“Been a long time,” said Martin, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Spike’s left hand balled into a fist.  “Just about a year, last time I checked.” 

The tall, almost emaciated looking man shifted uncomfortably.

“Hmm.  So you got fixed up, then?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know… your eyes.”

Buffy leapt from her seat and got between the two men.  She really thought Spike was going to try to hit the other man, and no way could a blind man win a fistfight.

“Hey, you were great,” she said.

Spike frowned, wondering why she was saying that when they’d spoken after he’d gotten off stage.  She wrapped her hands around his clenched fist, and he got the message.  She was worried that he’d lash out.  The thought of her coming to his rescue pissed him off, and he turned his attention back to Martin.

“They’re not fixed, Martin.  Never will be.  I can’t see a fucking thing.  Not a thing.  Seem to remember the last time you saw me was the day the docs here told me there was no cure.”  His voice dripped with bitterness and resentment.

“Don’t be like that.  You got shipped off to God knows where in the States. I didn’t have any way to contact you.”

“That was two weeks later.  I sat there in that sodding hospital bed with the world caving in around me and you never came back.  Never even bloody rang me.” Breathing heavily, he ran his fingers through his hair.  “You were my best mate, Martin, and you just fucking left me there alone.”

“But, I didn’t…I just couldn’t handle it.”

“You couldn’t handle it?”  Spike’s voice, if anything, got colder.  “What about me?  I tell you what, mate, just fuck off and leave me alone now, like you did back then, eh?”

“Spike…”

Spike didn’t acknowledge Martin’s words.  “Buffy, time to go say goodnight to the band.  The taxi’ll be here soon.”

She glanced at Martin, whose stricken face almost made her feel sorry for him.  Almost.  Once Spike’s hand was on her elbow, they walked away and she resisted the urge to look back at Spike’s former friend.

Spike’s good humour recovered a little when the members of the band surrounded them to say goodbye and to give them their best wishes, but, to Buffy’s dismay, the wattage wasn’t quite the same.

The trip back to the hotel would have been silent if Buffy hadn’t chatted about meeting Stiff Little Fingers.  She waited until they were holding each other in bed before she mentioned Martin.

“So…do you want to talk about it?”

He didn’t need to ask who she meant. 

“Not much more to tell.  You heard the basics already.  We were mates.  I ended up blind.”  He shuffled down a little so he could lay his head on Buffy’s chest, sighing softly when she stroked his hair.  “He came to visit me.  Every day at first, then it ended up about every two or three.  I guess it was just bad luck he walked in just after the doc left that day.  I was a mess.”  He shuddered at the memory.  “Anyway, he listened to me freaking out for a while.  Even tried to comfort me, as well as a bloke can do when his mate is sobbing like a kid.”

“Oh, Spike…”  Buffy dropped a kiss on his head, and tightened her grip around his body.

“He made some half-arsed excuse about having to go somewhere, and that was the last time he visited. 

Spike pulled out of Buffy’s embrace and swung his legs over the side of the bed, resting his elbows on his knees and cupping his chin in his hands.

“Christ, listen to me.  I’m bloody pathetic.  We’re supposed to be having a good time.  We’re on holiday.” 

The bed bounced as Buffy crawled up behind him.  “Stop being so hard on yourself, Spike.  It’s understandable to be upset by meeting him.”

“At least I don’t have to drag you to where I used to drink with him, now.  It’s just I wanted this to be perfect…”

“It is perfect.”  She kissed his neck.  “You were always going to have things trigger your emotions by coming back, so don’t worry about it.  I was really proud of how you handled it.”

“You sound like Fred,” said Spike.

“She’s a wise woman.”  She laughed softly, her breath tickling his neck.

“That she is.”  He turned around.  “And so are you.”

“I know!”

By the time Buffy had finished with him, the painful memories faded into the background again.

*~*~*~*

With only three days remaining of their trip, Buffy stepped out of the bathroom, to be greeted by the aroma of bacon and eggs.

“Room service?” 

“Why not?  We’ve got a busy day ahead of us.”  Spike grinned.

Buffy pouted.  “And you’re still not going to tell me what we’re doing?”

Shaking his head, Spike’s grin got even wider.  “Nope.  Now come on and get your breakfast - well, it’s more like brunch since it’s almost eleven o’clock - before it gets cold.”

“Yes, Mom.”

