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Chapter 23: ‘The Art of Independence’


Buffy woke up to the sound of her bedroom telephone, located on her end table, ringing rather loudly. If she didn’t remember that she hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol last night, she’d swear she was hungover. Apparently, woozy as she was, there was more then one kind of hangover and some had absolutely nothing to do with booze.

She glanced at the alarm clock and noted it was past 8:30 AM and the caller ID on her phone alerted her to the fact that she was about to speak to her husband, if she answered it that is. Reluctantly, she picked up the phone and tried to muster up ‘some’ enthusiasm for another episode of ‘Travers Family Feud’ which she was sure, no doubt, would progress right into the bonus round.

“Hi, babe,” Angel greeted her rather cautiously, she thought anyway, “hi back,” she answered, her tone a text book in neutrality.

“What’s up?” he asked cordially.

“Well, I’m not,” she answered mechanically, then had to bite her tongue to keep from quipping out loud, ‘but you should have seen your buddy Spike last night!’

“Buffy I’m really sorry that I had to send Spike over for the money last night. But I really didn’t want to seem like a welch and all, you know?”

Oh, she knew alright, ‘guess it’s better to seem like a prick then a welch, huh Ang?’ she thought wickedly.

“It’s okay, Angel,” she started to say, then suddenly changed her mind and decided to say nothing.

“So,” Angel continued with a chuckle, “old Spikey, hasn’t changed much has he?”

Buffy fought the urge to make a real smart ass retort and opted to just remain silent, momentarily, anyway. She debated, inwardly, on whether or not to let her husband know if she even talked to William, much less ‘let’ him in their house. She opted for something ‘near’ the truth and told him that while she’d taped the money filled envelope to the front door, ‘Spike’ had come a bit early and she had no choice but to face him.

“He insisted on coming in for a minute and counting the money,” she lied boldly, “he also asked me about my Mom; how she’s doing, you know. Spike’s always liked my mom. He wasn’t here long and there’s not much more.”

‘Yeah,’ she thought sarcastically, ‘that’s because I spent most of the night washing the ‘much more’ out of our guest room sheets.’

“Well,” Angel began in his annoying, patronizing tone, “I guess if you’d come with me, like I wanted, you wouldn’t have had to see the bastard, huh, Buff?”

He seemed so very pleased with himself that Buffy couldn’t help herself, “so you sent him over here; the thorn in my side, my bane since High School, to what Angel? Humiliate me for disobeying you? Teach me a lesson?”

Angel couldn’t answer that one right away which irritated her even more.

“When are you coming home,” she finally asked, more then annoyed.

“Sunday,” he answered rather coldly, “going golfing with Dad Saturday, at a decent course for once.”

‘Good! I hope you and Dad crash your stupid golf cart in a lake, or the very least sink into a sand trap!’ she thought nastily. “See you Sunday Angel. I’m going to Willow’s tonight for dinner, we’re going to rent some DVDs. I’ll be late home,” she stated, silently daring the man to say just one negative word about it.

“Be careful, babe,” he sighed audibly, “don’t drink too much, okay? You know how alcohol and Buffy don’t mix well.”

Buffy answered with a ‘hmmm’ and hung up the phone, not even bothering to respond to his ‘I love you.’ She hadn’t slept well all night and she wasn’t sure if it was the thought of going to William’s place today or the plans she’d been forming for herself. Either way, she hadn’t fallen asleep until well past 3:00 AM.

Buffy punched Willow’s home number into her telephone the minute she hung up with Angel.

“Hi!” came the red head’s happy greeting.

“It’s me Wills,” Buffy answered, “can we meet for breakfast, today. I really need to talk to you about some things.” Willow explained briefly that she was getting ready for ‘summer college classes’ but that Buffy could come over to her apartment for bagels and coffee if she wanted.

“Tara is already at school, getting her class ready for Monday, I’m supposed to meet her for lunch at the ‘Book Store’ café near campus. But we’ve plenty of time Buff,” she assured her, “to talk before then. Just come over as soon as you can.”

