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~*~

Buffy was alone again. She was upset, mad, thoroughly pissed but most of all worried and she was showing her weakness. The fear crept under and in. Agitated, irritated, aggravated and any other words she couldn't think of that ended in -ated. She wanted to hurt something, wanted to break something and she hurt. Why did it keep hurting so much?

Buffy paced the floor of her room, to the window, and back, around the side of her bed and back around. Brows creased, lines forming on her forehead, gnawing on her thumbnail. She didn't even realize she was chewing on her nail until she tasted the coppery flow of blood on the tip of her tongue. She grimaced.

She needed to get out of there. Out of her room, out of her house, away from him. Go out and do something to get her mind off of personal things she rather not think about any longer. Grabbing her coat, she flew out of her room and down the stairs pausing at the entryway to listen. Not hearing a thing, she then headed out to no where in particular.

Spike heard the front door slam shut just as he was making his way up from the basement. He had a feeling it had been Buffy that left so rapidly but he continued through the kitchen, down the hallway and up the steps to her bedroom. The door was slightly ajar and even though he knew he was the only one in the house, still rapped on the door twice before pushing it open slowly and looking around.

It felt wrong to him, being in her sanctuary with all her Buffy things, and her Buffy scent exploding all around him. He casually strolled around the room looking at the various pictures and pretties on the walls, the knickknacks adorning the shelves and tables. Stopped at her vanity and noticed the pad of stationery embellished with ornate flowers, pretty things, something he never really pictured the slayer having. But, and he was willing to admit to this, he wouldn't mind knowing what other things she liked.

Plopping himself down in the chair, he picked up the pad while he grabbed a pencil out of a cup, tore a piece of paper off just as he looked up and noticed the floating pencil in the mirror. A minute passed as he entertained himself with the object that seemingly hovered in thin air, then remembered the reason why he was there.

Quickly he scribbled a message out before putting everything back in its place, and prior to standing and walking over to her bed. He looked at the notebook he held in his hand for a moment before leaning it against her pillows. Spike propped the note he had written against the pad of paper and left in a hurry before he gave himself any more chances to change his mind. He rushed down the steps and back down into the basement crashing on the cot, arms crossed across his chest before rolling over and falling into a restful slumber.

**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**

He woke with a start. "No, don't leave!" he heard himself gasp out loud.

Spike found himself staring at a cement wall, head slightly lifted off his pillow and breathing in short puffs. It took a few seconds to realize where he was and a second or two after that to notice he wasn't alone. His perceptive ability told him right away she was there; the slayer.

He rolled over on his back and turned his head to scan the room, not really needing to look very far because she was sitting on the bottom step not much farther than ten feet from the cot. Buffy was sitting and watching him, staring at him with round eyes, grasping the edges of the concrete step, leaning forward and not looking relaxed at all. He thought maybe he had caught her off guard, his waking so suddenly.

Spike rolled up to a sitting position, himself on the edge of the cot, trying his best to relax. Bugger. It wasn't working. He really needed a cigarette right about now. That's when he noticed the notebook sitting in her lap. Bloody Hell! He anticipated more time before she came along to harangue him about the bloody stupid thing. Knew he should have just kept it to himself all along. But deep down, he was ready to make amends, to make peace, to turn a new leaf, make a fresh start and all those other clichés floating around in his head.

He smiled at her hoping to break the insufferable tension mounting between his shoulder blades and spreading to the base of his neck. His eyes softened, composed himself under her stare hoping she would follow suit and reassure him that he didn't do something utterly ignorant by placing his past heartfelt sentiments in her soft but deadly hands. He deemed himself a fool at first and found it hard to form any discernible words or sentences.

"So, what's a girl like you doing around these parts, Slayer? I mean…Buffy?" Stupid git, that sounded too much like a pick up line some wanker would use at a bar or something.

He sighed and rolled his eyes at himself. And then he heard it. A soft giggle that grew louder as it rolled from her chest. Spike looked up cautiously finding Buffy clutching the pad of paper to her chest, looking more carefree, eyes shining with mirth. Sitting there, with his head cocked slightly to the side, his usual perusal of humans, a smirk forming on his lips as he wondered what broke the ice.

"You going to share?" he asked honestly as her laughter ceased but still danced behind her eyes.

**^**

Earlier in the afternoon, Buffy entered the house at 1630 Revello Drive feeling even emptier than when she had left that morning. Trudging up the stairs, she entered her safe haven just to throw herself across the bed and cry to her heart's content. Something cool dropping onto her arm caught her attention and made her raise her head up out of curiosity. Spike's journal, the very same notebook she had only hours ago returned back to him. Why was it in her bedroom on her bed?

She lifted it up as she turned to sit and a piece of paper fluttered onto her lap. Stationery from her desk with his handwriting on it. She wiped the tears from her eyes, too hard to read when the words were watery and blurry.

~Slayer, (she laughed because he had crossed it out and next to it wrote) Buffy,

My apologies for being such an ass this morning. Comes with the whole evil package whether there's a soul there or not. But it was unacceptable conduct on my part and I should have taken into account your feelings and what you must be going through, though for the life of me I can't figure out what you would see in a wanker such as myself. Why don't you tell me sometime? I'd like that, I think.

I'm going off on a tangent now, sometimes I do that. But you probably are already familiar with that part of me.

