnings of a headache approaching -- all this over-politeness made her head hurt as she continuously ransacked her brain for every manner her mother had ever made the attempt to instill in her.

“Of course, I’m delighted. I am afraid you might find our home lacking in the female sense. In that case, you might also find our company lacking within the next few days.” He glanced at Angel, then at the amount of paper work piled in front of him.

“That’s okay, I’ll make do. I was even thinking about having my friends visit one day . . . If that’s okay of course.”

“Buffy, this is your home too. Please, feel free to treat it as such.”

Buffy smiled at that. Cordelia will have a fit when she sees this place.

“If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask. Wesley or any other of our employees will be happy to help.” He reaffixed his glasses in place. “Though, I must part ways with you now. I have much more of this nonsense to go over with Mr. Travers.”

“Nonsense? You weren’t calling it nonsense twenty year ago,” They turned to see a stoic man in the doorway. It was Quentin Travers. Something told Buffy this Travers man had never smiled or had an inkling of fun in his life -- well, maybe in other people’s misfortune. He had been standing in the doorway for who knew how long. Next to him was Wesley. “I hope the Senior Partners don’t hear you use such terms. They’re just at the bottom of the staircase.”

“I’m sorry, sir. You said to show Mr. Travers up when he arrived.”

“I know, that’s quite all right Wesley.” Mr. Travers took this as his invitation to enter the room.

“Liam, so nice to see you have found the time to stop by your birthright,” Travers insinuated to the firm, glaring at Buffy as if it was her fault Angel was being handed a company he was born to inherit without spending much time in it.

“Mr. Travers,” he grimly replied. “Actually, we were just leaving,” he gently began to lead Buffy towards the door.

Remembering her manners, she turned back, “Thank you, Mr. Giles, it was nice meeting you.”

“Oh, please, call me Giles, everybody else does.” He glanced slightly annoyed at his son, who must have been one of the culprits.

Travers watched the scene curiously before interrupting, “Oh, there’s no use leaving on my behalf. Liam should stick around, I think he should learn the ropes before being handed them, don’t you think Rupert?”

Giles faulted under his superior, “Well, I suppose that would be a good idea, do you mind Liam?” He silently apologized to his son with is eyes.

Angel sighed, “No problem at all.”

“Well, I would imagine it wouldn’t be, it’s only you’re job!” Travers balked at the idea of this being an inconvenience.

Wesley stood silent until Giles acknowledged his presence, “Would anyone like for Wesley to get then a drink? Lord knows I’m in dire need of one,” he added under his breath. A list of responses were noted, and Wesley exited. “Let’s take this to the parlor, shall we?”

For the first time Buffy realized how exactly she was not going to fit into this world.

They walked as a swarm -- Giles, Angel, Buffy, and Travers. Descending the stairs, they were met by a bevy of maids, cooks, and a few other male and female associates of the company -- the Senior Partners as Travers had called them. All made quick and curt introductions. Buffy’s hand was thrust into those unaware of her reason to be in the Giles home. Overwhelmed and over stimulated, Buffy was drowned in the commotion. Giles and Angel quickly succumbed into business talk that Buffy couldn’t follow, so her attention was easily diverted by the doorbell -- the rest of the group remained unfazed as they were handed their drinks by Wesley and made to move into the front parlor. An older, plumped maid moved to answer the door. Behind it stood an average sized man with a shock of unnaturally blonde hair.

The man stepped forward and sighed. Taking a long drag from his Marlboro, he glanced around the vast living space and exhaled, cigarette still slung from his lips, “Home sweet home.”

TBC

Thanks: Thank you to everyone that reviewed -- Your words are greatly appreciated. I never really knew the power of a good review until I got some!

Digression: Just a quick thought -- does anyone else feel like that by being a whole-hearted Spuffy Shipper, you are talking/writing/shipping to a brick wall? Do you also feel not represented? I don’t know, I keep running into Bangel paraphernalia and maybe it’s just that that’s got me all upset. It just gives me an overwhelming sense of helplessness -- like watching a train wreak -- and I can’t do anything to make it better short of kidnapping Joss and Co. and talking over production of Angel myself. Anybody with me!? OK, I’ll try to get over it, really. I’ll try not to violently kill off Angel for the good of the Spuffy story, but I’m not making any promises.

Author’s Note: If there is anything in the story that needs further explanation in future chapters, an aspect you don’t understand and need background on, please give me a heads up so as not to make the story confusing. Thanks.

CHAPTER FOUR

What it was about this particular English accent that made the entire caravan freeze, Buffy wasn’t sure. God knew there were enough over-the-pond voices in the room to be confusing -- especially in the sense that Angel mysteriously lacked that family trait. But the new Brit’s words were unpolished and unapologetic -- just like the man himself.

“Who is that?” a business woman asked in a tone Buffy thought was disgust. The whole group of them stood off against this man, who simply stared back with shining blue eyes.

Wesley broke his way to the front of the group to answer in his matter-of-fact tone, “This is Spike Giles, heir to Wolfram and Hart, second in line only to . . .”
“Me.” Angel answered, forcing his way through the small crowd to come toe to toe with the intruder.

They stood like that for a moment, as the onlookers frowned at the display.

“You mean they’re brothers!?” another woman, wearing some appalling looking dead animal on her shoulders, exclaimed. This brought a sudden realization over the crowd and Buffy couldn’t help but study the two men faced off before her.

They were so different though they could not be but mere years apart. Where she knew Angel to be a burly, dark featured man with a monotone and calm disposition, this Spike was anything but. The way the bleached man glared at his older sibling attested to that. Fire and lightning danced behind his azure eyes. His aura revealed him to be spastic and antsy, his muscles twitched in readiness to pounce. Where Angel wore his polo shirt and khaki slacks, his younger brother wore scuffed boots, ragged Levi’s, and a elongated leather coat with a high collar. Under his right arm, he clutched a motorcycle helmet. Neither of them took any notice of the spectators as they glared each other down.

“Spike,” Angel barked, “I see you’re still holding onto that coat.”

“Peaches,” he smirked, “I see you’re still holding onto that hairstyle.”

As Angel fumed, Spike, now acknowledging they had an audience, glanced around him and instantly landed on Buffy. He turned his head slightly, in appreciation of what he saw. Buffy raised her chin higher, not faulting under his intense gaze. Angel, taking note of where his eyes fell, tried to snap him back to attention.

“Is there something I can do for you, Spike?”

For a beat, Spike didn’t take any notice of his brother as he continued to look at Buffy, but he smiled softly and eventually faced his foe. “Now, is that the way to say hello to your brother after all these years?” Spike looked past his brother to see his father for the first time. “Rupert,” he greeted.

“William.” Giles had fear and apprehension written all over is face -- and maybe a hint of disappointment.

The woman -- who knows how many animals died for her to look that stupid -- piped up again, “William? I thought you said his name was Spike?” She received no answer. “Well, which is it?” she demanded.

When the rest of them ignored her, Spike chose to humor her. “You can call me whatever you want, Luv,” Spike did a quick double raise of his eyebrows to get his point across, then smiled when the obnoxious woman gasped, appalled by his behavior.

“Spike, I asked you a question,” Angel took a stride forward, looming violently over him.

This earned a chuckle from Spike, “And I’m answerin’ . . .” Though before Spike could offer an explanation, Wesley again spoke.

“I believe William has returned to us to claim what is rightfully his,” he ventured.

Spike turned on his heals, pointing a finger at Wesley, “And the grand prize to the man in the monkey suit.”

“And that is?” A unattractive vein in Angle’s forehead throbbed.

“The grand prize? Well, being the glorified butler for this establishment should reap him a fair amount of benefits . . .”

“You,” Angel interrupted his brother’s mirth. “What are you here for?”

“Half the company,” his father answered gravely. Everyone turned to face the older Giles, not believing what they were hearing. “On the day I hand down the company, if both of my sons want Wolfram and Hart they are to split it fifty-fifty.”

A fair amounts of gasps and “Oh my’s” rang out from the crowd.

“Mum made sure to put that little stipulation in there, didn’t she Rupert?” Spike spoke directly to his father, making sure to yet again to use his father’s given name.

Buffy was baffled as the men continued to speak in vague terms and inside jokes. From what she could analyze from the scene, the only people in the room that were aware of Spike’s existence prior to his unexpected visit were Giles, Angel, Wesley, Travers, and a few cooks and maids.

“Well I just won’t stand for this!” a Senior Partner bellowed.

“You’re not going to get away with this, Spike,” Angel agreed.

“I’m not committing a crime, mate, gotta get me on something more substantial than that.”

“This changes everything!” another Senior Partner complained, insinuating to the paper work that they had all gather to discuss.

“This changes nothing,” Giles insisted. “There will be two names signed instead of one. This changes nothing.” He spat the last sentence. His confidence was to calm himself, his associates, and to let Spike know that his sudden appearance was not as disruptive as he would have liked. “But, gentlemen,” he addressed the many businessmen around him, “you will excuse me if I do not feel up to discussing these matters with you any further tonight. I have developed a sudden distaste with the situation,” he glared penitently at his youngest son. The crowd quickly “This changes nothing,” Giles insisted. “There will be two names signed instead of one. This changes nothing.” He spat the last sentence. His confidence was to calm himself, his associates, and to let Spike know that his sudden appearance was not as disruptive as he would have liked. “But, gentlemen,” he addressed the many businessmen around him, “you will excuse me if I do not feel up to discussing these matters with you any further tonight. I have developed a sudden distaste with the situation,” he glared penitently at his youngest son. The crowd quickly began to dissipate, their feelings mirroring those of their boss.

Whatever kind of coolness Giles had hoped to convey towards him, Spike knew better. This was ripping his father and his precious business plans into neat little shreds. His dream had always been to hand his perfect firm down to his perfect son.

Soon, all that was left in the foyer was Giles, Travers, Angel, Buffy, and Spike -- who continued to smirk at them all.

Giles began up the steps, stopping to address his son, “William, your old room remains unoccupied, you can sleep in there.”

“So nice to know you held it for me all these years,” was his reply. Angel took Buffy’s hand without a word and followed Giles, leading her into their room and closing the door.

Spike sighed at his handiwork. As he sauntered past to reach the stairs, he halted abruptly in front of the elder man who hadn’t said a word throughout the entire show. The grayed man studied the young rebel critically. “Travers, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“No,” he replied, “Just the shell of a man.”

Spike sucked in air, as if Travers had poked him with a hot iron. “Touché. Can still hit the curveball in your old age. I’m impressed.” Spike’s laugh echoed unsettlingly off the decorated walls as he made his way up the stairs to his bedroom.

TBC

CHAPTER FIVE - Late Night Wanderings

After dragging her into the room, Angel had left her standing there as he practically stormed into the bathroom. At the sound of the shower being turned on, Buffy sighed and faced the luggage that had been neatly stacked in the corner of the room. For the next few hours, she busied herself putting her belongings in all their rightful new places. When she was satisfied that the cream, bare room looked remotely like someone lived in it, she sat down on the edge of the monstrous four-poster, watching Angel intently as he worked through a stack of papers. Always with the papers. Buffy decided she had let the inevitable conversation alone long enough.

“Angel, why didn’t you tell me you had a brother?” She enquired quietly.

Angel closed his eyes, not wanting to deal with this right now. “Because he might as well have been dead for all we knew.” He was getting huffy with her already. But she was not going to let this be yet another reason for him to silently brood himself into oblivion.

“What happened?”

“Look, Spike was and still is an irresponsible brat. He enjoys seeing others in pain. Carnage and chaos trail behind him wherever he goes. He used to steal from the kitchen and make a mockery of the way my father and I ran our lives. The day came when my father decided not to put up with his antics any longer and Spike threw a fit and left.” That vein in Angel’s forehead began to protrude yet again. “I don’t like the idea of you being in the same house as him, he’s dangerous.”

Buffy rolled her eyes at his overprotective habit and belief she couldn‘t take care of herself. “Where did he go?” Buffy was a little more forceful with her words than before.

“If you’re so interested in Spike, why don’t you ask him!? He’s his own favorite person!” Angel bellowed.