A surge of warmth enveloped Buffy, Willow was always there for her, always, even since Jr. High. “Okay, Wills. I’ll stop and get Starbucks and those great apple turnovers you love! Be there in an hour, okay?”

After a quick shower, Buffy threw on a pair of jeans, her suede calf boots and a baby tee and headed to the nearest Starbucks. By the time she’d knocked on Willow and Tara’s apartment door, she’d already formulated her whole conversation in her mind.

Willow seemed thrilled to see her and quickly led her to the couch, placing the lattes and turnovers on the coffee table. Their apartment, although rather confined, was a mix of the mystical world and whimsical fairy tales. Buffy was just awed by this place, every time she saw it, especially the Pegasus like fixture that Tara had abscounded from an old merry go round and set up in the middle of the living room.

“So Buff,” Willow chirped happily as she bit into her turnover, “what’s up? You sounded pretty of the cryptic when you called, everything okay?”

Buffy took a deep breath, “I was thinking of going back to work Wills. Well, not exactly going ‘back’ to work. I’ve never really worked, but I mean, I guess what I mean is; I want to work in my Arts field.”

The red head contemplated Buffy’s words for a moment then broke into a huge smile, “that’s great, Buff. You’d do great at anything you choose to do! You think maybe a museum or something? The Sunnydale Art Gallery has an opening, I know because……oh wait,” she paused in her ramblings, “uhm, what does Angel say?”

Buffy scowled briefly, “Angel doesn’t know yet,” she admitted to her best friend.

“Oh,” Willow mumbled under her breath. “Uhm, what do you think ‘he’ll’ say about all this, Buffy?” she stammered, biting into her turnover again.

“Oh, you know Angel,” Buffy laughed somewhat nervously, “he’ll go ballistic, at first, head to the nearest golf course or bar and drink too many martinis while he crys to the bar tender about how women just don’t understand. After that, he’ll come home and proceed to brood for a week or so, maybe two weeks or so, and then virtually ignore me for as long as he thinks it will take to get me to change my mind. Nothing too overreactive, the usual, you know.”

Willow broke out into laughter, spitting apple turnover and latte all over the coffee table, “well you don’t seem too worried, at least,” she added, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

“You know, Wills. It’s funny,” Buffy said, thoughtfully, “I’m not worried about what Angel thinks at all, not at the moment. I’m just worried that I won’t be able to find anything that suits me.”

Red, as her friends had nicknamed Willow sat quietly for a moment then, “you know Buffy? Tara has a lot of connections with the Sunnydale art circle. That’s why I know there’s an opening at the SunnyD Art Gallery, the one your Mom used to manage part time. If I remember right, it’s an ‘Assistant to the Curator’ kind of position, something right up your alley. Don’t you think?”

Buffy began to feel excited; oh just a tinge, really, down in her tummy that promised to blossom into a full blown ‘happy’ that might even develop into a nuclear explosion of estatic. That is, of course, if something came of this ‘assistant’ thing.

“Do you think Tara would like give me a reference or something, Wills?” she asked hopefully.

“I know she would, Buff! Tara thinks you’re just swell and she knows how smart you are about art and stuff. It’s in the bag, Buffy, I just know it!”

“I’ll talk to Tara at lunch today,” Willow promised, patting Buffy on her arm. “I mean, Tara can refer you, but in the long run, it’s going to be you that gets the position. On your own merit.”

Buffy looked lovingly at her friend; Wills always knew just what to say, how to give encouragement and strokes to her friends. “Thanks, Wills,” she sniffed, tearing up, “you don’t know what this means to me.”

Red hugged Buffy warmly, “I’d do anything for you Buffy, anything to see you happy or at least content with your life. I worry about you, Buffy.”

With a shake of her golden head, Buffy chuckled, “don’t worry about me Wills. The 4th of July is in less then a month and I’m about to declare my own Independence!” This struck them both as funny and they laughed for a while over it. “Willow,” Buffy began, suddenly serious, “I need to ask a big, big favor of you.”


“Sure,” Willow answered, “anything.”

Buffy stood up and paced about the room for a minute then faced her friend. “What are you doing tonight?” she asked Red carefully.

