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A/N: You may recognise this fic from the first chapter which I initially posted many moons ago. I have now renamed it and revised this first chapter so I hope you like it - please review!



As the waves crashed on the shore, Buffy Summers ran across the sand, listening to the music programmed into her iPod.

She’d been in the habit of going for a morning jog ever since moving into her beachfront home in Sunnydale, California, a small coastal town to the north of Los Angeles. She enjoyed the exercise and inhaling the fresh sea air always focused her mind for the day ahead. Not that her days were especially demanding. She didn’t work and she rarely left the house except to go shopping or out for lunch with friends. Occasionally, she drove down to L.A. to spend a few days with her boyfriend, but usually he drove up to see her.

The media had long since labelled her a recluse but in truth, she just didn’t enjoy the recognition anymore. The two years that she’d spent in the limelight – two years of wearing dark sunglasses everywhere she went, of not leaving the house unless she was accompanied by a three hundred pound bodyguard, and of having every aspect of her life splashed across the tabloids – had been enough to last her a lifetime. It wasn’t as if she went out of her way to avoid being recognised – she just preferred quieter, more private settings that were not patronised by celebrities and paparazzi.

Reaching her house, she took the steps up to the deck and headed inside through the sliding doors. The single-storey property had an open-plan living room and kitchen/dining area as well as two bedrooms, one with an en-suite, and a second bathroom. She had fallen in love with it the moment she’d seen it, much to the delight of her real estate broker.

The interior had been bare and unadorned, which had allowed her the opportunity to make it her own. She’d redesigned and redecorated it herself – a project which had taken all her energy at a time when she desperately needed something to occupy herself with. The floors throughout were solid beech accented by strategically placed rugs. The living room had leather sofas with scatter cushions and numerous pieces of art hanging on the walls and the adjoining kitchen had an island worktop with ceiling pan rack. The two bedrooms were decorated in muted colours and the en-suite to the master bedroom had a free-standing bathtub and walk-in shower.

In the kitchen, Buffy set her iPod on the counter and went straight to the refrigerator to grab a bottle of water. Walking back through to the living room, she picked up the remote and turned on the wall-mounted plasma television, flicking through the channels.

Hearing the phone start ringing, she returned to the kitchen and seeing her boyfriend’s name on the caller ID, she picked up the handset with a smile.

“Angel, hi.”

“Hey Buff, how are you?”

“Good,” she said, taking a sip of water. “You?”

“Great, great. Listen, babe, I’m in the car between meetings and I just wanted to give you the good news – Lorne and I have finally signed the contract with Illyria.”

Buffy could hear the excitement in his voice and she felt elated for him. “Oh, Angel, that’s fantastic. Congratulations.”

Angel O’Connor and Lorne Hallett headed up Host Records, a small, independent record label. They didn’t have the resources or the contacts boasted by the major labels, yet they had clearly appealed to Illyria, a hot new artist whose huge MySpace had caught the industry’s attention. Every record executive in the country and even beyond had been determined to sign her and this was major coup for Host.

“Thanks, babe. Anyway, Lorne’s throwing a party this weekend to celebrate and I was hoping you might come.”

Her heart sank. “Oh, Angel, I don’t know.” Her reservation was clear in her voice. “You know I’m not a big fan of Lorne’s parties.”

“I know, babe, but you know how psyched we are about this. At least say you’ll think about it?”

She sighed. “Ok, ok, I’ll think about it.”

“Thanks, babe. I’ve got to run. Talk to you later. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

She pressed the button to end the call and then replaced the handset. She was truly happy for Angel and Lorne, but she really didn’t feel like going to the party. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Lorne – he was a good friend and he’d been the one to introduce her to Angel – but it had been a long time since she’d been to an industry party and she wasn’t eager about the prospect of being forced to socialise with people from her past, people who might, however unintentionally, dredge up bad memories. She knew it would mean a lot to Angel if she went, so maybe she would try to ride it out for one night. At the very least she’d think about like she promised.

