“Oh my God, this room is amazing!”  Buffy enveloped Spike in a hug, firm enough to make him wince.

“Glad you like it, love.” 

He tried to smile, he really did, but after listening to her enthuse about everything from the view, to the colour of the quilt on the bed, Spike was feeling his dark world closing in on him again.  Gently disentangling himself, he asked where the bathroom was and, cane tapping, made his way there solely for a moment away from her chatter.

A splash of cool water on his face didn’t help his mood, and he wondered if returning to London had been such a good idea after all.  He ached to see all his old haunts, and knew he’d been driven down streets close to where he’d used to live on the ride from the airport to the hotel. 

“Spike?  Are you okay?”  Buffy tapped lightly at the door.

“Yeah.  I’m good.”  He flushed the toilet, took a deep breath and walked back into the main room.  “Just a bit tired.”

She took his hand in hers.  “It’s odd to lose a day like that.  Feels late at night, but it’s early morning here.” 

They walked over to the bed, flopping down on its surface. 

“I’m sorry for babbling away like I did,” said Buffy, squeezing his hand. 

“It’s okay.  It’s not you.  Like I said, I’m knackered.  I didn’t get much kip, whereas you slept most of the flight away.”  Dreading the thought of having a nightmare on the plane, he’d not even attempted to sleep. 

Buffy giggled.  “It was just so cosy.  I don’t think I’ll ever be able to fly economy again!”

“A woman with expensive tastes, eh?”

“I don’t know about expensive tastes, but I sure have good taste in men.” She kissed him hard on the mouth.  “And, boy does my man taste good.”

“That so?” 

Pushing the bleak thoughts out of his mind, Spike pulled her on top of him, slipping his hand beneath her blouse, letting it slid its way up her back to the strap of her lacy bra.  Buffy gasped as, with practised ease, he unfastened it with one hand, the other ready to capture a breast as it was released from the bra.

“How do you do that?” 

Laughing, he said, “It’s a gift.”

She undid the buttons on her blouse, taking it off before tossing it onto a nearby chair.
 
*~*~*~*

Spike slept like a baby after their lovemaking, until the dream tore him from his slumber with a racing heart and a smothered cry on his lips.  He listened to Buffy’s breathing, relieved to discover that he hadn’t woken her this time.  The regular rhythm of her respiration soothed him, and he dozed until she began to stir. 

“Hey there, sleepyhead.”  He dropped a kiss on her hair as she snuggled closer.  “Shall we go find some lunch?  I’m starving.”

“Room service,” mumbled Buffy.  “I like it here.”

“Come on.  There’s a city out there waiting for a California girl to go say hello to it.  If we sleep any longer, we’ll be awake all night.”  He gave her a nudge. 

She stretched cat-like and smiled at him.  “Give me ten minutes and I’ll be good to go.”

An hour later they left the hotel, Buffy armed with a London A-Z guide, in search of the nearest tube station.  One thing Spike had forgotten about London was just how crowded it was. 

On the journey to the London underground station, despite the sunglasses and white cane clearly illustrating that he was blind, Spike still got jostled from time to time.  The station platform disoriented him completely with its echoes and rushing wind.  He clung to Buffy’s elbow, like a scared child, feeling way out of his depth as they waited for the train to arrive. 

Things didn’t improve once on the train.  Someone kindly offered him their seat, which made him mutter his thanks through gritted teeth.  Being seated meant he had to let go of Buffy, who held on to one of the straps hanging down from the ceiling.  His breathing increased as he began to feel claustrophobic.  He was squeezed by the numbers of people in the carriage and the memory of the last time he’d travelled on the underground, with a bunch of mates on their way back from a football match, all a little drunk.

Buffy glanced at Spike and cursed herself for not noticing his tension until now.  The knuckles of the hand holding his cane were almost as white as the cane itself.  She bent down until her face was level with his.

“Can I sit on your lap, before I fall over?”  She kissed him full on the mouth, not caring about the looks it earned her.

He smiled.  “Well, when you put it like that.” 

He retracted his cane, and patted his knees.  Buffy pulled his arms around her, keeping hold of his hands, and hoped she wouldn’t get too heavy.  A glance at the map on the wall of the carriage told her that their stop would be the next one. 

Holding Buffy grounded Spike, and he managed to keep from hyperventilating, but he did vow on using cabs to get around from then on.  Rupert had footed the bill for the trip, so Spike figured he could afford to blow some cash on taxi fares. 

To keep Spike’s mind occupied while they travelled up the long steep escalator to the surface, Buffy’s hand caressed his bottom as she stood behind him to allow those who wanted to walk up them to pass.

His muttered, “Bloody hell,” when her hand snaked between his thighs had her giggling fit to burst.

Finally out in the open, if not very fresh, air in Knightsbridge, Spike pulled Buffy close and kissed her.

“Thank you.”

“What for?”

“You know what for.  I was freaking out and you calmed me down.  So… thank you.”

“I wasn’t far behind you in the freak out stakes.  I don’t think I like the tube,” said Buffy.  She eased his hand onto her elbow and the pair walked slowly along.

“So you don’t mind if we get a taxi back to the hotel?”

“Mind?  I’ll be delighted.  Felt like a rat trapped in a sewer!”

They both chuckled before Spike said, “So can you see it yet?”

A few strides later, Buffy squealed.  “Oh!  It’s there!”

“I should hope it is.” Reluctant to take his hand from Buffy’s elbow, Spike asked her the time.

“It’s one-thirty.”

“Perfect.”

“Why?”  Buffy turned to stare at him.  “What’s perfect?”