“Nothing too much, Buffy,” she answered, “like I said we’re preparing for summer classes and Tara and Il will probably do paperwork all weekend. Why? Do you want to come over? Have an old fashioned girls night? Rent scary movies and eat popcorn?”

Willow looked so young to Buffy just then, so full of life and almost innocent.

“Well, no, Wills,” she mumbled, “actually I need you to cover for me.”

The red head looked confused, “cover for you? Like how Buffy?”

Taking another deep breath, Buffy sat back down by Willow and looked at her in the eye, “I need you to cover for me with Angel tonight. I mean if he does call you; which he probably won’t, but if he does. I need you to confirm that I’m around here, somewhere,” she finished weakly.

“I see,” Willow said softly, “why? Kind of a secret agent kind of ‘I Spy’ thingy?”

Buffy felt sick for a second, “no Wills it’s not an I Spy kind of thingy. It’s an ‘Angel would go nuclear and come after me with a gun thingy.” She dared a look at Willow who had grown even paler then usual and deadly quiet.

“Do I really want to know?” she asked Buffy quietly.

“No,” Buffy said firmly, “and I don’t want you to really know ‘everything’ not now anyway. It’ll make it that much easier if Angel does call you or something. It won’t be as big a lie if you don’t know the whole truth and I know how you hate lies and deceit Wills. I’m sorry about this, but this is something I have to do and……”

Before Buffy could finish, Willow put her arms around her and hugged her tight, “don’t say anymore. I’ll cover for you, Buff. You’re my bestest, bestest friend, well next to Tara and if you have to do this, whatever it is, I’ll help you.”

“You’ve always stood by me, Buffy,” the red head continued, “when Xander and I got together; when I got with Tara. Heck even back when we were kids and you helped me cope with my nutty family. You’ve always been my best friend, well, like I said, next to Tara now.”

Buffy felt tears well up in her eyes, “thanks, Willow,” she whispered. “I think it’s great that Tara is your best friend. Lovers, husbands, boyfriends and girlfriends should definitely be best friends to us. I just wish Angel was mine, but he’s not and hasn’t been in a long time. Listen,” she hesitated a moment then continued, “I promise, when the time is right, I’ll tell you and Tara everything. For now, I’ll leave my cell on all night, I mean the whole time and if Angel calls you first or anything, just call me and I’ll call him back, just like the ‘telephone game’ we used to play. I know it’s confusing, but well, it’s the best I can do for right now.”

After she’d left Willow’s, Buffy drove home, much slower then she ususally would. She felt awful about getting Willow involved in all this William mess, but was more then happy about the chance to work in her career field. Buffy pulled over to the side of the road and speed dialed William’s phone number.

“Hello,” he greeted over the line. “It’s me Will,” she said shyly. In all of her twenty-eight years, Buffy never got the hang of calling guys, no matter what the reason and always felt a little funny about it.

“Buffy,” he replied warmly, “where are you?” A slight tingle started in Buffy’s lower back and traveled quickly up her spine, “I’m coming back from Willow and Tara’s,” she answered, not really knowing why she felt the need to answer that question. “I’m,” she hesitated, the tingly feeling had now traveled to her neck and was coursing up into her brain.

“Buffy? Are you okay, luv?” he asked with concern. “I’m fine, William,” she finally replied, “I’m really good, just a little nervous about coming to your place.”

Spike tensed, worried that maybe Buffy had changed her mind about coming, decided it ‘was’ too risky or something.

“I’m still coming,” she blurted as if she had read his mind. “I’m just a little tired and jumpy from last night and everything. And,” he heard her sigh softly, “I guess I’m overwrought about a decision I’ve come to.”

He was a basket case by the time she’d finished her last sentence, worried that she had decided to dump him completely and consequences be damned. A part of him wanted to shout at her and tell her that she was stuck with him whether she liked it or not. The other part wanted to admit to her that he would never really use that crap he had against her, he couldn’t. He was simply in too deep now and always had been, really.

“What decision is that, Princess,” he asked, trying hard to sound light hearted.