Buffy winced, before turning cold. This whole part of his life he’d left her in the dark about and the last thing she was going to do is stand there and let him take out his frustration on her.

“Maybe I will,” she shot back as she climbed into bed and turned off the light.

_______________________________________



The grumbling of Buffy’s stomach roused the blonde from her fitful sleep. They had arrived at the mansion past lunch and with the excitement of Angel’s estranged little brother, everyone had gone to bed early and with an empty stomach. The party had seemed too upset to feel the need for sustenance. Not wanting to bother anyone, Buffy thought it best to venture into the unknown territory of the kitchen and help herself.

Padding down the carpeted stairs in her sushi pj’s, she gazed at the light spilling out of her destination. Inside the room she heard hushed voices in mid-conversation. In an attempt to eavesdrop, she quieted her steps until she got close enough for the words to become clear.

“But he looked good, didn’t he?” a woman’s voice remarked.

“He sure turned out to be a handsome boy! He looks just like his mother,” gushed another.

“He sure didn’t get those cheekbones from his father!”

“If he wasn’t Master William, and I were ten years younger!”

“Ten!? You mean twenty!” A few more voices laughed. Hidden away from sight, Buffy smiled at their mirth -- a happiness that until then had been lacking inside the mansion. And she did have to smile at their topic -- the man did have the most lickable cheekbones. Buffy’s lips pursed at the thought she had just let herself have. Closing her eyes and quickly clearing her head, she inched closer around the corner, squeezing herself against the wall as she entered the dining room. To the left was some swinging wooden door that entered into the kitchen where the women were conjugated. One door was propped open.

“He filled out so nicely! He was a gaunt twenty-one year old boy when he left.” More voices joined the conversation.

“He sure came back a man!” A slew of schoolgirl giggles followed.

“Girls, I swear, when I answered that door it took all that I had not to throw my arms around him in happiness.”

“I’ve prayed he was alright every night since he day he left.”

As the conversation progressed, Buffy continued toward the kitchen until she hid behind the closed door, next to a pinewood table with a tall vase overstocked with stretching flowers. Realizing her unnecessary James Bond-like stealth to overhear a conversation not meant for her ears made her feel like an idiot -- like Mrs. Edwin, the Sunnydale town gossip -- so she relaxed. Though her newfound relief proved short lived as that same vase she had so carefully situated herself next to chose to betray her and react to her hip that had bumped its table. Buffy made mad grasps in the air to right it as it teetered around on its base. She eventually was successful, but not without making a good share of noise. Suddenly, the voices stopped.

“Shhhhh! Someone’s coming!”

Feeling bad for breaking up the conversation, especially since she was getting personally interested, Buffy sighed and entered the kitchen, smiling guiltily. Gathered around the steel counter was a group of maids and cooks, some Buffy had seen during her arrival. In between them was a bowl of chips that some of them were munching on. Buffy realized she had interrupted their late night girl-talk. This must be the only time they ever get to talk openly without someone hearing them.

“I’m sorry, I was starving and I just thought I’d come down and get something . . .” A pleasantly plump woman with bright eyes and a motherly disposition interrupted her.

“Oh, Ms. Summers, anytime. We’ll be happy to help. What would you like?”

Although Buffy was having an intense craving for a sandwich with all the fixings, she didn’t want to busy them so late at night -- what was probably their off hours. She wanted to keep her order simple. “Do you have any hot chocolate?”

The woman smiled warmly, “Of course. You just sit yourself right down on this stool here and we’ll fix you up. I’ll make you a sandwich too.” The woman winked knowingly at her. Five woman scurried quickly around the kitchen. They were so effortless in their movements, Buffy let herself feel happy about the food addition. In their presence, the nerves that had been attacking her all day, quickly eased. All the women had a maternal aura around them -- an aura Buffy had not felt in months. Funny, the only place she felt comfortable in the huge home was in the kitchen.

“Thank you,” she breathed, being thankful for more than the hot chocolate. “And, please, call me Buffy.” This reminded Buffy of all those nights she spent staying up with her mom, sitting around the kitchen counter, talking about nothing and everything.

The smile never left her face, “Alright, Buffy. I’m Marge, by the way.” She looked around the kitchen. “The rest of the girls are Sue, Laura, Janet, and Sarah.” The women looked to be all past the age of forty. Some had short gray hair spilling out of their white, traditional caps. The old-fashioned hired help mirrored the seemingly old-fashioned ideas of the Giles family.

Laura, the youngest of the five, looked to Buffy, “Poor thing, you must be starved. Seems the whole house shut down after Will . . .” She was quickly hushed by four pairs of dagger eyes pointed in her direction. Buffy saw where this conversation was headed and wanted nothing more than to get the whole story -- plus a few juicy gossips that the women seemed to be so fond of.

“What happened? Why did he leave?” Buffy thought she may have sounded a bit too forceful and quick, but she was desperate for information.

The five women’s talkative, happy attitudes quickly gave way to glances of doubt. They were either debating whether it was their place to talk or how much they should reveal. Sue made up her mind first, and started off the discussion innocently, addressing the other domestics more so than Buffy.

“How different this house was when William and Liam were just tots, running around the house with their toy trucks. They use to make themselves quite the nuisance in the kitchen.” Buffy smiled at the image of a skinny, curly (pre-bleach) haired boy sneaking into the very room she sat in now to dab his finger in cake frosting, and scurrying out the door before anyone could stop him.

Buffy was reminded of Angel’s current view of his brother, “You mean they used to get along?”

“Get along!? Ha! What led you to believe that, child! Those two have never gotten along. They used to drive their poor mother crazy, God rest her soul.”

Buffy perked at the mention of Angel’s mother. He had never hinted at anything past her one-time existence before. “Their mother?”

Janet turned, pouring the hot chocolate into a mug in front of her. “Oh yes, Anne was quite a woman. Spike is her carbon copy, I swear it. Angel was blessed with the misfortune of taking after his father, excuse me for saying it. I believe everyone wishes Angel had at least a hint of his mother in him -- that is, everyone except his father. Liam was born the perfect son in Rupert Giles’s eyes -- he was obedient, even tempered, and thought only through well-proven fact, earning him his alias. Six years later, William was born, and my did Anne dote on that one. He was sensitive, emotional, and creative. He used to write the most magnificent poetry, I’ve kept every word he’s ever written. When she died and he threw all his work away, I used to shift through the trash and piece them all back together.” The women smiled reminiscently at each other.

“When did she die?”

“Five years ago in May. Just like everything else, the boys handled her death very differently. Liam faced it much like his father did, her death was like a business transaction -- the funeral was paid for and they moved on. To see everyone around him act as if nothing had happened, tore poor William apart -- he rebelled.”

“Got involved with that dreadful woman. What was her name? Do you remember, Sarah? Pru? Sue? It was short for something else.”

“Drusilla. I was never happier than the day she dump him. She treated him awful.”

“Too bad his father was blind to William’s blatant cry for help.”

“But we all knew better,” Janet motioned to the five of them. “We knew he was just trying to cover up the pain of losing his mother. I don’t think he ever fully recovered. I can still see it in his eyes.”

“He holds on to that accent like he does his mother’s memory.” Silence fell over the group as each grew thoughtful over the man and his tragic loss.

“My mother died too,” Buffy broke the calm. The women gave her understanding smiles. Buffy gave a slight upturn of her mouth and shrugged. “I know how he feels.” Buffy took a moment to reflect on her childhood home she had put up for sale, silently wishing no one would buy it.

“Well, I just . . .”

Everybody paused as they heard someone descending the stairs. Whoever it was, he or she did not try to make a secret of their late-night wanderings. Buffy’s brow furrowed at the women’s excitement. They were giving each other hopeful glances and almost bursting smiles. She didn’t understand until a man with sleep-mussed hair rounded the corner wearing nothing but blue drawstring sweatpants. Buffy wandered if he would have been modest enough to throw on a shirt had he heard the women’s slight lustings earlier. She doubted it.

“William!” The older group gushed. “We weren’t sure if you were coming!”

“I couldn’t go without saying hello to my girls, could I?” Not noting Buffy’s presence, he walked into his school of admirers, who all took turns giving and returning tight hugs. Spike smiled genuinely at each and every one of them.

“Bet everything here’s been one big droll what with me not livening up the place.” The women laughed in truthfulness.

Buffy noticed how different this was than his evening entrance. Gone was the hate, sarcasm, and snaps of anger behind those beautiful blue eyes. He seemed purely happy to be in the women’s presence once more. When the excitement died down and a few tears of joy were shed, Marge was the first to speak.

“Would you like some coco, William?”

“Only if you have the kind with the little marshmallows.”

She nodded knowingly, “Of course. You go sit down next to Buffy and we’ll fix you right up.” Marge smiled at Buffy, who was a little nervous to sit next to the man who had been spiting fire hours earlier.

He nodded at Buffy before sliding into the stool next to hers. They exchanged small smiles, Buffy quickly turning away from his demanding eyes -- eyes that made you spill your deepest and darkest wants and desires. Probably made you act on them if you stared at them long enough. She was glad when Sue placed the sandwich in front of her.

“William’s been coming down for late-night kitchen confidentials since he was a boy. We weren’t sure whether the man still enjoyed spending time with us old-timers.”

“Always,” he replied. Then was playfully smacked when he did nothing to deny they were reaching their latter years. Buffy couldn’t help but smile at the warmth radiating around the room. The five women ceased talking as they enjoyed the activity of taking care of their favorite boy. This left Spike and Buffy sitting relatively alone.

“So,” he ventured slowly, not letting awkward silence overtake them, “how’d a nice chit like you end up with a dote like my brother?”

“How do you know I’m a ‘nice chit’?”

“I trust my girls’ judge of character. If they didn’t like you, they would’ve kicked you out of their little kitchen sanctuary already.” A group of scoffs followed this comment, and he smiled. They set his cup of marshmallows with hot chocolate in front of him.

Buffy didn’t feel right talking about her relationship with Angel, but his persistent eyes kept her vaguely talking. “We’ve been seeing each other for a while, and then my mom died and he asked me to move in here. I was alone in the house, so I said yes. I’m selling it now, there’s just no point in keeping it.”

“No! You shouldn’t do that! Keep the house.” Buffy was taken aback by his outburst, but she tilted her head and shifted her body to face his, silently urging him to explain himself.

“I mean, she’s so much part of you. Your life’s in that house, your dreams.” Spike’s features softened as he gazed into his cup, which sat on his lap. He twisted smoothly back and forth in the swivel stool, his knees gazing Buffy’s every once in a while. “I bet you can still feel her when you walk through that house. She still talks to you, too. When you dress in the morning, she’s the one that tells you to take your jacket. When you’re ordering at the deli, you order one of those bloody salads, because your vegetable intake hasn’t met her standards.” Buffy was enraptured as his voice made her recall her morning packing -- she had taken a sweater, just in case the house was breezy. She remembered her mad scramble to remember all her pleases and thanks you’s at her introductions that morning. Meeting their gazes again, they recognized the pain and the void. To take the seriousness off his words, he leaned into her close, keeping his eyes trained on hers the entire time. For a split second, Buffy allowed herself to leave his eyes and gaze at his lips. But he winked at her before plucking a pickle off her plate and popping in into his mouth. She smiled at him, she couldn’t help herself.

On the other side of the kitchen, the five women were going unnoticed. Each of them happier than the other to leave the pair to their talk. Marge raised her eyebrows and nodded her head discretely in the direction of the young couple sitting close on the stools. They faced each other, leaning in and talking softly. Laura’s eyes widened in shock at what Marge was suggesting. Sue made jerky pointing motions to the ceiling, indicating Angel’s bedroom, the man that slept in it, and the girl that was supposed to be. Marge smiled knowingly, then proceeded to lead the rest of them out the other door, to bed.

“What did you do before Prince Magnificent Poof whisked you away to his castle?” Spike was comfortably sharing Buffy’s pretzels.

“I was a high school guidance counselor.”

Spike smiled at that, “You don’t seem the type.”

“And you don’t seem the lawyer type.”

He smiled and nodded, sipping his hot chocolate. “Fair enough.”

“I’d love to go into art restoration and museum work like my mother.”

“Why don’t you?”

