It was the next logical step.  He knew it.  He just wished it didn’t turn his stomach into a broiling sea of acid when he thought about it.  There were many things of his new life that he hated, the lack of confidence he now had being a major one.  Maybe losing his sight was payback for being such a cocky, arrogant git most of the time?  If it was payback, he was getting it in spades.

Back then, a girl inviting him to her place for a meal was leapt upon as a guaranteed shag with a bit of food thrown in for good measure.  But now…

Shite, I’m gonna throw up.

How the hell Buffy had managed to persuade him to agree to eat at her apartment he’d never know.  The woman just didn’t take no for an answer.

I can’t do it.  I just fucking can’t.

He sat down on the edge of his bed and buried his face in his hands as he tried to stem the vivid images of what might happen on the date from flitting through his mind in glorious Technicolor. 

There was the whole having to try to remember where the furniture was or fall on your face.  The ever popular having to be shown where the bathroom was like a little kid, and then to cap it all he had to try to get through eating a bloody meal with her.  Would he end up having sauce on his shirt?  Would half his dinner end up on the tablecloth or worst, the floor?  Would Buffy still be so apparently cool about his blindness when she realised that he had the table manners of a toddler?

He sat up straight.  “I’m not going and that’s it!” 

As his fingers touched his cell phone, it rang.  He knew that the caller would be Buffy even before he answered it.

“Hey!  Just checking that you’re still okay for tonight?”

She was giving him an out. He could hear it in her voice.  So why was it that when he opened his mouth he said, “Sure.  Looking forward to it.”? 

“Cool!  So I’ll see you in a couple of hours then?”

“Yeah,” Spike said weakly.

Buffy disconnected and he put the handset back on the bedside table in a bit of a daze.

“Oh, bloody hell.”

He’d told Rupert of his dates with Buffy at the Bronze and of this dinner date, but as yet his mother was unaware of her son’s burgeoning romance.  Rupert had agreed to tell Drusilla that Spike was going to Oz’s.  Neither man mentioned the possibility that he might spend his first night away from the house since his return from hospital.

It was with a sigh of relief on seeing that the cab driver wasn’t Xander that Spike slid into the rear seat.  He gave the address and held his white cane between his knees as he forced himself to relax.

“Uh… Where are we parked in relation to the door?”  Spike asked when they arrived, as he thrust the fare towards the driver.

“It’s a couple of yards to the left of us.  Sorry, Xan said to park directly opposite but there’s a car in the way.  Do you need a hand?”

“No.  I’ll be fine.  Thanks.” 

No way was Spike going to arrive clinging to the arm of some bloody stranger.  He waited until the cab drove away before flicking out his cane and taking a tentative step forwards. 

“Hey.  You’re right on time,” Buffy said, making him jump.

“Yeah, well some of us consider tardiness to be akin to devil worship.”  His attempt at humour fell flat as his tension came through in the tone.

“I’m glad you came.” 

A kiss on his cheek made Spike smile.  “Me too.”  It was only half a lie.

She guided his hand to her elbow and then led him up the stairs to her apartment.

“The whole place could probably fit in your room,” Buffy said, the difference in their finances making her aware of the apartment’s shortcomings.

“Least this is yours.  I still live with my sodding mother.” 

Spike squeezed his eyes shut as he willed away the memory of his bed-sit in London.  After the death of his father he’d sold the house, preferring to stay in the little flat he’d rented when he was at university. 

“We’re here.”  Buffy’s voice gave away the fact that she was nervous about the evening too.  She pushed the door open and cast her eyes around the room.  She’d moved as much of the clutter into Willow’s room as possible, but it still looked cramped.  “The couch is off to the left.” 

She led him over and sat down with him.  Spike sat ramrod straight on the edge of the seat, hands fiddling with the white cane he hated using in front of Buffy. 

“Beer?”  Buffy leapt up.  “I’ll get us one.”  She was gone before he could reply. 

From the sound of the refrigerator door opening, Spike guessed the kitchen was part of the living area.  He wondered what colour the decoration was – you could tell a lot about a person from their home…only he couldn’t anymore.  Yet another on the long list of things he couldn’t do.

“Here.”  The couch dipped as she sat on it and nudged a bottle against the back of his hand. 

When his fingers wrapped around the bottle, she gently took the cane from his other hand.  “You don’t need this right now.  There’s a table to your right at the end of the couch.  I’ll put it there, okay?”

“Okay.”  It was more a croak than a word.  He cleared his throat.  “Uh…yeah.  Thanks.”  After an awkward silence, Spike continued.  “Tell me what it’s like.”

“The apartment?”

“Yeah.”  He downed half his beer in one go, needing the buzz it gave.

“Well, it’s got two bedrooms – Will bagged the largest as she spotted the ad for it.  The kitchen is only separated b—”

“I mean colours, nik-naks, that sort of thing.” 

“Oh…right.”