“Well,” she began cautiously, “I’ll explain more when I get there, but I’m pretty sure I’m going to go to work, soon. Something in my field of Art and all. I was at Willow’s talking to her about it and she thinks Tara McClay might be able to put in a good word in for me. Like I said, Will, I’ll tell you more, later.”

For a minute, Spike thought he might have a heard wrong; this was simply too good to be true. No one in the world wanted Buffy to pursue her dreams as much as he did, certainly not that oaf of a husband of hers. Spike was savy enough to know that Angel kept Buffy tied down by keeping her from her ambitions, her desires for herself. Where Spike admired the depth and inner strength of Buffy’s mind, heart and soul, Angel desired the insecure, needy child that he had helped to create in her..

(Here it comes!) Spike loved the woman in Buffy, Angel was obsessed with the girl. It had always been that way, from day one, even if Buffy had never realized it.

“I think that would be bloody fantastic, Buffy,” he told her honestly.

“Well, I don’t have it yet, Will,” she giggled, “but I’d sure like to give something like this a try. It’s what my Mom used to do here in Sunnydale and no one was a better teacher then my Mom, you know?”

He seemed genuinely pleased by what she had told him and now, she was really excited about getting to his place to discuss it more.

“Will, it’s only about 12:00, but would it be okay if I came over now? I mean if it’s alright?”

There was a long pause from him, then, “I’d really like that Buffy, of course, if you want, come right now.”

She really did want to go there now, sit and talk to him, although she couldn’t quite figure out why it seemed so important. “Like I said earlier, I’m a little nervous about coming to your place. I guess I’m worried someone there might recognize me or my car?”

Another silent pause, “tell you what. What if you park at a nearby Strip Mall, I’ll come and get you. It’s easier for you if I bring you here and besides, there’s not a lot of people around right now, being a workday and all. Are you wearing pants or something? Something that’ll do on a motorcycle?” Seeing as how what he said made sense and that she was wearing jeans, Buffy agreed to his plan.

Following his directions to the Strip Mall, Buffy found it easily and found ‘him’ waiting for her on his motorcycle. ‘No wonder he wanted to know what I was wearing,’ she surmised. After securing her car, Buffy slid onto the back of William’s bike, a little more secure then the last time she’d done this, and let him whisk her to his apartment.

Although she was nervous about going to William’s place, Buffy’s curiosity had gotten the best of her, once again, and she just had to find out what it looked like. They got there in less then two minutes, parked and headed up to the second floor of the secured building, to apartment #10, his apartment.

“Come in, Princess,” he opened the door for her and showed her inside. Buffy stepped inside the living room of what appeared to be a moderate sized apartment unit. The first thing she noticed, was the black leather couch in the middle of the room, ‘leather and black,’ she giggled to herself, ‘figures.’

The carpet was almost a beige color, but it was the roll top desk in the corner of front room that caught her eye immediately.

“Oh my God!” she cried out loud, almost skipping up to the desk, “this is an English Edwardian roll top desk, Will! And it’s mahogany! Do you know how special this is Will?”

Spike knew exactly how ‘special’ this was, but he just smiled at her and shook his head. “Why don’t you tell me, Buffy,” he queried.

“It’s like major special, Will,” she crowed, “it’s from the 1880’s and Oh my God, it’s just perfect!” He smiled at her warmly, taking joy in her joy of her own knowledge about such things.

“Can I touch it?” she asked with a certain reverance. “Of course, Princess,” he chuckled, “you can touch anything you want.” She blushed profusely, he noticed with pleasure, at his double innuendo, “go ahead,” he assured her.

Buffy ran her slim hand over the roll top and then down the middle drawers to the banded marquetry work that made the desk so special.

“It’s magnificent, William,” she whispered in awe, “truly a work of art.” When she turned to look at him, he saw the traitorous tears in her eyes.

“What is it, Buffy?” he asked, concerned, “why’re you crying, luv?” With a shake of head, she looked away from him, “it’s just that I love these kinds of things. The antiques, their craftsmanship and all of the history that goes with them. I just, I mean I don’t have these kind of works in my house. Angel only likes modern art and decorations,” she finished rather bitterly.

