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Author's Chapter Notes:
Thank you!
Welcome home?

The first few hours back to work had gone by in a flash. By lunch time Buffy was famished. Some things she remembered, other things took some time and explanation. An odd occurrence had happened early that morning when she had needed to contact a dealer in Connecticut, a dealer she had been told she dealt with quite a bit. Taking his name down, she had sat at her desk and picked up the phone without thinking and dialed. At the first ring, she had slammed the phone down, her heart hammering in her chest. Surely that had to be a breakthrough! Forgoing the dealer for that moment, she called Angel immediately. She almost felt bad when she had taken him out of his class, but he was the first person she thought of. He'd been just as excited as she and promised to stop by at his lunch hour.

Now, looking at the clock, she wasn't sure if she could wait for him to eat.

"Knock, knock."

She looked up to see the receptionist in the doorway.

"Hi Anna, what's up?" Buffy greeted her.

"Special delivery for Miss Summers," and with a smile she thrust out a
small box wrapped in white tissue paper.

"Who from?" Buffy asked, taking the box.

"Tall guy. With blond hair. He just wanted to see that you got that."

Buffy darted to the door. "Did he leave?"

"Just walked out. He didn't ask—"

Her words faded out as Buffy ran out in the hall and down to the exit, she
burst through the door and saw William's blond head heading toward the
exit.

"Spike!" she shouted after him.

He stopped abruptly and froze. Slowly he turned; his expression blank.

She started toward him, smirking. "Didn't want to give it to me yourself?"

He looked down and chuckled softly. "Just wanted to go incognito I guess."

She stood before him. "You know when I said I needed a few days, I didn't
mean that you couldn't stop and give me presents. You can ALWAYS give
me presents." She grinned teasingly at him.

He met her eyes and grinned. "I didn't want you to feel like I was crowding
you."

"Even though it's only been less than twenty –four hours, I'm glad to see
you," she told him honestly.

"That how long it's been? Felt like an eternity," he whispered reverently.
Then he cleared his throat. "You going to open it?"

She tore her gaze from him and shook her head, "Oh yes. Of course." She
tore into the tissue and opened the small cream box.

"Careful. It's breakable," he warned her.

Nodding she slipped carefully out into her palm whatever was inside. She
gasped when she saw it. It was a glass butterfly. It had a string attached to
it.

"So you can hang it in your window," he told her.

She held it out and smiled when the light caught it and it sent off rainbows
around them.

"It's beautiful," she breathed.

"It is," he whispered.

She looked to him to find him starting at her with barely concealed
tenderness.

"Thank you," she said smiling softly.

"You're welcome," and he nodded, digging his hands in his pockets. "So
how is it going by the way?"

"Excellent. I had a memory. Well, sort of."

His eyes widened. "Tell me about it."

She told him what had occurred with the phone number and he broke out
in a broad smile. "Buffy, that's excellent!"

"Thanks. I'm not really sure what to call it, but it made me happy. I called
Angel, he's coming to meet me for lunch."

"I'll bet he's thrilled."

"Yeah. Isn't it funny how something as silly as remembering a phone
number can be such a monumental thing?"

"Baby steps. Pretty soon, you'll be spreading those wings and flying."

"Thank you for the butterfly," she told him softly.

"Reminded me of you."

Stepping away from him slowly, she gave him a little wave, clutching her
butterfly in her other hand. "Bye Spike."

"Not good bye. See you later," he called after her.

She nodded, "See you later."



Lindsey had insisted on picking her up after work and taking her back to
his place for dinner. She'd been hesitant. She was exhausted between a
remembered phone number, her brief and yet meaningful meeting with
William, a exuberant Angel and her job; Buffy was ready to get take out,
grab a bottle of wine and curl up with a mindless sitcom before taking a
warm bath and heading off to bed. Yet Lindsey insisted. She didn't like his
insisting. It irritated her. She had wanted to bark at him that she was the
one with the head trauma and should probably take it easy. In the end
though, she'd relented when it occurred to her that perhaps just like the
phone number incidence, maybe being in the house that she had lived in
with Lindsey would spark some memories for her. She hadn't spent any
time in the house since the accident. She'd gone in and gone out, not
wanting to be in a place that was foreign to her and caused her to feel guilty
over not remembering her stay there.

Pulling into the driveway of the soft yellow Colonial with the dark shutters,
Buffy felt trepidation. Her hands balled themselves in fists.

"Buffy, relax. Nothing here is going to hurt you," Lindsey said gently and took her hands in his, soothing the fists open.

"It's silly, I know."

"It's okay."

Entering the house, she was greeted instantly by the carpeted stairs she'd
taken a tumble down. She stared at them as if they would give her the
answers she needed. Taking deep breaths to relax, she still found her
muscles wound tight. Why in the world was this so hard?