“Cheeky sod.”

Eating with gusto Buffy complained that she would be pounds heavier by the time she got back to LA. 

“The amount of exercise we’re getting means we’ll be lighter, not heavier.”  Spike’s leer made it clear he wasn’t talking about the sightseeing.

“So what have I got to wear today?”  She glanced out window.  “Looks like it’s going to be a lovely day.”

“How about I get dressed and you find something that goes with it?” 

Spike rose from his seat and walked unerringly to the large mirrored wardrobe.  He slid the door open and took out a hanger holding a suit.

“You’re wearing that?  I didn’t even know you’d brought a suit.”

“The beauty of staying in a posh hotel.  I put it in my suitcase and gave it to be pressed yesterday.  It arrived at the same time as breakfast.  So do you think that dress I like the feel of would be suitable for you?”

“The green silk one?”

Spike nodded.  “Love how it feels when I rub my hands over your body.”

Buffy’s body temperature went up a notch, when Spike lazily licked his lips.

“Cut it out, or I’ll need another shower.”

Just over two hours later, the newly re-showered, immaculately clad couple left the hotel in a taxi to a destination still a mystery to Buffy.  It pulled up outside The Old Vic. 

“How does an afternoon at the theatre sound?” Spike asked.

“Sounds great.  For a self confessed punk lover, I’m surprised you like the theatre.”

“Hey… I studied literature at uni, remember?”

“So is this going to be Shakespeare?” 

Spike chuckled.  “Don’t worry – it’s not.  It’s called Six Degrees of Separation.  It’s had good reviews, and I thought bringing you to one of London’s best known theatres would be fun.”

Sighing with relief, Buffy kissed his cheek.  “I really appreciate you bringing me to places like this.  I know it’s—”

“Shh.  Let’s go in, yeah?”

They were shown to their seats – the best in the house – and sat holding hands as they waited for the play to begin.  Buffy described the interior to Spike when she discovered he’d never actually been to the Old Vic before. 

About halfway through the play the audience suddenly screamed with laughter.  Spike couldn’t work out why the words ‘has he got a gun?’ could induce such shocked mirth.  When Buffy could speak, she described how one of the actors had leapt up totally naked and jiggled about when he said those words in reaction to another character thinking he could be concealing a weapon. 

Spike chuckled.  “Think I can live without seeing a bloke’s danglies on show.”

“He had nothing on you,” whispered Buffy, kissing his cheek.

When the cast took their bow at the end of the play, Buffy was pleased that she recognised the actor with his clothes on.  They took their time in leaving the theatre, letting the worst of the crowd disperse before walking outside and hailing a cab.

Buffy leaned forward, listening intently to the instructions Spike gave the driver. 

“Oh,” she said.  “It must be Friday.  You said we were going to afternoon tea at the Ritz on Friday.  Is that why we got all dressed up?  Most of the audience in the theatre were less formal.”

Spike nodded, but his smirk gave away the fact that it wasn’t the only reason.  For a moment she wished she’d known him when he could see, as she was certain his eyes would have revealed a lot about his personality.  She could imagine the way they would have glinted as he smirked, and how cold they could get when he was angry, like when he’d been speaking with Martin.  With a sigh, she leant against him, resting her head on his shoulder.

“You okay?” he asked, stroking her thigh.

“Yes.  I’m good.  More than good.”

The cab pulled up at the Ritz and the pair climbed out as elegantly as they could.  Buffy tried not to goggle when they were led into the dining room.  The décor was ridiculously sumptuous.  Settled at their table, they were plied with sandwiches and chose tea from a vast selection, Spike opting for the very traditional Earl Grey and Buffy for Moroccan Mint.

“I feel like I’m in one of those period dramas.  Should I drink my tea with my little finger sticking out?”

Spike’s snort of laughter turned a few heads in their direction, so Buffy decided to give the snooty old ladies something to gawk at.  She leaned over the table and fed Spike a piece of cucumber sandwich, tracing his lips with her fingers as he chewed. 

“Did I ever tell you you’ve got the most deliciously kissable lips?” whispered Buffy.

To her surprise, Spike scowled.  “Behave yourself.”

“Huh?”

“I mean it.  We’ll get kicked out.”

“If the place is so goddamn stuffy then I don’t think I want to stay,” Buffy said, upset by his reaction.