He couldn’t answer that one at the moment. It was bad enough that she brought up that dick’s name, but it pissed him off to no end that Angel would even have control in almost every aspect of Buffy’s life. Even the interior decorating, as if Peaches had any taste in that department.

“Buffy,” Spike murmered, careful not to approach her too closely, “I know how brilliant you are in antiques, art and everything that goes with them. I’m just sorry that you haven’t been able to pursue your dreams or your field of study. Please believe me, luv, any kudos you give me about my choice in home decorations is music to my ears. I know how keen your eye is for these things.”

The look of appreciation that she gave him caused his heart to skip three beats. ‘Damn you Angel,’ he grumbled inwardly, ‘just what have you done to break Buffy?’

Buffy glanced around the living room quickly, searching for something else to use to change the direction the conversation had taken. That’s when she spied the only piece of artwork in the room, hanging over the mantle piece of the faux marble fireplace. Perfectfly, evenly hung, right in the middle of the room was a print of ‘Christina’s World’ by Andrew Wyeth, Joyce and Buffy Summers’ favorite American painter.

“William,” she gasped, “I can’t believe it! That’s my favorite painting by an American artist! I can’t believe you have it hanging in your front room!” She stood in front of the reproduction, her mouth open in awe, “I can’t believe you have this. I just can’t believe it Will. You know,” she whispered, “it always reminded me of your sister, Drusilla. The bluffs, her staring at the painter’s farmhouse. It always put me in mind of poor Dru’s fragility, her secret world.”

Buffy felt Will’s hand take hers, “yeah,” he whispered back, “always put me in mind of that too.” They just stood together, connected by the joint admiration of the painter and his work.

After a quiet moment or two, Buffy felt William lean over and kiss her neck, pulling her into an embrace. It’s not that she minded his show of affection, but she so did not want it to escalate, at the moment into something sexual. She had come here, early, to talk to William, discuss some things that she needed to get out. Here he was, getting all naughty right off and it bothered her that he wanted to take the afternoon to ‘that level’ so soon.

He began to pull her to what she assumed was his bedroom and at first, she reluctantly allowed him to lead her there. When they got into his bedroom, Buffy was overcome by the pure masculine essence in there. The king sized bed was covered in a black satin comforter, pulled down just enough to show the tan sheets that lay beneath. A mahogany end table sat next to the bed, but it was the mahogany chest of drawers, George II era, circa 1745, if she wasn’t mistaken, that took Buffy’s breath away.

“Will!” she yelped, causing him to cease the assault he’d started on her mouth with his kisses, “what!” he jumped slightly startled, “what’s wrong?”

This time she didn’t ask if she could touch the dresser, she just reached right out and stroked the fine wood with her fingers. “Nothing’s wrong, Will,” she sighed, “this is such fine furniture. I can’t believe you have these pieces. Where did you get them? From Anne and Rupert?”

Spike wasn’t sure what kind of game Buffy was playing now, but he wasn’t in the mood to join in the fun. He wanted nothing more then to push her down on his bed and shag her into oblivion and she seemed to just want to play ‘name that antique.’ First off, he wasn’t exactly ignorant himself in the finer points of art, and secondly he had to wonder if this just wasn’t a ploy on her part to avoid sleeping with him.

“Yeah,” he spat out quickly, “that’s it, I got it from them. So let’s forget that and take advantage of my big, rather comfy bed right there, luv. Come on, crawl into the sheets and give ‘your’ art to me good, Buffy.”

His crass words caught in his throat when he saw the look of hurt and betrayal that she shot him and he was immediately sorry for what he’d said, but it was too late.

“You incredible asshole!” she cried as she ran past him and out of the bedroom.

“Buffy!” he shouted after her and immediately followed suit, “wait, I’m sorry. Just……”

Buffy was headed for the front door, which was ludicrous he thought, because her car was over three miles away at a lousy Strip Mall and Spike was the only way for her to get there. He certainly had no intention of taking her back there right now; he had to fix this first.