Sighing, she drained the contents of her bottle and threw it in the trash, deciding she needed a shower to wash away the sweat and sand from her run. But heading through her bedroom to the adjoining bathroom, she froze as she heard the familiar opening bars of a song she hadn’t heard in years.

Her heartbeat racing, she returned to the living room where she saw a younger version of herself on the TV screen. It was almost like seeing her ghost – her hair which she now wore straight was styled in ringlets and much blonder than her current honey tones, her leather pants looked as though they’d been painted on and her rock tee was designer ripped. If it wasn’t for the butterfly tattoo she still sported on her left wrist, she might think it was a different person she was looking at and it was hard to believe how much she’d changed, physically and emotionally.

The camera moved then to zoom in on the bleach blond haired, blue eyed man standing to her left strumming away on a guitar before leaning into the mike.

~Tommy used to work on the docks
Union’s been on strike, he’s down on his luck
It’s tough, so tough~

The camera moved back to her as she began singing.

~Gina works the diner all day
Working for her man, she brings home her pay
For love, for love~

The camera panned out again to reveal both her and Spike as well as the other members of their band, who provided backing vocals as well as musical accompaniment.

~She says we’ve got to hold on to what we’ve got
Cause it doesn’t make a difference if we make it or not
We’ve got each other and that’s a lot for love
We’ll give it a shot
Oh, we’re half way there
Living on a prayer
Take my hand and well make it, I swear
Living on a prayer~

She usually steered well clear of the music channels – she hated seeing her past immortalised on television. Her music career had been a big part of her life but it had also been the cause of so much pain that she’d decided it would be better for her emotional wellbeing if she avoided anything that might remind her of it.

Grabbing the remote, she switched off the TV and headed back into the bathroom, discarding her clothes as she went. Stepping under the hot spray, she tried to push away the images that were fluttering at the periphery of her memory. But thanks to that stupid music channel, she couldn’t get Spike’s face out of her mind.

She didn’t want to think about her former music career and even less so about the man who had been such a huge part of her life at the time. For the two years during which their band, Aurelius had been at the top of the charts, she and Spike had been joined at the hip. Their attraction to each other had been instantaneous and they had fallen into bed within hours of meeting.

When the band hit the big time, their fans had seemed as interested in their passionate yet stormy relationship as they were in their music and in addition to several articles on the band, Rolling Stone magazine had done a four page spread on the pair of them.

Unfortunately, Spike’s combination of gorgeous looks, sexy accent and musical genius made him very popular with his female fans and a major target for the band’s groupies, which had succeeded in igniting Buffy’s mile wide jealous streak. Matters were then made worse when their makeup artist quit only to be replaced by a busty blonde who had made it clear she wanted Spike for herself.

At the same time, Buffy’s passion for her career had begun to cool. She’d grown tired of her frenetic, demanding lifestyle – the constant flying in an out of cities for concerts, interviews and public appearances – and of living a life so far removed from reality. She’d begun to desperately crave the normalcy and routine of her pre-Aurelius days.

Unfortunately, this yearning was in direct opposition to Spike’s unwavering ambition, leading to numerous heated arguments. Eventually, things had come to a head at a party thrown by some wealthy songwriter, which Buffy had stormed out of. Spike had followed her and subsequent events had finally marked the beginning of the end, events which had brought Buffy so much pain that she just knew there was no going back.

Even now, tears ran down her cheeks at the memory to mix with the water still showering down on her. Blinking them back, she turned off the faucet and stepped out of the cubicle, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around herself.

It had been three years since the tragic circumstances which had lead to their split and no matter how hard she tried, the memories still had the power to affect her. She knew that it was that in part that had made her want to leave L.A. and move to Sunnydale.

How long it would be before she could eventually come to terms with what had happened, she didn’t know. But she did know that living here, away from the media spotlight and away from her past, brought her a modicum of peace.





A/N: Sorry if I've been a little vague with Buffy and Spike's past, but I'm planning a few flashback chapters next to deal with it in more detail so bear with me...

A/N #2: 'Living On A Prayer' is by Bon Jovi (Slippery When Wet, 1986)





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