Buffy shrugged, and yet again turned the conversation back to him. Neither had any interest in divulging too much about themselves, yet they found themselves fighting an urge to open up to each other. “Why come back to claim something that you hate so much? Do you really want the firm, or just annoy your brother?”

Her poking and prodding questions didn’t bother him like they did when others questioned his motives. He gave her question a moments thought, “A little bit of both, I guess.”

She smiled at his mischievous smirk. They fell into silence, but a comfortable one. Spike glanced at the clock on the wall, drained his mug, and stood up. Buffy looked at him, slightly alarmed. “Well, if I’m going to be on my snarky game tomorrow, and continue my goal of driving the lot of them into the nuthouse, better get some sleep.” Her eyes followed him to the doorway. He turned around and looked at her poignantly, his eyes telling her he had much more on his mind and tongue than a bid goodnight. But that’s what he went with.

“Goodnight, Buffy,” he spoke softly. His voice met her like an innocent kiss, leaving her with the phantom imprint. He turned and left the room.

Buffy gazed to where he had stood, a small smile played at her lips. She sighed and swiveled, returning to her sandwich.

TBC

CHAPTER 6 -- Changes

“Mr. Andrews make sure those files are on my desk by two o’clock this afternoon.” Angel trotted towards his office, professional demeanor full force. Behind him followed a bevy of men in expensive suits barking “Yes Sir” and “Of course Sir” to Angel’s every whim. They made a sharp left into Angel’s office, losing some minions through the narrow doorway. Angel continued to address his lackeys, his eyes on the file in his hands. “If we’re going to do this right we need this case to go through the . . . .”

Every one of Angel’s associates stopped abruptly, shock taking over their features. All of Angel’s maturity deflated as he saw the scene in front of him. His stoic face fell, along with his square shoulders, and the papers he had held in his hand flopped to hang loosely at his thigh. Angel took a deep breath:

“Out of my chair!” he whined, exasperated.

His complaint was met by a raised eyebrow and a smirk. “Make me.” Spike was stretched out in Angel’s posh leather chair, his muddy boots crossed on top of the desk in front of him, and his long fingers were interlaced behind his head. Giving no response, Angel excused himself, asking if his associates could wait for him in the adjoining room.

Spike smiled at Angel’s agitation. Taking out a cigarette and lighting it with his Zippo, he addressed Angel, the stick hanging from his lips, “Brother, you’re going to have to lighten up or people will starting thinking of you as a self-centered, brooding . . . oh wait, too late.” Angel stalked toward the desk, stopping to glower down at Spike.

“You don’t want this company,” he growled. “I swear to God, Spike, if you’re going to destroy dad’s company because of some spiteful boyhood grudge let me know now because I will take you out before you ruin this for me.”

His words had no effect on Spike, “Tough talk cowboy. You know you’re not the only one that went to law school.”

“Oh, did you finish? All I know is that dad was sending sickening amounts of money to your account all these years and it was being withdrawn quicker than it was deposited. Who knew what it was getting used for.”

“I may have done some dumb shit in my day, but I’m not a complete moron.”

“Could of fooled me.” Spike shrugged and silence fell over the room. Angel’s body revealed that he had some other issue to address with his baby brother. When he did finally speak it was a quieter tone, but no less menacing, “I know where you were last night.”

Spike didn’t even try to pretend that he didn’t know what he was talking about. “Oh what? Did I eat all your Pringles?”

“You may be able to charm the hired help, but your spell doesn’t work on the rest of us.”

Spike gave Angel a beat, letting him think he’d gotten the last word in as he turned to leave the room. As Angel was about to walk through the threshold, Spike spoke, “It seemed to work just fine on your girlfriend.” Angel paused a moment to seethe quietly before continuing on his way. To be truthful, Spike expected more of a reaction out of him. He knew that if Buffy were his and Angel had made that type of suggestive remark, Spike would’ve pummeled him.

Spike continued to ponder in his brother’s chair. His words were meant strickly to harm his brother, not lessen the connection he felt last night with Buffy. If he had that girl . . . No, that was a stupid thought. No use torturing yourself over a dream. He may not deserve Buffy, but Angel had no right to even be in the same room as that girl. She had something extraordinarily special about her, he could tell. He sighed and returned to fumbling through the files on Angel’s desk, trying to catch up on five years of information. And although Spike tried to will himself away from blonde hair and green eyes, he found his mind wondering if she would be down in the kitchen tonight.

TBC

CHAPTER 7 -- Kitchen Pt. 2

Author’s Note: Sorry for lack of update -- the floppy I had alllllllllllll my writings on went kaput. I had to rewrite all the ideas/chaps I hadn’t posted yet, so now I’m stuck playing catch-up. I would like to say thank you for the wonderful reads and reviews. They are greatly appreciated. Especially rockerbaby -- who caught my boo-boo of saying Jenny was Spike and Angel’s mom, then changing it to Anne (it is Anne) and my repeat of paragraphs -- Thank you! And thank yous go to professorgreenthumb who got my butt moving on the next chapters (Sorry this one’s so short)!

OH! -- Let’s pretend The Bronze is in Los Angles. (It’ll make for a hot chapter 8)

Buffy awoke to sounds of laughter floating up from the kitchen. The door to Angel’s bedroom was at the top of the stairs and he had left the door ajar. Buffy took a quick glance at the man next to her before slowly removing her covers and sliding off the bed. Angel slept on the complete opposite side than she, so the carefulness was pointless.

Padding down the stairs, the hysterics were not censored as Marge let out yet another distinctive chuckle. Whatever was going on in there had the entire group of women on the floor. Buffy hesitated for a moment -- sure, the kitchen gatherings were nightly, but she had not been officially invited. She had wandered into it last night but had no idea whether she was welcome tonight. Buffy stepped quietly towards the room, although not as cautious as before. Poking her head around the corner, Buffy did her best not to burst with laughter.

Sitting on the same stool as last night was Spike. He was surrounded by the women, all leaning over the counter, their concentration peppered with bit’s of laughter. Spike was entertaining them with his ability to balance various kitchen utensils on his nose. After mastering the wooden spoon, he attempted the egg beater thrust at him by Laura. After some initial trouble, Spike successfully kept the beater on his nose for four counted seconds before dismounting it to thunderous applause.

The women, who were facing the entrance way, saw Buffy first. Wide grins broke out on their faces and any reservations Buffy had were quickly dismissed. At the clapping’s abrupt stop, Spike turned to the doorway. He shared a smile with Buffy, knowing that she had caught him making a complete fool of himself.

“What about you, luv? You got any stupid human tricks?” The rest of the room smile at the challenge as Buffy leaned halfway into the room.

“I don’t know if I can beat that impressive balancing act, but . . . got any olives?” Buffy gamely slid into the stool next to him. Janet quickly supplied the black olives. The small crowd watched in fascination as Buffy carefully placed two olives on the back of her hand. Waiting a moment to make sure they would stay, Buffy held her hand out. She slapped her right hand down on the back of her wrist, propelling the olives into the air at an impressive altitude before catching one in her mouth, quickly jerking her head slightly to catch the second. She smiled at the applause that greeted her bar trick.

Buffy laughed and Marge caught the wistful look Spike was giving the young blonde. Her little William was in love. And with his brother’s girlfriend, no less. Would nothing ever come easy for the boy? Even though William loved to make his father and brother’s lives as difficult as possible, he didn’t have a bad bone in his body. He was born into a life of misfortunes: his father and brother didn’t understand him, his mother died, he was drawn into a destructive lifestyle by some gothic trollop, and now he was in love with an unavailable girl.

Marge sighed, “Okay girls, I think it’s time we retire.” He statement was met by a few good-natured pouts, but within minutes the kitchen was desolate except for Spike and Buffy.

They sat in uncomfortable silence. “So,” Spike started, “where’d you learn the parlor trick?”

Buffy smiled, playing with the olive jar, “Frat party.” She glanced at the wooden spoon Spike was twirling in his fingers. She motioned to it, “Do you learn how to do that or . . .”

“It’s a gift,” Spike nodded. The two laughed. “Some people are jugglers, some wiggle their ears . . . I can balance things on my face.” He paused, considering what he had just said, “God, that sounds pathetic.” Buffy giggled more, and Spike was instantly glad he had the ability. He would stand on his head and spin while juggling Cupie dolls if it made her smile.

He propped his head on his hand and watched her as she struggled to get herself under control. The remnants of a smile still on her face, she turned towards Spike. He leaned in towards her, his eyes on her lips. Buffy’s lips parted and her eyes began to close. But Spike stopped short.

“Come out with me and my friends tomorrow.”

“Huh?”

“We go to this place called the Bronze.”

“I don’t think . . .”

“It’s karaoke night. There’ll be alcohol. You can’t possibly tell me you have something better to do than watch drunks sing.” He smiled and she made the mistake of looking into those eyes. “Meet me in the garage at eight o’clock.”

Buffy nodded, entranced, “Okay.” She gulped, suddenly painfully aware of how far she was willing to let this go. She realized that if Spike had tried to kiss her, she wouldn’t have stopped him. But would she be in the frame of mind to stop him if he tried again?

TBC

CHAPTER 8 -- Bronzing

Author’s Note: A big thanks to Deestar11 and Rachel for getting my butt in gear -- sorry the update was a couple days later than promised!! Lol And a big HI goes to chopperchick -- check out her website www.karma82.com -- she has some great fiction archived there.

Buffy was standing in the Giles’ . . . showroom of cars. Spike called it a garage. It wasn’t a garage if you needed a map to navigate it. Spike walked up beside her, smiling, then shared her view of the room.

Buffy raised her eyebrow, “That’s a lot of cars.”

Spike sighed, “Yeah, my brother goes a bit overboard, doesn’t he?”

Buffy’s eyes widened, “They’re all his?”

“And that surprises you?” Buffy shrugged, with all the secrets Angel had been keeping from her, nothing about him shocked her anymore. She hadn’t told Angel she was going out, let alone with his hated brother. But he had seen her agonizing over her wardrobe, stressing over every article of clothing before settling on a black skirt and red halter with a scoop neck. The outfit was a little inappropriate for sitting around the house, but he hadn’t said a word about it, and Buffy was far from caring. It was funny, back in Sunnydale, Angel had been her world. She dreamed girlhood dreams about getting married and having children with him and couldn’t imagine a more perfect life.

Now, Angel had finally let her in to his personal life, and suddenly Buffy had a hard time thinking of anything except how she hadn’t had much of a childhood. She had been playing the strong grown-up for so long, she didn’t think she could remember the last time she truly let go and had a good time.

That was one of the many reasons she was nervous about going out tonight. Well, that and her current company -- a relationship she had yet to define.

Spike glanced over at Buffy, obviously lost in her own serious thoughts. That was the one thing he didn’t want her to be tonight -- serious. The type of high society girl Angel wanted to turn her into was not the real Buffy. Spike had seen glimpses in the kitchen of the real Buffy, and he planned on doing whatever it took tonight to make her happy. “What’s your chariot of choice?”

Buffy furrowed her brows, “What about your motorcycle?”

Spike took the opportunity to inspect her outfit, appreciating the tight little ensemble, “With that skirt of yours, I’m afraid we’d cause quite the ruckus.”

His playful tone had Buffy considering her pleather skirt, already higher than mid-thigh. Buffy couldn’t see herself straddling anything anytime soon. Straddling . . . the word had Buffy glancing at Spike’s jeans. She shook her head, no . . . no straddling, Buffy. Bad Buffy. She looked back up, meeting her date’s . . . er, Spike’s eyes, playfully, “Since when have you been afraid of a little ruckus?” She blushed at her uncharacteristically flirty tone.

Spike smiled, “Never.” He held out his hand and she took it. He led her to a wall lined with cars.

Buffy was overwhelmed at the amount of choices around her. Glossy red convertibles and even a few purple roadsters with flames going up the sides assaulted her. “Um . . . what about that one?” she asked, gesturing to a black one to her left that looked a little worse for the wear.

Spike’s eyes lit up, “A woman after my own heart.” Buffy looked confused at his words, “This is the only car in here that’s actually mine,” he clarified.