"Can I go upstairs?" she asked him.

He looked startled. "Of course. Do you want me to show you around
again?"

"No. I want to do it alone."

He nodded. "I'll start dinner."

"Okay," and she started up the stairs. Spike's voice suddenly came into her
head unbidden. ‘Listen to your gut.'

Gliding up the stairs and letting her fingertips drift over the cool wooden
rail she stopped at the top and turned around, staring down at the
staircase, at the floor she had fallen to. Turning to the left, she spotted an
archway and entered inside. The Master Bedroom. Creams, browns and
reds gave the room an earthy, homey look. However, it didn't ‘feel' homey.
It felt . . . cold. Wrapping her arms around herself she walked around the
room, not even noticing the scattered furniture, but focusing on how the
room was making her feel. She stopped and stared at the bed. The bed her
and Lindsey shared at one time. She shivered.

Heading straight for the right side, the one closest to the bathroom she
offhandedly noted, she stared up at the canopy. Her stomach was twisted in
knots. Anxiety. Fear. Loneliness.

"How did you know that was your side of the bed?"

She jumped a near mile, nearly spilling off the bed and hitting her head on
the nightstand next to the bed. Lindsey reached out and steadied her.
"Buffy? You all right?"

"I want to go to the bathroom," she said hastily and made her way into the
bathroom.

"Buffy?" Lindsey knocked on the door.

"I'm fine!"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes!" I don't know, she thought.

She listened for his footsteps walking across the carpeted floor before
staring at herself in the mirror, not really seeing herself at all. "Medicine
cabinet," she told herself. She took a deep breath. "Floss, toothbrush,
sleeping pills, Tylenol, eye mask and aftershave," she recited. She opened
the medicine cabinet and found all the items she'd just named, plus one. She
grabbed it. It was unnamed, just a clear tan bottle of pills. Interesting. She
placed it back and shut the medicine cabinet.

Feeling hot, she turned on the tap and splashed her face with water. She
nearly screamed in surprise when she caught Lindsey in the mirror behind
her as she dried her face with the hand towel.

"What are you doing?" she barked at him.

"I'm worried about you. You're all tense," he placed a hand on her back
and she jumped. "See?"

"I'm fine. Just weird being here. . . "

"Do you remember anything?" his voice trembled with something . . . fear.

"No."

"You're pale Buffy. You need some color on those cheeks. I think I still
have some make up of yours here," and he started to rummage in one of
the drawers at the sink.

"I don't need make up Lindsey. I don't want to—"

"Here, put some on. You look deathly pale and washed out."

She looked down at the makeup he was thrusting at her. "I don't want to
wear it. I just washed my face. "

"Buffy, why are you arguing with me on this?

She knit her eyebrows. "I'm not arguing with you."

"Just put some make up. Make yourself all pretty for me," he said
coaxingly and grinned.

She raised an eyebrow. "I'm not pretty without my make up?"

He faltered. "No, that's not it. I just like it when you wear it."

She looked down at the tubes and brushes in his hand and then up at him.
"Well, I don't want to wear it."

"Fine," and he all but slammed the articles back in the drawer before
stalking out. She stared after him, wondering what the hell had just
happened. She wanted to go home. She didn't want to be there anymore.
She felt a long way from home and she itched to call Angel. Making her way
out of the bathroom she found Lindsey sitting on the bed with his head in
his hands.

"I'm sorry," he said suddenly, startling her. He frowned when she jumped.
"I came on too strong. I'm sorry."

Why was she so damn skittish? "Why did you get so upset with me over
makeup?"

He stood, "It used to be my favorite thing to do in the morning. Watch you
put it on. I always liked watching you do it for some reason. It was like
watching the whole process you went through to get ready made me feel
closer to you somehow. I thought maybe if you put it on and I could watch
you like I used to in the morning while I shaved you . . . "

"Would remember," she finished.

He nodded. "I'm sorry I pushed you." He closed the distance and wrapped
his arms around him, tightening his arms when she stiffened. "Don't be
afraid of me, Buffy," he whispered.

She forced herself to relax. "I'm not afraid of you," she replied, thinking it
odd that he said that. She'd been annoyed with him, not afraid. Startled
with his angry outburst and unsure what to do, but surely not afraid. She
didn't understand it at all. She felt as if she were cracking up.

"Can we go out to eat instead?" she blurted out.

He pulled back and looked at her searchingly. "You don't want to stay in?"

She shook her head. "No. I want to go out. Is that okay?"

He smiled softly, "Of course Buffy. Anything my darlin' wants she gets," he
cooed at her.

It wasn't until they pulled out of the driveway that Buffy finally relaxed.





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