“I booked a table for two o’clock.”

“A table?  We’re going to eat lunch in Harrods?”

“We are.”  Spike grinned.  “I booked it last week.  Can’t get much more English than lunch in Harrods, apart from, maybe, afternoon tea at the Ritz.  And we’re doing that on Friday.”

“No way! You’re crazy.”

“I know, but don’t get too excited.  Got plans to go to some normal places too.”

“Places you used to go to?” asked Buffy quietly.

“Yeah.  And let me tell you, posh they are not.”

They walked through the doors to London’s most famous store. 

“We need to get to the fourth floor.  Can you see where the lift is?”

“You’re getting more English by the minute.  Lift!”  Buffy glanced around.  “Oh…over there.”

Alone in the small elevator, Buffy kissed Spike.  “Hee!  I’m kissing in the elevator in Harrods!”

“No, love.  You’re snogging in the lift.”  Spike exaggerated his accent.

On their arrival at the restaurant, an impeccably attired waiter showed them to their table and earned points from both Buffy and Spike by matter-of-factly reading out the menu for them.

“Buffy, I hope you don’t mind, but I’d sort of planned for us to a have a traditional roast beef dinner, with Yorkshire puddings and everything.  Is that okay?”

“Sounds great.”

“Wine, sir?  Madam?” asked the waiter when he’d written down their order, Spike having told him how he’d like the food arranged on the plate.

“Just mineral water for me, please,” said Buffy.

“Same for me, too.  Thanks,” said Spike.  The thought of braving walking through the store slightly tipsy made the decision to abstain easy.

“I still can’t believe we’re here,” said Buffy, glancing around the restaurant.  “It’s awesome.”

“You’re awesome.”

Buffy chuckled.  “I know!”

Feeling fit to burst after the wonderful meal, they walked through the store.  Buffy’s eyes bugged out at the prices of some of the clothes.  Spike insisted on buying her a small teddy bear with a Harrods T-shirt on as a souvenir.

They hailed a cab after walking down the street for a little while, and by the time they got back to the hotel, they were ready to relax a bit. 

They spent their first evening in the bar of their hotel.  Buffy quizzed Spike over where he used to go and tried to get him to let her know about some of the things he’d pre-booked for them to do.  Though Spike was forthcoming about the former, he kept tight-lipped about the latter.

*~*~*~*

Spike rubbed his palms on his denim clad knees and smiled when Buffy put one of her hands over his. 

“I hope they like me,” she said.

“They will.” 

He smiled weakly, hating the fact that he was so nervous about just about everything these days.  They’d been in London for three  days, and he’d trudged around more tourist trail sights than he cared to remember in his determination for Buffy to get the most out of her trip. He’d tried to pretend he hadn’t heard the whispers about a blind man sitting on the top deck of an open-topped tour bus, or of him wandering around the V & A museum.  But it had still hurt.  It somehow made the darkness even darker.

And now, he faced a real test.  The return to the independent record shop where he’d wasted his education by manning the register and writing gig reports for their monthly magazine.

Buffy peered out at the store’s façade, trying to visualise a pre-accident Spike striding in there without a care in the world.  They stood on the pavement for a while after the taxi had sped away to give Spike time to compose himself. 

With a deep breath, he turned his face to hers.  “Okay, here goes.”  His right hand found Buffy’s elbow and in they went, a bell ringing merrily as the door opened.

Surprised by the amount of vinyl records the store stocked, Buffy glanced around curiously, spotting a short, overweight man, with a shiny bald head, standing behind the counter.

“Spike!  You made it!”  The man lifted a section of the counter so he could come to greet them. 

His smile faltered for a moment when he saw the white cane, but he soon regained his composure. 

“Dave,” Spike held out his hand, “I always make good on my promises – you should know that.”

Dave shook the offered hand.  “Yeah…yeah.  Got to hand it to you.  You always came up with the goods you said you would.  Your manners aren’t any better.  Are you ever going to introduce me to the image of perfection standing beside you?”

Spike gave out a snort.  “Still the same old smarmy git.  Dave, this is Buffy Summers.  Buffy, this is Dave Goodwin, owner of the best record shop in… well on this street anyway.”

“Hi. Pleased to meet you, Dave.”

“You too.”  Dave turned his attention back to Spike.  “About what happened… I—”

“Forget it.”  Spike’s voice came out sharper than he intended.  “Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay.  Are you alright, though?  Apart from…”

Behind the dark glasses, Spike squeezed his eyes shut.  He hated all this crap.  He mentally counted to three before replying.

“I’m doing alright.  The optic nerves are shot so no vision at all and no chance of repair.”  His fingers found Buffy’s hand and gripped it.  “But, I met Buffy and I’m playing guitar in a band every now and then, so I'm doing okay.”

“I hope your playing’s improved since I last heard you,” Dave said, winking at Buffy.

“Oi.  I wasn’t that bad.”

“Only teasing, mate.”  Dave glanced at his watch.  “The others should be in the pub by now.  Shall we go down there now?  I could do with a sit down; my feet are aching.”

“They’d ache less if you lost some weight, you fat sod.”

“How do you know I haven’t lost weight?  It’s been getting on for a year.”

Spike turned his head towards Buffy.  “Is he thin?”

“Hey, don’t bring me into the middle of this,” Buffy said, laughing.  “Where’s this pub?  I think I’m going to need a drink if I have to listen to you two all evening.”

“It’s just round the corner,” said Dave.  “How did you two meet?” 

“That is a tale to be told over a pint and not before,” Spike said, taking hold of a blushing Buffy’s elbow ready to be guided out of the shop and into the pub.