Buffy inspected the Desoto. It wasn’t as visually impressive as the others, but it looked like it had been around the block a few times, and wouldn’t be against going around a few more times if you made it worth its while -- just like the owner. The similarities between car and driver made Buffy smile.

“Shall we?” he asked, opening the passenger door with an overly exaggerated gesture.

“We shall,” she answered, sliding into the car. Spike got into the driver’s seat and revved the engine.

“Still sounds like a beauty,” he approved. The rest of the short ride to The Bronze was made in comfortable silence, except for the blaring radio. Buffy rolled down the window, allowing the rushing wind to blow though her hair. Spike couldn’t help but steal glances at the goddess sitting next to him.

She felt freer already. When she rode in the car with Angel, he never allowed her to roll down the window, let alone turn Maroon 5 up to a basting volume.

They parked the car and walked in off the street. The door was propped open by a tall bouncer with a shaved head, who gave everyone walking through the door a stern look. But when they approached the entrance, the bouncer greeted Spike.

“So the stories are true. You are back,” the bouncer smiled.

“Gunn,” Spike returned, “How’s it goin’ mate?”

“Not bad, not bad. The whole gang’s inside waiting for you.”

“We better get in then,” Spike replied, taking Buffy’s hand.

“God forbid you keep your adoring public waiting,” Gunn teased.

Spike weaved Buffy through the crowd, he returned hello’s as they went. It seemed like the whole place knew his name, and those that didn’t were being quickly informed.

Popular by association, Buffy felt like she was under the microscope of the entire bar. The guys eyed her quickly, knowing she was with Spike, therefore off limits and the girls gave her full glares while running their hands sensuously up Spike’s arm, suggesting they “get together some time,” as he ignored them and made his way to a table, pulling Buffy along.

When they reached their destination, Buffy saw that the table was already occupied. A red head girl smiled sweetly at them and a brunette man didn’t even notice them at first as he was too busy playing with a doughnut.

“Hey!” the girl greeted, “Long time no see!”

“Hey, Red.” He replied. “Whelp,” he smacked the dark haired man on the shoulder.

“Hey, Spike.”

“Will, Xander, this is Buffy,” he introduced as they sat down.

“Since when do you bring dates to your little getaway?” Willow asked. She leaned closer to Buffy, “He’s never brought his girlfriend here before. Well, besides Dru,” Willow stuck her tongue out in a “yuck” at the mention of the name.

Spike sighed, “Am I ever going to live that period of my life down?”

“Well we got to keep you in check somehow,” Xander replied. He turned to Buffy, “It’s all that Harvard law, he thinks he’s better than everyone else,” he joked.

Buffy’s mouth fell open, “You graduated from Harvard!?”

Xander looked surprised, “You didn’t tell her? Since when have you been modest? Makes his brother’s University of Sunnydale degree look like kid’s stuff.”

Before Buffy got a chance to question him further, Willow grabbed her arm, “Come on you guys, let’s dance!” Buffy brightened at the suggestion, but they were met by two questionable looks from the males. “Oh, you guys are such party poopers,” she huffed. “Let’s go, Buffy. I’m sure there’s some guys out there that would be more than happy to dance with us.” Buffy smiled and disappeared with Willow into the crowd.

Spike and Xander sat drinking their beers. “So what’s the deal, man?” Xander asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Buffy. You haven’t had a girlfriend since Dru and all of a sudden you pop back into town the most gorgeous girl in all of L.A. on your arm.”

Spike thought about correcting his friends on the fact that Buffy was not indeed his, but the idea was so damn appealing and Buffy had said nothing to lead them to think otherwise, so he stayed ambiguous.

Spike smiled as he caught a glimpse of flailing blonde hair as Buffy got lost in the beat of the music and sent a death glare to a guy who seemed a little too happy to be in Buffy’s vicinity. He watched as the newbie immediately back off and chose to grind against a short haired brunette. “She’s different.”

“Different, huh?” Xander took in his friend. In the few short minutes he’d been in the Bronze, Xander had never seen Spike smile so much. He used to come to the Bronze all the time, but he came and left alone. And after all the screwed up family shit and Dru, Spike never laughed or smiled or had mooneyes for a girl. He stayed utterly uninterested and unattainable to women. That was, until now of course. Xander liked Buffy, she seemed so sweet, the kind of girl Spike deserved. Xander looked up to follow Spike’s gaze and knew any chance of continuing conversation was futile because Buffy and Willow were coming back off the dance floor.

Willow chugged a bottled water and addressed Spike, “So, are you gonna grace us with your stage presence tonight or what?”

“Stage presence?” Buffy asked, intrigued and unknowingly distracting Spike with the droplets of sweat that were disappearing below her halter top.

Xander slapped Spike out of his daydreaming before he could embarrass himself, “I bet you didn’t know that our friend here is quite the singer.”

“Come on, Spike! Sing!” Willow exclaimed.

“Yeah, sing!” Echoed a bevy of locals.

Spike didn’t seem nearly as excited at the idea.

If there was one way to get Spike on that stage, Willow knew what it was, “Buffy wants you to sing, don’t you Buffy?”

Buffy jumped, “What? Oh, um . . .” The crowd looked at her expectantly, but none more so than Spike. “Yeah, I do,” she finished shyly.

Spike grinned and stood up, “Okay then, if the lady insists.” Buffy smiled and blushed.

Xander, Willow, and the group gathered around them cheered in victory.

Spike climbed up on the stage and was handed a guitar by a red-haired band member.

Spike got himself situated on a wooden stool and spoke into the microphone, “Here’s some a . . . here’s some Tom Waits.” He was answered by rowdy “Woo hoo’s” and screams from the crowd.

“Yeah!” Came a yell from the primarily female group closest to the stage.

“Don’t go to church on Sunday,” he started

“Ahhhhhhhh!” the girls answered. Buffy fidgeted in her chair.

“Don’t get on my knees to pray
Don’t memorize the books of the Bible
I got my own special way
But I know Jesus loves me
Maybe just a little bit more

Spike smirked, catching Buffy’s eye and winking.

I get down on my knees every Sunday
At Zerelda Lee’s candy store

Well it’s got to be a chocolate Jesus
Good enough for me
Got to be a chocolate Jesus
Good enough for me

He growled out the lyrics, by now he had the entire building’s undivided attention. Including Buffy’s.

Well I don’t want no Abba Zabba
Don’t want no Almond Joy
Baby, there ain’t nothing better
Suitable for this boy
Well I know there’s only thing that can pick me up
Better than a cup of gold
See only a chocolate Jesus
Can satisfy my soul

Buffy now knew why Willow had called The Bronze his little getaway. The acceptance he got here was an incredible contrast to his family’s opinion of him.

When the weather gets rough
And it’s whiskey in the shade
It’s best to wrap your savior
Up in cellophane
He flows like the big muddy
But that’s ok
Pour him over ice cream
For a nice parfait

His eye’s were closed, lost in the performance -- a complete escape.

Well it’s got to be a chocolate Jesus
Make me feel good inside
Got to be a chocolate Jesus
Keep me satisfied

It’s got to be a chocolate Jesus
Good enough for me
Got to be a chocolate Jesus
Good enough for me

“Woooooo!” the crowd exclaimed as he set the guitar down and climbed off the stage. The owner of the bar got on the stage, requested that the audience give another big hand for Spike, and karaoke night officially began. Spike came back to the table, the electricity buzzing around him, sweat pouring off him from the hot lights and pure adrenaline rush of live performance.

Spike felt Buffy’s eyes on him, the excitement of audience acceptance making him ballsy, “You wanna get outta here?” He murmured into her ear.

Buffy nodded, “Yeah,” and slide out of her chair.

As Buffy and Spike emerged from the rowdy club, the rain had already started. A particularly violent flash of lightening and crash of thunder had them huddled together, jogging to the car.

TBC

**Lyrics are Tom Wait’s “Chocolate Jesus” covered by James Marsters

Author's Note: I am so very sorry this chapter took so long. I was really slaving over this chapter and was totally insecure about it. It took me forever to get it to a point in which I was willing to release it to the public! :) Thank you to all of you that have stuck with me through all the long dry periods!

CHAPTER 9 -- Covered in Rain

The kitchen had long been deserted by the time Spike and Buffy stumbled through the front door, laughing and soaked from the continuous downpour. The ride home had been surrounded in blasting music and yelling at late night pedestrians. The release the two had felt speeding down the highway, away from the confines of Wolfram and Hart, had the them riding out a natural high from the ecstasy of freedom.

Entering the empty kitchen, Buffy plopped down on a stool while Spike raided the fridge.

He spoke with his back to Buffy, “So you have fun tonight, pet?”

Buffy picked up a peach from the bowl in front of her and bit into it, “Definitely. Fun was had by all. Willow and Xander were really nice. How’d you meet them?”

Spike retracted his head from the fridge, turning around to reveal a carton of Ben and Jerry’s Cherry Garcia in his hands. He grabbed two spoons from the drawer to his left and propped himself against the counter across from Buffy. “My secret stash,” he replied to her impressed look before answering her original question. “Me, Harris, and Red went to high school together. They kept me out of trouble.” At Buffy’s doubtful look, he digressed, “Oh, I got into trouble. They just got into it with me. See, the idea is to get as many people into your screwball scheme as possible -- that way if you do get caught, there’s more room to pass the blame around.” He smiled reminiscently, “And somehow we always got caught.”

Silence, except for the incessant drum of rain on the windows, fell over the room as Spike and Buffy shared the ice cream. Buffy had the absentminded habit of scooping a spoon full of the treat, putting it in her mouth, flipping the spoon around, and savoring the smooth and creamy sweetness on her tongue as she slowly pulled the utensil out from her lips. When he hadn’t dug in his spoon for a while, Buffy glanced up and caught him looking at her -- eyes slightly glazed and studying her mouth -- hungry for something besides the ice cream. Buffy blushed, suddenly shy, “You sang really well tonight.”

It took him a minute to shake himself out of his daydreams, involving Buffy licking the frozen dessert from places other than her spoon, “Thanks,” he said, “It’s a hobby, I guess.”

“You’re pretty popular around the club.”

Spike shrugged, “It was an old haunt. I’d get in a fight with my father or Angel and I’d need to blow off some steam. I’d go there and sing. The audience is honest with you. If you should stick to your day job, they’ll tell you.”

“That’s why it’s your little getaway?” she asked, repeating Willow’s words.

“Yeah. I can find honesty there. Something I never could find at home.”

The shift in his eyes had Buffy prying gently further, “What do you find at home?”

“Pure evil and bad karma,” he smiled ruefully. He explained further, “If I spend too much time here, I find myself straying away from the values I set for myself early on in my life. I catch myself thinking about nothing but business -- going to bed with lawsuits and paralegals dancing in my head. I forget what’s really important and I let it overwhelm me. I let it get too far a couple years ago -- fell in with the wrong crowd -- wrong woman to be exact. I don’t want to go that far off my true path ever again. But Wolfram and Hart never seemed too convinced that I reformed. My history makes me the black sheep of the family -- the failure. All that hate, all that distrust -- it starts to envelop me. I just have to get away sometimes.”

Buffy turned her spoon in her hands, considering his words before speaking, “I think that makes you the most interesting one in the family. They haven’t lived. They’ve never gone outside their safe little world of law and business. You have. You learned who you are and what you truly want in life. The rest of them are following by example -- doing exactly what their fathers did before them.” Buffy met his eyes, “I think that makes you a better man than any of them.”

Spike swallowed her words, overwhelmed that someone who’s known him so short a time could believe in him more than people that have know him his whole life. In his nervousness, he tried to lighten the mood, “I’m ‘fraid you might be spendin’ too much time with me, pet. That sounds like a speech I would have made. I’m beginning to rub off on you.”

Buffy thought about it for a minute, considering all that being more like the man in front of her entailed, before smiling, “Good.” She got up off her chair, put their spoons in the sink, and joined Spike on the other side of the island, picking at the bowl of grapes in front of him.

Thunder crashed outside. The ceiling lights above them flickered before succumbing to the storm, throwing the couple into darkness.

Spike grimaced, “I hated storms as a tot. Used to have to climb in bed with my mum until it let up.”