Spike swapped the bottle into his right hand and reached out with his left until it found her leg.  Resting it there, he turned his face towards her.  “I miss colour, you know?” He shrugged with a half smile.  “I spent most of my life wearing mostly black.  When I was a kid and still with my dad I painted my bedroom black one time.”  The smile broadened.  “Hell, he went mental when he saw it, but he never made me change it.”

“He sounds like a good man.”  She covered his hand with her own and squeezed.

“The best.”  Spike nodded.  “But now…I remember colours and…and…  Forget it.  Supposed to be here having a good time…”

“No, go on.  What were you going to say?”

He dipped his head, closing his eyes.  “Now I’m scared that I’ll forget what they are.  Stupid, huh?  Worrying about forgetting what yellow daffodils look like under the spring sun back home.”

“No…not stupid.” 

She leaned in and kissed him.  Taking his beer from him, she put it on the floor and snuggled closer to him as she described the apartment in minute detail.  Making him chuckle at the weird ornaments Willow favoured. 

He opened his mouth to say something then thought better of it.  It was too soon, and were the growing feelings he had for Buffy merely him clutching at the first woman who showed an interest in him since his accident?  Reading too much into the emotions she stirred up within him?

The doorbell ringing broke the moment. 

“That’ll be dinner!”  Buffy disentangled herself from his arms.

“Hey…I thought you were cooking the meal?”

She laughed.  “No…I asked you over for a meal.  I never said anything about cooking it.  Trust me…takeout is your friend.”

Spike grinned.  It was hard to stay melancholy around Buffy.  “So what have we got?”  Please not Chinese.  The thought of chopsticks made his blood run cold.

“How’s fried chicken and barbeque ribs sound?” 

The aromas as Buffy opened the cartons had Spike’s stomach growling.

“Sounds great.”  Food he could eat with his fingers…no chasing peas around his plate.

“It will probably be easier if we eat at the table.  The way is clear if you stand up and head to the left.”

He fumbled for his cane and flicked it out before standing.  As he got to his feet, one nudged the bottle Buffy had left on the floor and he could hear the liquid glugging out.

“Bollocks!”  He bent down to pick it up.

“What is it?”  Buffy rushed over to him.  “Are you okay?”

“I am…not so sure about the carpet.”  Spike’s face was crimson and his jaw set rigid.

“My bad for leaving it on the floor.  It’s nothing.  Come to the table and I’ll wipe it up.”  She touched his arm, but he shrugged her off.

“It’s not nothing!  If I could see I wouldn’t have made a bleeding mess, would I?”

“Oh, Spike, stop it!”

Scowling he said, “Stop what?”

“Before the accident, did you never knock things over?  Did you never trip up?  ‘Cause if that’s true then you’re a better person than me!  It was an accident – get over it.  I saw you sitting in the park one day and you know what happened?  I wanted to go over to you to say hello and was so nervous I fell over my own feet and ripped the knee out of my favourite jeans!”

“But—”

“No buts.  You can’t change what’s happened to you and it’s awful, truly awful…I get that.  But you’ve got to stop thinking like you do or you’ll never be happy again.”

“I’m sorry…I’d better go…”

“No way are you leaving, mister.  Not when I have finger food to eat.”

Spike couldn’t help but smile.  “Hope you’ve got plenty of napkins…this could get messy.”

“No.  No napkins at all.  We’ll just have to lick our fingers clean.  So are you going to stand there all night or go to the table and eat?”

“Well…when you put it like that…”  He held his hand out towards her.  “Will you show me the way?”  Suddenly being guided didn’t seem so bad.

*~*~*~*

Buffy watched Spike carefully as they ate.  That was one advantage of his lack of sight—he couldn’t see her staring.  Slowly he began to unwind, telling her tales of his hi-jinks at school and university.  At times he’d go a little quiet as the world crowded in again, but she guided him through it as deftly as she’d guided him to the table. 

The meal over and the cartons in the trash, they settled on the couch and listened to music.  Well listened for about five minutes until Spike declared the boy band pop was making him nauseous. After that they just snuggled, which suited Buffy just fine.

“You’re going to stay over, aren’t you?” she whispered the words in his ear.

“I’d like to…but if you don’t want to—”

She kissed him hard, right then to shut him up.  “Oh I want to, Spike.  I really do.”

Leading him by the hand, she took him to the bedroom and onto her queen-sized bed.

“This room’s pink,” Spike said, grinning as he pulled his t-shirt over his head.

“What?  How do you know?  Did Willow tell you?”

He wrapped his arms around her, then sat on the bed, making her sit on his lap. “No.  But I swear it smells pink.”

Laughing, they collapsed back onto the bed. 

After making love for what seemed like hours, Buffy propped her head on her hand and watched Spike as he began to drift off to sleep.  This time she wouldn’t have to run out on him. It was too soon to say it, but she knew that he was the one.  She also knew that the relationship wasn’t going to be easy.  She understood him more now though.  He’d been so active and independent, there was no wonder he tended to get depressed and defeatist.  She closed her eyes and snuggled into the crook of his arm.  He was chauvinistic enough to think he had to look after and provide for her, but what he didn’t know was that she felt safer in his arms than she had in any others.