I wanted to give this to you. I thought you would like to know how I really regarded you before all this mess transpired. Please don't be sad anymore on my behalf. I'm a fool. After reading through this supposed journal in its entirety, I felt, well, many things. Happy, whole, free and a promising outlook of future possibilities. I think I'd like to feel that way all the time.

I'm afraid I can't give you anymore than just this to go on. Something to build on. I sincerely would like to get to know you better. I'm positive there's more to you than what I remember from our brief and intense encounters in the past. You think about it—then let me know.

Spike~

After reading the spectacular note, Buffy whooped for joy inwardly as she began the examination of Spike's most intimate and personal writings about herself and about them. Hours later, she felt a renewed sense of optimism and encouragement. It was courage that lifted her up and out, down the stairs and through the house to descend the steps where her once-upon-a-time adversary, soon to be hopefully once again confidante and companion, lay soundly sleeping.

She didn't want to wake him just yet, but instead pulled up a chair and waited for the souled vampire to rouse from his daytime nap. This is where he found her, looked upon her when he suddenly and unexpectantly woke from a dream or maybe a nightmare, or daymare. Her body tensed up and she felt the urge to run, but he turned and gazed at her with those clear sky-blue eyes, no sign of animosity, apprehension, or abomination could be detected in them.

As he sat up, a fleeting moment of doubt passed over his features and Buffy was ready to bolt back up the stairs and into her refuge, but his look softened and he smiled. He actually smiled at her. Then he spoke, and it took a while for her to process what he had said before she began to chuckle.

How bizarre was all of this, after so many years of familiarizing, all the fighting, hating, loving, saving and he sounded so nervous and why did it sound like he was trying to come on to her? She caught his reaction to his absurd words and wanted to run to him and tell him not to worry that his brain couldn't properly function and form dignified words. He asked a question, he wanted to talk or though it seemed like that to her.

"It's just…funny. We've known each other for over five or six years, mentally, physically, yet now whenever we’re in the same room together, the uptighty-ness is so thick you could cut it with a knife. That is until you just tried to use a pickup line on me."

"Oh," he rubbed the back of his neck while ducking his head, starting to look uncomfortable again. "You caught that, did you?"

"It's ok, really. Don't worry about it. I thought it was cleverly witty."

"Oh, well, then, good." Spike pushed himself back on the cot til his back touched the cold concrete and felt all the pressure drain out. He nodded towards the item she clutched in her arms.

"I see you found it. Did you…?" His eyes shot up to look into hers, questioning.

Buffy nodded. "Yes, I did. From beginning to end," she peered down at the object lying in her lap again before raising her eyes back up to his.

"Thank you…for sharing. Means a lot to me and I forgive your brashness this morning if and only if you forgive me for…being such a hormonal bitch lately.

"I'm thinking I’m probably used to that side of you, therefore you’re always forgiven for your bitchiness." He smiled again as they both shared a chuckle.

"Slayer…um, Buffy? I think that maybe…that we should…probably. Gah, I can be so daft at times. It's just that occasionally, before, before I was turned, I always had trouble speaking properly to girls, young ladies. And, well, especially ones I liked and you would think after 120 years I would be capable of speaking without getting tongue-tied and flustered. I sometimes can come across as asinine, cruel and callous; that's my mouth working before my brain can interrupt it."

"Oh, like I don't know that one already. Believe me, Spike, I know what you're like and I lo…uuuuhh, like you still. Sometimes I want to pummel you into next week, but I swallow my fury down, focus on all the good stuff and just tell myself it's all part and parcel to the whole package, the good and the bad. It doesn't take very long to convince myself that you're just fine." Buffy gave him a sugary yet alluring smile which he caught instantly.

He had a distinct feeling he was really going to like this girl. Very much so.

"I just thought…was thinking that we could possibly patrol tonight…together? And then, maybe go somewhere to…talk…together, you and me? Not much privacy in this ridiculous habitat you call home." Spike shut his eyes tightly as he sighed and rolled his head back.

"See, there I go again. Open mouth, insert foot. Your home is not ridiculous, I just meant the lack of privacy is…ridiculous." He looked at the slayer hopeful, wondering if she would ever speak to him again.

Buffy laughed, a beautiful, melodious sound that he rarely ever heard. "I understood. Don't be so harsh on yourself. Believe me, you'll get an earful if I never fully grasp onto your speech patterns. Really that's not true, but I may question you if you leave me guessing at what in the hell you are trying to say."

"Fair. I'll try not to over express myself on a daily basis. And possibly think before I open my big mouth."

"And what a lovely mouth it is," she softly exclaimed. "One I miss very much. I mean, talking, yeah, would be of the good." Buffy tried her best to cover up her traitorous thoughts.

Buffy stood quickly. "Um, I…gotta get upstairs, fix some supper."

Before heading up the stairs, she turned back towards him.

"Patrolling tonight then…conversation afterwards? Sounds…nice. And please, join us for supper. I insist. Dawnie would like your company…I would, too."

She ran up the flight of stairs feeling a blush creep across her cheeks as she left Spike to digest their recent conversation. Which he did so in absolute wonderment. It may be much easier to let his guard down around the slayer than what he thought, and just as easy to fall very hard for her. So what was he so worried about?

TBC





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