Buffy looked up around at the windows in the ceiling above them. The kitchen was off to the side of the house -- sort of like an extension, it’s own little world away from the Giles’ business ventures. “Still a little afraid?”

Spike shook his head, “Not afraid . . . Just wary . . . Of the memories.”

Buffy smiled, “Me too.” Her thoughts wandered to her own mother, “The more time that passes the more I feel her slipping away. I start to forget things -- the smile lines around her mouth, the smell of her shampoo. It’s like she’s slowly fading away. I’m afraid one day I’ll wake up and it’ll be like she never existed at all,” her voice broke off in emotion.

Spike turned to her, looking into her eyes. The uncertainty he found there put a knot in his stomach. She searched his face for answers, he brought up his hand to her cheek. “It’ll never be that way. She made you who you are. It may seem like she’s leaving you now, but the more days that pass the more you’ll recognize herself in you. The sparkle in your eyes, the things that make you laugh, your love of art, your strength -- she gave them all to you.” A single tear trickled down her face, Spike swiped it away with his thumb. He rested his other hand comfortingly on her hip and she shifted her body closer to his. This woman had his mind going in circles -- she made him forget everything, yet remember what’s important in life. She was the most incredible human being, and she had no idea.

He couldn’t help but be drawn to her, he bent his head as they grew closer. Shadows played off the walls. “Buffy . . .” Spike breathed, “I . . .” She interrupted him with a kiss. Spike kissed her back, but with restraint. He broke away, breathless, “Buffy . . . Tell me to stop,” he pleaded. If she didn’t stop this now, it was going to go too far. And God have mercy on his soul, he wanted it to.

She searched his eyes, afraid of what she’d find. Part of her wanted to find something malicious -- false motives and lies -- a reason for her not to want this man. But all she found was wonder and adoration. It excited her and frightened her. But she saw more in his eyes than she’d ever found in any other man’s words. “Don’t stop.” She captured his lips again.

Lightening lit up the sky. Every flash would illuminate the kitchen for a split second and Buffy saw his azure eyes boring into hers. It was intense, more so than if they would have been in the light. The shadows danced across his face, making his cheekbones even more pronounced.

Spike trailed wet kisses down her jaw before latching onto her throat. Buffy hummed in desire. She rested her arms on his biceps, feeling them flexing beneath her touch. She turned her face, lengthening her throat for him. At the next crash of thunder, Buffy looked up at the window in the ceiling. She could see the rain pounding down onto the glass above them. The sparks of light would shine down on the couple, highlighting their embrace.

His hand on her hip slid up under her top, caressing her warm skin. The heat from his fingertips burned her. She wrapped one arm around his shoulders, her fingers playing in the soft hair at the nape of his neck, holder him to her.

The more he touched her, the more skin she wanted to expose to him. He was gentle, yet possessing. It was a type of passion she had never felt before. “Off,” she whispered, pulling at his shirt. He crossed his hands and yanked the shirt up over his head. She didn’t fall back into his brace immediately, she stood a step away for a moment, admiring his form. He was lean and cut. She reached out her hands, experimentally running her fingertips over his chest. He hissed when her nails trailed down his stomach, resting on his belt buckle.

He smirked at her obvious appreciation. He tugged at her own shirt, “Off,” he demanded in return. Buffy moved to hastily get rid of her shirt, but Spike stopped her, gently placing her hands above her head. He ran his hands under her shirt, hooking his thumbs on the outside. He sensuously raked his hands possessively up her body, bringing the shirt with him. His palms left a hot trail in his wake, running over the sides of her breasts, causing Buffy to inhale sharply, her entire body sensitive to his touch. When her top was discarded, he intertwined his fingers in hers loosely, holding her away from him, loving her body -- every soft angle and curve. “Beautiful,” he breathed. His words gave her the confidence to unzip her skirt and unclasping her bra, letting it fall loosely to the floor.

He pulled her flush against him, kissing her passionately. His jeans fell to his ankles, his hardness sticking out strait from his body, yearning towards her body, her touch, her intense heat. Taking her hips and pinning her against the counter, he rubbed himself against her thin panties, sliding rhythmically against her clit. Buffy moaned into the kiss at the sensation, his hands cupping her breasts and massaging them, slowly bringing her body to a precipice.

His hands went to the two ties on the sides of her candy pink panties, gently tugged at the restraints, and they fell away. He probed at her opening with his fingertips. Buffy stomach tightened and her wetness increased. He entered her with two fingers, his palm applying pressure on her most sensitive nerve. She thrust her hips eagerly into his hand and he didn’t let up until his fingers were coated in her juice. She whimpered when he pulled his digits out, only to widen her eyes when he brought his hand up to his mouth, licking each finger clean with an impressive extension of his tongue. Buffy moaned, it was the most erotic thing she’d ever seen. A man who fully worship the female body, knew exactly what he was doing, and did not shy away from sex. She was pretty sure this man did not know how to shy away from anything. But she knew him now, knew that the confidence he carried so well as a man was rooted in insecurity as a boy. He was emotionally broken, but not fragile. Buffy smiled saucily, wrapping her fingers around his length, swiping her thumb across the tip, gathering the pre-cum on her finger. She kept his eyes as she slowly revealed her pink tongue, sucking her thumb clean.

He gazed at her from behind his lashes, ran himself forcedly against her pussy lips, and nudged the tip of his erection into her wet center.

Her tight walls clenched around the invasion. He was so much bigger than Angel, the stretching made her body ache, but in the most delicious way. When he was all the way inside her, he stopped rocking and the two stood there holding each other, composing themselves, trying to control their breaths.

He brushed a wet strand of hair behind her ear, “Are you okay?”

Buffy smiled at his tender concern, placing a hand on his cheek, she nodded, “Yeah.”

He rolled his hips into her, her lips open, hot pants on his skin. Her eyes were glazed and unfocused, her eyelids heavy. But every time her eyes closed for even a moment, he placed his hand on her cheek, bringing her face back to his, silently demanding eye contact, even when her first orgasm rolled over her unexpectedly in a blissful wave, bringing her to cling to him. He drove into her harder. Her second was more intense, her breath hitched and her body elegantly arched and stilled.

“Spike,” she whimpered as she came, mouth forming a perfect O.

He buried his head to her neck, inhaling her scent as her muscles spasmed around his cock. “God . . . Buffy . . . Love you so bloody much.”

They stood in the kitchen for minutes after, clutching to each other in the darkness, caressing each other’s faces as they both came down.

TBC

CHAPTER 10 -- Here With Me

In the darkness of the kitchen, he felt her begin to stir in his arms. The storm had let up, all that was left was a light rhythmic drizzle. When she looked at him, it was as if she was locking eyes with a stranger. The shock and uncertainty was vivid on her face. Spike’s stomach made an awful turn -- God, please, no don’t reject me.

“Spike,” she began softly.

“Buffy, please don’t take this lightly, I couldn’t stand it.” His voice was raw with desperation.

She stared fixatedly on the tile floor, “I won’t.”

“Tell me tonight didn’t mean something to you,” he challenged.

“It did.” Her eyes looked far away.

He was losing her, he could feel it. “Go out with me tonight,” he requested quickly. He could sense the inner debate in her head, “Please, baby, don’t over think this,” his eyes pleaded with her. He was aching to touch her, caress her face and run his fingers through her hair, but he was afraid laying a finger on her would jar her out of their world.

She nodded, a little numbly. “Okay,” she agreed quietly. He let out a sigh of relief. She was shaken at the intensity of what they had shared and scared at how easily she had let things get out of control. She had never had such a blatant disregard for the repercussions of her actions. It was both liberating and frightening at the same time. She needed to think -- to get out of this kitchen, and think.

Without a word she gathered her clothes and shuffled past him up the stairs. To bed. With his brother. Spike screwed his eyes shut, his hands fisted, trembling with the need to hit something. He took a couple deep breaths, pacing the kitchen and running his hands through his hair. The sex had been incredible. And she was there with him in the moment, he knew. He felt more for this girl than he had ever felt for anyone in his life, with the exception of his mother, but that was completely different. He knew then that if he lost her, and to Angel and the sucking vortex that was the world of Wolfram and Hart no less, he would die. Spike could more or less safely navigate the evilness of the law firm -- he had been raised in it and, to a certain extent, pedigreed to spend the rest of his life in it. He knew the people and its workings as well as he knew the lyrics to “God Save the Queen” -- which he knew better than the back of his hand. But he knew that this sweet girl would be lost inside it. He knew Angel -- he’d turn her into some trophy wife to be pranced around in public and ignored in private. Spike had seen him do it both up close and afar. And Buffy deserved better.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

That night he met her at the bottom of the staircase. You would have thought they were going to the prom -- all the kitchen staff stood in a neat row smiling wistfully at them, as if it was the sweetest thing for Angel’s girlfriend to go out for a fancy night on the town with his brother. Spike pivoted when he heard Buffy descending the staircase. His hair was not its usual spiky mess, it was slicked back. He was in a navy blue pinstripe suit, the shirt under his jacket a deep mauve only he could pull off. His tie was a darker shade of the same color. She was wearing a slinky black dress, lace accentuating the deep v-neckline. Her hair framed her face in loose, gentle waves.

They took the BMW this time. They got onto the highway, then took a side road where there was no traffic. He parked the car across the street from Café Georgio’s.

Café Georgio’s was once a house and had been turned into a restaurant. The thin trees that lined each side of the winding pebbled walkway were strung with white Christmas lights. Two stories high, she could see a candelabra sitting on a table in the second story window. On the first floor, to the right of the entrance, was a glass bay window into which she could see the restaurant. The tables were decorated with simple elegance, each outfitted with a stark white table cloth and candles.

Buffy’s heels clicked against the shining wood floorboards. They were met at the entrance by one of the waiters. He wore a crisp white button up dress shirt, black slacks, and an apron tied around his waist.

“Mr. Giles,” he greeted, “Right this way.”

As they were shown to their table, Buffy took a moment to take in her date. This was different than their first outing together -- the club scene were Spike seemed so in his element. This was a different Spike -- he was more of a William now. And Café Georgio’s was more of a place to be expected from the older Giles son.

“Madame,” the waiter pulled out Buffy’s chair for her. He handed her a menu.

The fact it was the type of menu with no prices next to the listed meals worried her. If they didn’t give you a price straight out, it was usually because they didn’t want you to know.

“May I have you orders?” the waiter asked.

Spike began, “The lady will have the Winter Pesto and I’ll have the Veal Duck Goose.” He also expertly ordered a wine for meal.

Buffy was taken aback. Granted, Angel ordered for her all the time and it never bothered her, and Winter Pesto was what she had planned on ordering anyway, but this was Spike -- she thought of the two of them more like equals. She never pegged him for the type to order for a person completely capable of making their own decisions based on their own tastes. This was getting a bit surreal. He was acting so strange.

She looked at him, “What is this, Spike?”

He sat back in his chair, smirking ruefully. His mirage of high class sophistication hadn’t fooled her. “Wanted to show you I can be just like Angel.”

Buffy’s shoulders dropped, “But I don’t want you to be like Angel,”

“Maybe not, but part of you does want him, I can see it in your eyes -- the doubt. If I was completely what you wanted, we would be out of that house, on our own somewhere.” He gestured to their posh surroundings, “I wanted you to see I can play the part of the savvy businessman, same as him.”

Buffy considered his words. She didn’t want Angel, not in the way she wanted Spike. But part of her felt a connection to the older Giles -- he had been there for her when she needed him most. It wouldn’t be right to just leave him.

“There are moments in that kitchen,” he continued, “when I believe I have you. But then there’s some type of dual reality. It’s in the daylight hours when I see you with him that I realize you’re not truly mine.” He gave her a curious look across the table, his head tilting, “But you’re not really his either, are you? Torn between us, I’d imagine,” he continued to delve into her mind, taking a swig from his wine glass. “Divided between your mind and your heart, responsibility and passion, promises and lust.”

She almost interrupted him to tell him not to short-change what they have together, but he wasn’t really. They had some sort of concentrated affection that, if let go, could wholly consume. And she felt obligated to Angel and the history she had with him. He had hit the proverbial nail on the head.

“What are you trying to do, Spike?”