Spike’s scowl melted away and turned into a broad smile.  “Oh, you’re so easy, Summers.”

“What?  You were playing me?” 

“Yup!  Couldn’t resist it.  Plus, if you’d carried on with the sexy voice and the hand-feeding we really would have been getting kicked out ‘cause I would have taken you right here on this table.”  He rested his palms on the ivory coloured linen covering the table.

“Oh, man!  I so want to throw a strawberry at you right now!”

Chuckling, Spike said, “So which do you prefer?  Eating fish and chips out of the paper on a park bench near the Thames like yesterday, or partaking of afternoon tea here?” 

“Will you hate me if I said the chips?  This is way too over the top for me.”

“Me too, but I figured we had to do it.”  His fingers went to the dial of his Braille watch.  “It’s time to go now anyway.”

“I suppose it’s no good asking where?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

Another cab ride brought them to a destination that caused Buffy’s eyes to glisten with unshed tears.

“Oh, Spike…  You didn’t have to.”

“Yes I did.  It’s okay.”

Buffy craned her neck up and stared at the big wheel with its numerous capsules as the London Eye slowly rotated.

“Wow, it’s so tall!”

Slipping his hand in hers, he said, “It’s one hundred and thirty metres high, and is the fourth tallest structure in London.”  Feeling her stare, he added, “What?  I did my research.”

Buffy laughed then stared at the queue in dismay.  “We’re going to be waiting for ages.  The line’s really long.”

“No we’re not.  Can you see the booth?  We need to go there and do some queue jumping.”

As they walked to the priority boarding area, Buffy heard a sullen looking teenaged boy mutter, “What’s the point of a blind bloke going on the Eye?  Right waste of money.”  He was shushed by his father, but the increased pressure on Buffy elbow from Spike’s fingers told Buffy that he’d heard it too.

She slipped her hand into his whilst they waited to board one of the capsules. 

“Spike, your hand’s all clammy.  Are you okay?”

“’Course I am.  Told you before, I’m not fond of heights.  And yeah, I know I can’t see how high I’m going to be, but I know I’m going to be up there.” He hoped she wouldn’t guess the real reason he was so anxious.

“I suppose that makes some sort of sense.”  She kissed his cheek. 

They boarded the capsule and Buffy led them over to the side, so she would still get a clear view once the others had boarded, and Spike could hold onto the rail if he needed to.  The wheel would take thirty minutes to make a full circuit. Spike checked the time with his watch and smiled nervously at Buffy.

Once the wheel was underway, they were served with a glass of champagne and Buffy sought out the landmarks that London was famous for.  When their capsule reached the top of the wheel Spike cleared his throat.

“Buffy?”

She turned to him, having to lower her gaze as he sank to his knee in front of her holding her left hand.  Spike knew he’d gotten her attention by the gasp she let out.  He also knew that the others in the capsule were likely staring at him too.

“Buffy, I know we haven’t been together that long, but you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.  And I know that I’m probably not the best catch a girl could have, but I love you with all my heart and so I wondered…”  He let go of her hand long enough to pull out a small black box from his pocket, opening it to reveal a simple platinum and diamond ring, nestling in red velvet.  “Buffy Summers, will you marry me?”

For twenty heart stopping seconds Buffy didn’t say a word.  Didn’t even breathe.  Then she shrieked, pulled him to his feet and kissed him to cheers from those watching. 

“Er…” said Spike, when their lips parted. “Does that mean yes?”

“Yes!  Yes, I will marry you, Spike.”

More cheers rang out.  The host gave them a few moments before offering them another glass of champagne.

Their ride on the London Eye almost at an end, Spike leaned on the handrail trying to visualise the skyline.  He knew from his time at Sandar Lodge that the images of some things would fade over time, whilst others would remain as sharp as the day he’d last seen them. 

He wrapped his arm around Buffy’s waist.  He’d left London with his life and dreams in ruins, shattered beyond repair, his future a dark bleak world.  Or so he’d thought.  But Buffy lightened the darkness that had threatened to engulf him.  She was his light, his love, and his life.  With her by his side, he knew that his future, though different from what it might have been before the accident, was bright once again.

“What are you thinking?” Buffy’s soft voice cut into his thoughts.

Spike smiled, and answered truthfully.  “About how much I love you.”

She leaned into his embrace.  “I love you too.”

The End