“Not lose you,” he replied. He glanced up from his glass. The calm and collected pose was gone. His eyes were back to the vulnerable love they showed her all those times they were alone in the kitchen -- the unguarded emotion reserved only for her.

She gazed into his azure eyes, reaching her hand across the table, firmly intertwining her fingers with his. “You have me.”

And for that moment, he believed her.

TBC

CHAPTER 11 -- Congratulations

Their bodies intertwined when they walked in the door. After their talk, Spike and Buffy had enjoyed the night out together, sharing each other’s meal and splitting a layered chocolate cake for desert.

He nudged her against the doorframe with his hips, his mouth never ceasing it’s assault on hers. He pulled back to study her face, his lips parted and panting. With a slow, deep grind of his hips both their eyes unfocused and drifted closed. Her leg lifted, hitching up her dress, dragging up and down his leg. Through the thin material of her dress, he teased her breasts, lightly outlining them with his fingertips, memorizing every curve -- categorizing every detail in his head to be remembered when she was out of his arms and in his brother’s bed. But now, right now, she was his. When he was done with her she wouldn’t be able to remember her own name, let alone the name of her steady beau.

“Bedroom,” she breathed. Spike nodded enthusiastically, grabbing her behind and lifting her off the floor, her legs wrapping around his waist.

He carried her up the stairs, pausing every few steps to push her against the cream colored wall, attacking her mouth and lifting her dress up even higher. They hushed their moans as they passed by the closed bedroom doors of the upstairs hallway. Reaching Spike’s bedroom, he slammed her against the door, and she giggled, shushing him. She reached behind them, twisting the doorknob. They stumbled across the room and he dropped her on the bed, landing on top of her, his mouth never leaving hers.

“Mmmmm . . . Spike . . .” she tried to push him off her, “The door.” Spike growled at the interruption and pushed off the bed, closing and locking the door before returning to Buffy.

She was sprawled out on his bed, her hair splayed across his sheets. She smiled at him, curling a strand of gold in her fingers and running a hand up and down her stomach.

He crawled up her body with the grace of a panther, lowering himself to playfully lick her neck. The giggle he was rewarded with encouraged him and he tongued her neck, collarbone, and earlobes more enthusiastically. She ran her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. Balancing himself on his knees, he kept at her neck while he drifted his hands to the hem of her dress. He grounding himself into her, then lifted up off her. Her hips raised in response, searching to reestablish the contact. This gave him the opportunity to lift the dress up and over her hips. Buffy continued a tantalizing wiggle against him as he worked the rest of her dress up and off. His jacket and shirt went next, followed by his pants, leaving Buffy in just her bra and panties.

Spike applied his tongue to one nipple, and when her body arched off the bed, he snuck his hand under her back and unclasped her bra. Spike brought the straps down her arms, but she clutched the front material to her breasts.

“Come on, baby, lemme see,” he nuzzled at her arms.

Buffy smiled, spreading her arms up and over her head. Rubbing his dick over the thin material of her cotton panties, he attacked her breasts.

“Spike,” she whimpered.

He slid up her body, his mouth close to her ear, “Shhhhhh, soon, my love, soon.” He slid her panties down her body, tossing them to the far end of the room. With any luck, she wouldn’t be able to find them later.

“I . . . have a request,” Buffy said between pants.

Spike never took his roaming eyes off her body, “Anything princess,” he answered.

She brought his face to look at hers, a mischievous smiles on her lips, “I wanna be on top.”

A slow smirk spread across his face and he rolled over, exposing every gorgeous naked inch of himself with abandon. She took a moment to appreciate the carve of his abs and hip bones before gamely throwing her leg over his hip.

She looked down at him with innocent eyes, “Ready?”

He smiled at her flirtation, “You know I am.”

With a deep sigh of satisfaction, she sunk down onto him. “God, Buffy,” he ground out, gripping her hips, keeping her steady as he collected himself.

But Buffy wasn’t moving anywhere as the position allowed him so much deeper than their first time in the kitchen and she sat still adjusting to his girth as he stretched places in her she’d never known existed. She experimentally squeezed her inner muscles and smiled at Spike’s groan. She did it again, harder this time, and got the same result. She giggled.

Spike quirked and eyebrow, “What?”

She placed pressure on her hands at his chest and smiled, “You’re basically at my mercy, aren’t you?”

His face grew serious. He reached up, twirling the end strands of her hair. He gazed into her eyes, “I’m always at your mercy,” he said softly. “‘Fraid I always will be.”

Buffy’s face sobered at his confession. The tension of his words overwhelming her, she raised up off him and slammed down hard, erasing both their minds of his words and any thoughts before or thereafter.

She continued to ride him and their moans and cries grew in volume and intensity.

“Come on baby. You’re so close, I can feel it. Come for me, ugh, yeah. Squeeze me baby, ride me hard.”

“Spike,” her head lolled around her neck as she desperately rode him out.

Watching her face, he reached down with his thumb, pressing down on her clit and rubbing in a slow circle. She was so very close and just needed something to throw her over the edge. Spike wound his hand in her hair, bringing her down roughly to his lips. That did it. She broke away and came hard, collapsing on his chest, he hammered into her sopping pussy then stilled as he shot his cum deep into her hot channel.

Spike rolled them over on their sides. He ran his fingers through her sweaty hair, “My goddess,” he whispered to her. Her lips curled into a sated smile. He brushed feather light kisses onto her eyelids, “Come on, beautiful, open those eyes for me.” She blinked them open to his own blue orbs. “God how I love you,” he breathed.

They lay facing each other. Spike ran his fingers over her face, she ran her hands up and down his arms. One of her legs was thrown over his hip. She nestled her head under his chin and he inhaled deeply her fragrance.

They fell asleep curled up into each other’s arms.

_________________________________________


He woke up alone.

That afternoon, Buffy entered the front door from her afternoon of shopping. Removing herself from her light jacket, Marge was there to catch it as it fell off her shoulders. Buffy turned around with a smile, “Hey, Marge.”

Marge’s response was formal, “Ms. Summers,” she greeted back. The older woman’s face held none of the sparkle it had in the kitchen. Her mouth was set and jaw clamped. Buffy was about to ask what was wrong, when she caught Marge’s agitated glare in the direction of the main parlor.

Buffy turned to follow her gaze and was startled at what she saw.

There had to be fifty people in the room, at least. But Buffy didn’t know a single one of them. Why was there a party and she hadn’t heard about it? Granted, she didn’t even try to keep up with the business goings on of the Giles family, but she assumed Marge or someone would have mentioned it, or Buffy would have seen them making such a large meal.

Buffy received a slight shove from Marge. A look at the cook revealed nothing. Buffy took a few hesitant steps into the room. A banner reading, “Congratulations On Your Engagement” was hung over the fireplace. Everyone was in their black-tie party clothes. Not one of them acknowledged Buffy’s existence.

Angel’s face suddenly appeared before her. Buffy became less startled, glad to see a familiar person. Buffy looked around at her surroundings, “Who’s getting married?”

“You hopefully,” Angel replied.

“What?” she asked, her eyes wild. “Angel . . .” but she was interrupted by a tizzy of spoons against clanging glasses, led by Angel, gravitating everyone’s attention to the couple in the doorway.

In front of fifty-six of his father’s friends and business partners, Angel bent down on one knee and offered a velvet box to Buffy. He opened it to reveal a Tiffany Legacy diamond engagement ring. “Will you marry me?”

“Did she say ‘yes’?” someone from the crowd yelled. Everyone laughed.

“She’s be a fool not to,” another answered.

Angel laughed at their comments and slipped the ring on her finger. “Is that a yes then?” Buffy looked around the room cautiously and considered her options. She couldn’t say no in front of all these people. She agreed to move in with Angel and led him to believe she was nobody but his. She had a responsibility to him. She nodded her answer. Angel rose from the floor and hugged his future bride. In the background Buffy heard champagne corks and clinking glasses.

Buffy looked at her fiancée, “Angel, I need to talk to you,” but she was interrupted as Travers approached them.

“There are the two lovebirds.” The way he said it sounded doubtful and demeaning. His head lowered, looking at them like he was scolding two children, “I was wondering how much time we had until it reached this point,” he finished distastefully.

“Daddy . . .” a blonde woman in a revealing red sequined dress slipped her arm through Travers’s. She looked about the same age as Buffy.

Travers smiled at his darling offspring, “Darla, dear, I was just congratulating the happy couple on their engagement.”

Darla whipped her head, her eyes examining Buffy critically, “Hello,” she offered her hand in a way that insinuated that Buffy should kiss it, “You must be Buffy. I’m Darla,” she glanced at Angel, “One of the many he left in his wake on his road to you.”

“A move that shocked us all, you can imagine,” Travers commented. He looked past Buffy and Angel, “Speaking of things that disconcert me, here’s one now, William . . .” he grabbed Spike’s arm as he passed by, bring him into the conversation. “Don’t you want to congratulate your brother?”

Spike jaw twitched, his eyes boring into Buffy’s. “Hope your both very happy together,” he replied unemotionally. Buffy wasn’t sure what she wanted Spike to have said, but her stomach dropped at his reaction, felt as if she was slapped in the face.

Darla slid her arm around Spike’s, “William, can you show a girl a good time?” She asked, glancing at Angel.

Spike considered the couple in front of them quickly, his face unreadable, “Sure thing, luv.” He led her off into the crowd. Buffy could see him hand her a champagne flute.

Buffy was soon pushed out of the way as more people crowded Angel to offer their congratulations. Being rejected from her own engagement party, Buffy wandered into the kitchen, deserted as all the workers were out serving food in the main room. She gasped as a hand wrapped around her upper arm and yanked into a food closet.

She whipped around as the door closed behind them. It was Spike. The unemotional show he had put on at the party was gone, replaced by eyes that held dark circles and a desolate face with raw longing. “You can’t marry him.” A tear ran down his face. “Please, sweetheart, don’t.” Spike’s voice trailed to a whisper, “They’ll break you.”

Buffy’s heart broke at his despairing plea. She took his face in her hands, forcing him to look into her eyes, “No they won’t,” she said determinedly. “They won’t break me because you have me.” Her own voice strained, “I’m strong if your with me.”

“Mine,” he whispered.

“Yours,” she answered.

He kissed her desperately. She wound her hands into his hair, clutching him to her. He fumbled quickly with the buttons of her blouse. Her body responded to his possessiveness as her panties grew wet for him.

He pushed her jeans off her hips without even lowering the zipper. He was all the way inside her with one thrust. He calmed instantly at the feeling of her surrounding him. Her head fell back against the wall, reaching under his shirt, clinging to him, when he began thrusting. They quickly came together with soft cries.

They stood, foreheads resting against each other’s, catching their breaths. Buffy’s mind fumbled, trying to remember where this all had started. Was it the day he got off his bike and walked in the door? Or was it the night with the cooks in the kitchen? Somewhere along the line, the track she was on got off it’s set course. At times it was fine with her, the unexpected turn her life had taken. But as she contemplated Spike’s passion and confessions, she couldn’t see the end result of their coupling. And that scared her. With Angel, she knew exactly who she was with him and how life was going to turn out -- the white picket fence and the 2.5 kids, this she knew for certain. But with Spike, the future was hazy.

She interrupted the thick silence, adjusting her clothes, not looking at Spike, “Better get back out there. Angel will be looking for me.” She began working on the buttons of her shirt.

Spike was silent for a moment, but he stilled her hands’ movements, “Do me a favor, luv?” Buffy looked into his face and nodded in consent. His eyes turned stone, his voice lowered to a deep growl that scared her and gave her chills. He grabbed her left hand roughly, lifting the engagement ring up to her, “Take the rock off when we fuck. Scratches the hell out of my back.” With that he stormed out of the closet, leaving her alone.

TBC

CHAPTER 12 -- Everything

Author's Note: Thank you, thank you to every single person that review, I'm very grateful. And just so you know, I'm not big with the never-ending angst, so if you're a little irked about last chapter and this one, just hold on, next update will let up some of that "Ahhhhhhhh! Stupid Buffy!" feelings you may have.

Oh -- Question: I read a fanfic I absolutly adored, then I lost it and can't find it again. I swear it was called "Curiosity" (but that maybe wrong) It was about Buffy losing her husband (Angel) and now she's been working for Spike, who seems to have a new fiancee every week. She has a crazy need to have a baby, and he needs someone to pose as his girlfriend in a family wedding. Spuffy results. I can't remember who wrote it, what site I found it on, and what book it was based on. If anyone can help me, my sanity would thank you for it. If you have any idea, please leave a review with any info you may have on it. I'll update crazy early if I get an answer! Thank you!

Buffy left her bedroom before six o’clock the next morning. Rubbing her eyes and sighing she started down the hallway. She planned on catching a quick breakfast downstairs before heading out to explore the city a little more. The sound of footsteps from the other end of the hall caught her attention. It was too early for almost anyone else in the house to be awake. Buffy knew for a fact that the kitchen crew didn’t start breakfast until a quarter to seven.

She turned to see Spike at the end of the hall closing his bedroom door behind him. Not noticing her, he fumbled with the keys in his hand, his head down as he began walking down and hall. Sensing someone openly watching him, he glanced up and halted. They stood staring at each other. Spike took a hesitant step forward, looking to be about to say something, his eyes soft and imploring, words of forgiveness on his lips. But it was a mere second before the beautiful eyes Buffy had dreamed of the night before hardened for her again in cold hatred. She gasped at the disgusted look on his face.

He shook his head and continuing toward the staircase. He wore his long leather jacket, helmet tucked under one arm and a duffel bag in the other. He looked exactly the same as the first time Buffy saw him. She closed her eyes, composing herself for a moment, before continuing her own trek downstairs.

Although the staircase leading to the first floor was wide enough to allow a herd of elephants down it, Buffy and Spike stopped abruptly as they both touched the banister at the same time.

“After you, Princess,” Spike ground out.

Buffy kept her eyes on the ground, not letting herself look into those dagger eyes that scared her, “No,” she said quietly, “You go ahead.”

“I wouldn’t want to keep you from your betrothed,” he replied, making a gesture for her to descend.

Buffy whipped around, looking at him with hurt eyes, “Why are you talking to me this way? You never talked to me like you do everyone else.”

Spike let out a bark of laughter, “Excuse me, luv. I thought you were someone else then. Now I know better.” He flung himself past her down the stairs.

“This place is not what you think it is,” he spoke as she followed him. “You’ll marry him, shoot out a few puppies, and then ten, maybe twenty years from now, you’ll look at your life and wonder what the hell happened? What happened to what you wanted? You’re desires, your interests? You might think your relationship with Angel is a two-person deal, but it’s not. You’ll be a trophy wife, make no mistake. It’ll be about you furthering his career and his desire for the bitch goddess success.”

“It’s not like that with me,” she shook her head, ignoring all the evidence that proved otherwise.

Halfway down the staircase he turned, pinning her with his gaze. The hatred was gone, replaced by gut-wrenching pain, “You’ve already sacrificed your childhood home, your mother’s memory, your love of art . . . .” He tilted his head, “When does your compromising end and his begin?”

Buffy opened her mouth -- she wanted to tell him that she was sorry while tears poured down her face. She wanted to apologize for everything getting so fucked up. She wanted him to hold her, tell her they’d fix everything, put things to the way they should have been. But all the things she tried to convey were interrupted when a young woman, one of Giles’ many secretaries, passed them on the stairs. The spell was broken and the couple quickly cleared their faces of any ruminants of the emotional conversation they were immersed in just seconds earlier.

“Oh, Buffy,” the woman spoke, oblivious to the tension in the room, “Congratulations on your engagement! I heard all about it! You’re so lucky to have found Angel, he’s a wonderful man!” Buffy’s face remained emotionless. “Can I see the ring?” Buffy furrowed her brow at the woman, glancing a quick view of Spike before mutely thrusting out her hand.

Buffy’s eyes began to water as the woman gushed over the ring, the secretary’s face nothing but smiles. It was wrong -- the whole situation. It shouldn’t be Angel’s ring she was looking at. The woman continued to praise Buffy’s fiancée. If the secretary loved him so much, why didn’t she marry him? Or perhaps one of the other ten thousand women on the grounds. Buffy was more than certain Darla Travers would be more than willing to take her place.

The secretary sighed wistfully, letting go of Buffy’s hand, “I better get going -- gotta type up those contracts!” She smiled brightly at them both and walked down the stairs, disappearing into a downstairs office.

Spike rolled his eyes, pushing away from the wall he was leaning against, and trotting down the stairs.

“Spike, wait!” Buffy called, clamoring down the stairs after him.

Spike turned back to face her, “Buffy, why won’t you let me go?” His eyes were pleading, and his question meant more than just the physical freedom he asked for. For the first time she noticed the black circles under his eyes, their color dull. Buffy couldn’t remember him looking that worn when he had first arrived.

“I’m not ready for you not to be here,” she replied softly.

His reaction was not what she expected. His eyes narrowed, “So that’s how you want it? My dick and his money? Sorry, luv, it doesn’t work that way.”

“Spike . . .”

Spike shook his head, “I’m not your whipping boy anymore. You’re going to have to find another whelp to scratch your itches.”

He continued to storm through the foyer, Buffy on his heels. She followed him outside onto the porch, where she stayed while he continued to his motorcycle parked in front of the house.

“Where are you going?” she exclaimed.

“To clear my head.” He mounted his bike, shoving on his helmet, and drove off down the driveway.

Buffy closed her eyes and took a deep breath, shuffling back into the house and into the kitchen.

To her surprise, the cooks were all in full force, scrambling expertly around the kitchen cracking eggs, frying bacon, and pouring tall glasses of orange juice. But their usual cackles of laughter and constant chatter was not present this morning. Buffy barely noticed as she slumped into a chair.

Marge nodded to Sue, who threw a plate of sausage down on the counter in front of Buffy, never laying eyes on her. At the clanging of the plate, Buffy glanced up, startled. She took in the ladies in the room, each one’s movements strained. Not one of them would make eye contact with her.

Realization dawned on Buffy, “You heard us, didn’t you?”

Sarah continued to violently beat the pancake batter, “Heard what? The fucking or the argument?”

Buffy’s jaw dropped, “How dare you! I made no promises! To him or you!”

“I can’t look at you right now,” Sarah dropped the bowl she was holding onto the counter and marched out of the room.

Marge glanced to where the cook had disappeared, then turned to address Buffy, “You have to excuse her, she thought you were different.”

“I am!” Buffy exclaimed.

“No. No your not,” Marge insisted. She wiped her hands on a dish towel, “You disappointed us Buffy.” Buffy moved to object, “You disappointed us because you proved to be human.” The rage that had been building up inside Buffy instantly deflated. “Don’t misunderstand, we feel very protective of William. For years he has been our world. And we put everyone he chooses to be in company with through a very difficult standard test. But there’s something about you Buffy, that we found so very perfect for William that we put you on a sort of romantic pedestal.” She examined Buffy thoughtfully, “I think it was your strength. I’m not going to lie to you, we did hope something would happen between you two. But then somewhere things went wrong, didn’t they? Real life got in the way. I suppose it was inevitable.”

“Oh God, I can’t do this,” Buffy wound her fingers tightly through her hair.

“So, Buffy, life has thrown you a curve. Question is, what are you going to do?”

Buffy sighed and began rattling off the arguments for both sides, sounding like she had done it thousands of times before, “Angel finally let me into his life -- I can’t betray him. He was the first man I’ve ever loved and he supported me in the most difficult time in my life. It’s not just a twisted sense of duty that caused me to say yes to Angel’s purposal. I love him, and I thought what I had with him was it.”

“And William?”

“I can’t ignore what I feel for him. I thought what I had with Angel was it -- the love that lasts forever. But the emotion and the . . .” she blushed slightly, “passion with Spike, is something I didn’t know existed. But if I throw away everything that is dependable and stable and my relationship with Spike implodes, then what?” Buffy sighed, standing up from the kitchen seat.

“Oh, Buffy, I almost forgot.” Buffy turned around and looked at Marge questioningly, “I think you left something here a couple nights ago.” On her fingertips dangled Buffy’s underwear. Buffy turned a flaming shade of red, snatching them away. “And anytime you would like to use the kitchen to . . . Ah . . . Spend some time with William, the two of you have my blessing.”

TBC

CHAPTER 13 -- Tangled

Author's Note: Thank you sooooooo very much to everyone who tracked down Palerider's "Curiosity" for me! Demona424 found it at http://forever.hybrid-genesis.com/fictions/finished/palerider_curiosity.html if anyone's interested!

Buffy didn’t sleep well that night. She had tossed and turned, stirring at every sound coming from downstairs, wondering whether it was Spike. Of course, it hadn’t been. She had finally fell asleep next to the rock that was her fiancée around four in the morning. Buffy wasn’t sure Spike ever came home. Not knowing he was in the house, near her, made her uneasy. She had tried everything -- a walk around the neighborhood, a visit to a local cafe, she had even tried to read a book from the Giles’ vast library. She had picked up a book a poetry by an author that she vaguely remembered being mentioned in high school. Flipping through the pages, she had come across a poem that sounded very familiar. It was one Spike had recited from memory to her late one night in bed. In a frustrated huff, Buffy slammed the book and set it far away from herself, trying to force away her Spike-filled thoughts with it.

She couldn’t even go in the kitchen -- not anymore. Not with the looks she got that pressured her and ran the guilt she had even deeper. She had to stop herself a number of times from seeking out the kitchen staff, asking if they knew when Spike was coming back.

Wandering through the upstairs hallway, she heard voices coming from Giles’ office. The door was slightly ajar and Buffy strolled towards the hushed sounds, she peered through the crack in the door. Seated at the desk was Angel, gathered around him was Travers and Giles. All three were staring at some papers on the desk in front of them and didn’t see Buffy standing outside the door.

Angel addressed the two men, mid-conversation, “I understand that . . . but what if we moved back the sign-over?”

Travers balked at the idea, “Moved back the sign-over, are you mad?”

Giles cleaned his glasses, “Maybe Liam has a point. If we had the wedding first it would give him a more substantial background when the firm is given to him. Family man and blooming businessman. We can have the wedding at the country club. That’s where your mother and I got married, it would give the message of tradition. That would mollify the fears of the older Senior Partners and it would simply look trendy to the younger generation.”

Travers slapped a hand down onto Angel’s shoulder, “Yes, but what if this marriage isn’t what the boy truly wants. Think about it -- you’ll have a multi-million dollar company at your fingertips. You’ll be the bachelor of the century! You’ll have planes, sailboats, and trips to Martha’s Vineyard in your future. If this marriage fails, the entire country will hear all about it.” He gave Angel a grave look, “Hand over the company before you hand over your freedom.”

Angel turned to his father, “That does make sense, dad.”

Giles sighed, “What ever you like, Liam. It’s your life, no one else’s.”

“What about mine?” The three men looked startled towards the doorway. Buffy stood, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed.

“Buffy,” Angel greeted as if he was not just planning their future without her, “How long have you been standing there?” Nervousness tinged his last sentence.

“Long enough,” she answered, strolling into the room, dangerously calm.

His voice dropped, strained, “You should have said something.”

“Oh, I think you were planning my wedding just fine without me,” she replied.

“Buffy I . . .”

She interrupted him, “Did you know that ever since I was a little girl,” she toyed with some books sitting in a pile on a table in the middle of the room, “I’ve dreamed of being married in the church my grandmother was married in.” She continued to pace around the room, “It’s a gorgeous chapel. Stained glass windows and an aisle a mile long. I always thought daisies would make a wonderful spring wedding flower. But, you probably already arranged for roses, they would better ’give a message of tradition,’” she looked pointedly at Giles as she repeated his words. He had the decency to look at the floor.

Travers, the only one in the room who truly recognized the fury boiling underneath Buffy’s cool exterior, gave Angel a warning glance, “Perhaps you should tell your girl here, to keep out of business she knows nothing about.”

Buffy ignored Travers and sent her glare to her betrothed, “Angel, I need to see you now -- alone -- without your handlers.”

Angel clasped his hands in front of him, “Buffy, whatever you can say to me you can say in front of them.”

Buffy’s front of confidence and assuredness faltered slightly at the intense stares of the three men in front of her. “Fine,” she took a breath, “Angel when you asked me to move in with you, you said your father would be so busy he wouldn’t even know I was here. The problem is so were you. You haven’t acknowledge my existence since we got here.”

“But the party . . .” he began, but was interrupted.

Buffy’s voice dripped with sarcasm, “Yes, the party. You were very attentive at the party -- springing such a life altering question on me with a room crowded with your friends in it. I didn’t know a single person in that room! Hell, they were celebrating my engagement before I was! You probably had a fucking board meeting concerning our marriage and how it would affect the company. Everyone here is more concerned about how you asking me to marry you would affect the company more than how it would affect me and you.”

Angel addressed her as he would a business partner, “Well, Buffy, excuse me for not spending time with you.” His voice lowered, “I thought by brother was more than covering as the welcome wagon,” he spat.

Buffy raised her head, “You’re right. I was spending practically every minute with Spike. He cared enough. He cared about me.”

Travers seemed unfazed at the turn of events, “Well that’s all very romantic of you Buffy, but what do you expect him to do? Drop his birthright for you? Give up everything he’s worked his entire life for to make you happy?”

“Spike would,” she counter with absolute certainty.

Travers scoffed, “That’s hardly comparable. What that boy does cannot stand up to the responsibility that Angel has accepted. I don’t know what your storybooks have taught you, but a relationship is about compromise. As an attorney’s wife, high on the totem pole of society, there are sacrifices you are going to have to make.”

Buffy shook her head, “I’ve compromised long enough. I was told there was a shitty side to Wolfram and Hart -- I’ll have to tell Spike that he was right.”

Giles, Angel, and Travers looked at her queerly. Angel gave her a little smirk, “Spike? Buffy, Spike left last night.”

“Yeah, I know, he went to clear his head . . .”

Giles interrupted, “No, Buffy, you misunderstand. William left . . . indefinitely.”

Buffy’s eyes darted around the three men in front of her, “What? Why?”

Travers rocked back on his heels, “The problem child of the Giles estate has found himself, as we all have found him, unworthy of this firm. He ripped up the papers giving him half the company and rode off on that disgusting bike of his.” Travers looked amused, “So, I suppose in a way, he did give up his birthright for you . . . to get away from you.” He laughed.

Buffy felt as if she’d been punched in the gut. She had never felt so alone in all her life. She had always had someone with her, to hold her hand -- first her mother, then Angel, and most recently Spike. Now, she truly felt the full weight of her mother’s death and how utterly stupid it was to base her entire life around the relationship with Angel.

That day when Spike rode off on his bike was not a “I need to clear my head” leave, but a “I need to clear myself from you forever” leave.

He said the family would destroy her. And he was right.

He was right. And he was gone.

TBC

CHAPTER 14 -- Must Get Out (Several Miles From The Sun)

One month later . . .

Buffy weeded her way through the smoky crowd, her steps consistent with the downbeat of the base. Bodies crowded the entire floor, grinding against each other to the beat of the music. Her steps were purposeful and any man that attempted to approach her quickly retreated.

She smiled when she peered through the crowd and spotted two familiar heads. Over at the table they had sat at the night Spike brought her there was Xander and Willow. As she approached the table, the song ended, plunging the crowd into a light buzz of conversation.

“Hey guys,” she said quietly, just loud enough to be heard over the noise of the Bronze.

Willow and Xander whipped around, both startled to see her. The straw Willow was sipping her fruity drink from fell out of her mouth.

“Buffy?” Willow asked. Buffy gave a nervous smile in response.

Xander glanced warily around the club, “Hey, Buff, not that we’re not glad to see you but . . . What are you doing here?”

A painful expression crossed over her features, “Where’s Spike?” Buffy prodded gently.

“Um, Buffy . . .” Willow started.

Buffy interrupted her, “Please, Will, I need to see him.” She scanned the club, “Is he here? Did he move to another city? I know he would have told you guys if he had.”

The two glanced nervously at each other, a raging debate in both their eyes -- the redhead more sympathetic to Buffy’s cause, but Xander overprotective of his friend.

Buffy turned her gaze to the brunette, “Please Xander,” her eyes begged, trying to convince him.

“Buff, you came in here, used him, and broke his heart. How do you expect us to treat you?”

“I understand what your doing. You’re protecting him. But Xander, you have to believe me when I tell you I’m different. I made a mistake -- a huge, heartbreaking mistake. I knew how Spike felt about me and I hurt him. I knew how I felt about him and didn’t tell him. And I’m so sorry.” Buffy’s voice cracked, “Please, you have to tell me.”

“Buffy, I’d be lying if I said his heart healed overnight, but he’s just starting to move on with his life. He started his own law practice in . . .” Xander froze at his slipup.

Buffy’s eyes bulged, “Where? Here?”

“I won’t let you hurt him again,” Xander replied, set on not seeing his friend go through the lowest point in his life again.

“I know, and I’m sorry . . . . He told me . . . I didn’t know . . .” She rambled as she began to break down.

“Here, Red, the wankers ran out of vodka, so you got a Rum and Coke.”

Buffy gasp at the deep rumble of the accent she hadn’t heard in a month, her eyes instantly watering. She whipped her head around, her hair flailing behind her.

He broke through the crowd, twisting his body around a couple who failed to get out of his way, a drink balancing in each hand, his eyes on the ground so not to trip.

“How can you run a bloody bar without . . .” he glanced up for the first time.

As their eyes connected the band started up again. Pure shock set over his face. Gazing into those azure eyes she’d been dreaming about for the past month, the loud music was nothing but dull buzz to her.

“Hi,” she gave him a watery smile, the word coming out as nothing more than a sigh.

“Buffy,” he breathed. Willow reached over the table and gently extracted the drinks from Spike’s fingers before he dropped them.

When a minute past and he hadn’t made a move or said anything, “I saved the house,” Buffy blurted.

He looked confused, “You what?”

“My mom’s house . . . it’s mine again.” Spike gave her no reaction and Buffy continued nervously, “I work at the gallery now. I . . . I own it actually. Well, not all of it,” she continued to ramble, “Not yet anyway. I’m not ready to run the entire place . . . but I’m learning.” Her voice became firm, “And I will own it one day, when I get enough money I’ll buy the other half.”

She took steps towards him, “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

“You hair’s longer,” he remarked.

Buffy smiled at the random notice, “I remembered how much you liked it.” He reached out a hesitant hand, lightly brushing the golden strands. He’d know she hadn’t married Angel. After he left he had obsessed over the society pages, until one day when he had seen the ad announcing Angel’s marriage . . . to Darla Travers.

The shaking hand he had barely touching her face wasn’t enough. Buffy took a step closer, nuzzling her cheek into his hand, wrapping her hands around his outstretched one.

Feeling her warm skin under his fingertips, seeing her bright smile, the smell of vanilla overtaking him, was all too much. He shot his hand out, wrapping it around her waist, and pulled her flush against him, taking her lips to his.

Buffy smiled against his mouth, winding her arms tightly around his neck. With a swipe of his tongue, she let him in to explore her, kissing her more thoroughly than he ever had.

Spike pulled back, breathless, “God how I never stopped loving you.”

Buffy gave him a bright smile, giving his lips a chaste kiss before traveling up his jaw, “Love you,” she sighed contentedly in his ear. She pulled back as much as she could from his tight grip, “Let’s go away, anywhere but here, please. I’m over L.A.”

Spike smiled, running his hands over her features before intertwining them into her tresses, “Me too, luv.”

TBC

EPILOGUE -- She Will Be Loved

Author’s Note: Well, this is it! I’m glad I got it done just in time -- I’ll be leaving for school at the end of the week and hoped to wrap up this story. Thank you to every single review -- I’m so happy with the response that I got! Now, with two stories down, I’ll be purely focused on “Game of Love” (BIG Thank You to everyone who’s voting for “Game of Love” on Spuffy Archives!) Hope you like the ending -- happy reading!

The energetic pounding of tennis shoes up the porch of the house on Revelo Drive echoed down the driveway.

“Mia, my love, please don’t run up the stairs. It makes me nervous,” called her mother from the car, hands juggling the tall paper bags overflowing with groceries.

“OK, Mommy,” the blonde haired toddler answered, continuing her sprint.

“Mia!” Her mother scolded.

“But I gotta show Daddy!” the little girl called back, standing on tiptoes to reach the front door handle, flinging the door open wide and bounding inside.

“Daddy! Daddy!” she yelled, failing to use her “indoor” voice.

Her father turned the corner from the kitchen. Curled against his shoulder was a napping six month old in a blue Snoopy sleeper his Uncle Xander had bought him. The baby had a head of wispy blonde curls -- yet more evidence that he was a small replica of his daddy. The little girl’s father crouched down in front of her, “Yes, poppet?” He lovingly brushed some unruly bangs from her green eyes.

“Look what I made for you!” The four year old thrust a piece of flimsy paper at her father. On it was a series of mixed paint colors, some of them running together. Four peach circles, slightly off center of the page, stood for the head of each member of their family. Four uneven lines deviating off each “face” acted as extremities -- two arms and two leg each. Although the figure on the left looked to have a leg coming out of his or her ear.

He smiled at his little princess, “It’s the most beautiful piece of art I’ve ever seen.”

At her father’s praise, the little girl shyly tugged at her pigtail and twisted in her purple overalls, “You always say that.”

Spike smiled down at his little girl, placing a kiss on the top of her head. “Because it’s always true.” Seeing that his wife had not immediately followed their daughter into the house, he glanced out the front door. “We’ll go help Mommy get the groceries out of the car, yeah?”

His little girl dutifully took off down the stairs, wanting to be the most helpful to her mother. He settled the baby into his car seat sitting on the coffee table, leaving the front door open behind him in case he woke up, and went outside into the afternoon sun.

His wife and daughter had a sort of relay system going. Buffy would hand a light bag to her daughter, and Mia would race into the house with it, plopping it onto the kitchen table and quickly sorting through it to find any goodies her mother may have bought, particularly Gushers. Finding nothing but vegetables and some sort of meat, Mia would run back outside to grab another bag.

Stepping behind his wife, who was bent over the trunk unaware he was there, he took a moment to admire the view she presented him with, before taking his wife around the waist, pulling her flush against him. She smiled, turning her head and leaning back for a kiss.

“How was your day, sweetheart?” he asked, playfully swatting her on the backside.

She thrust a bag heavy with milk and fruit at him, giving him a sweet kiss and slammed the trunk, “We got in that Edwin Austin Abbey painting that I was waiting for. And I pretty much have everything set up for the children’s art show on Thursday. How’d the trial go today?” She asked following him into the house and around the corner to the kitchen.

He placed his bag on the table before relieving Buffy of hers, “Mr. Mayfield was found guilty on all accounts.”

Buffy smiled, hugging her husband, “Congratulations, baby.”

“Mommy! The baby’s up!” Mia was bent over the coffee table, lightly poking at her baby brother. The baby reached out, wrapping his tiny fist around his sister thumb. Mia giggled and kissed her brother, then ran out of the room.

Buffy scooped up her youngest, cradling him in her arms, cooing at him and running her fingertips over his face. The baby scrunched up his nose in response to the tickling touch, burring his head into his mother’s shoulder.

“Can we watch ‘Beauty and the Beast’?” Mia danced back into the living room, eating a Fruit Roll-Up. Her father followed into the room behind her, his own Fruit Roll-Up in hand.

“Sure we can,” Buffy answered, her daughter already popping the tape into the VCR.

Buffy curled up against her husband on the couch, his arm wrapped around her and boot stretched out rocking his son’s swing back and forth as the baby chewed happily on his teething ring. Mia lay across her father’s lap, her head resting in her mother’s.

“He’s bloody stupid, Daddy!” She pointed at the television as the movie’s antagonist flickered across the screen, a proud smile on her face.

“Yes he is, baby,” Spike chuckled, ruffling her hair. He leaned down to his wife, placing a kiss on her head “Love you,” he whispered into her hair. Buffy smiled up at him, lifting a hand to bring him down to kiss her. With that the couple settled in for an afternoon with Happily Ever After.

THE END