“Stay away from me,” she hissed with venom, “stay the hell away from me you moron!” Buffy slipped past William, who had almost, but not quite, cornered her by the front door and then headed back into his bedroom. With a quick slam of his door and a turn of the lock, she was completely seperated from the idiot and alone to conjure all kinds of imaginary tortures to place on William Giles.

“You snake,” she muttered, “you one track minded snake in the grass! I come here, early, to discuss my career, art and happy things and……”

William called to her from the other side of the door, “open the door, please Buffy, luv,” he pleaded. “I’m sorry for being so crude, really. Open the door and we’ll talk it out. We can just talk and I’ll listen to anything you want to say. I mean it Buffy, please open the door.”

She leaned with her back against the locked door and slid down onto the floor, her butt plopping down on the beige carpeted floor. “Go to hell, Spike!” she hissed, “you’re just like Angel, a self absorbed moron with no thought to anyone ‘cept yourself and your enormous dick! I detest you both right now!”

She heard the growl from the other side, “I’m in no way like your prick of a husband, Buffy. And I’d appreciate it if you’d refrain from mentioning the ponce every other sentence! Especially in the same sentence as ‘my dick!”

Buffy slammed her head, dramatically against the door, “screw you, Spike!” she shouted, “you’re a nasty, selfish monster and I’m a fool for ever coming here!”

Spike was at a loss as what to do, something he didn’t experience too often, therefore he didn’t have any fast anwers for. He knew he’d screwed up, big time, but he couldn’t fix the problem if he couldn’t talk to Buffy. He lit a cigarette, his safety device and then a thought dawned on him, and he headed into his kitchen to find his tool box under the sink. When he’d returned to the bedroom, he brought an adequate screw driver with him, one that would unlock his own locked bedroom door.

“Buffy,” he said evenly, “I’m going to unlock this door, if I have to take the damn thing off of it’s hinges, so, please, unlock it yourself, or back away from the door.” He heard her hiss again, “go to hell!”

With a shake of his head, he proceeded to unscrew the hinges and remove the door completely. “Listen to me!” he ordered when he’d removed the door, set it aside and saw her run behind the other side of the bed. “Buffy, dammit, listen to me!”

She shook her head violently and ducked behind his bed, “don’t you come near me, William!” she commanded angrily, “don’t you take one step towards me!”

He was relieved to hear her call him William instead of Spike again, so he dared to step closer to her. “Buffy, honey,” he began.

“Don’t you honey me you creep!” she retorted, “if you truly cared about me, truly cared like a man should, you’d respect me and listen to me. You’d make sure I was heard and everything. If I’m such a honey, why do you and every other man want to screw me first and ask questions later?”

“Buffy,” he said softly, “I don’t just want to screw you, okay? I mean it, I do want to listen to you and hear what you have to say. If I’m an insensitive prick, I’m sorry, I really am, but it’s just that to have you here, with me? It’s rather overwhelming for me too and I guess I didn’t react well to you being here. It means more to me then you know, Buffy and I’m sorry if I’m such a bloody idiot that I don’t know how to show it other then the want I have for you. Please forgive me and let me talk to you. Hell, at least let me see you!”

She tentively poked her head out from the side of the bed, “well,” she hesitated, “you promise to keep your nasty hands to yourself?”

He nodded sincerely, “promise and hope to die,” he crossed his heart for good measure.

“Okay,” she relented and stepped out from the side of the bed, cautiously, “but I’m not going to bed with you.” ‘At least not right this minute,’ she added silently.

“Look,” he said softly, “you seem more then tired and I don’t blame you. Everyone throws a lot of exhaustive crap at you Buffy, including me. Why don’t you get undressed, crawl into bed and get a nap. I’ll go out into the other room, won’t bother you and let you rest. When you get up, if you want, we’ll talk some more and I’ll truly listen to you. Does that sound acceptable to you, luv?”

She tried not to, but she let a slight smile slip out on her mouth. “Okay Will,” she murmered with a traitorous yawn, “I am kind of tired. I didn’t sleep well last night and I’ve had a real emotional day. I’ll just slip in here, go to sleep for a while and when I get up, I’ll come and talk to you.”

William winked at her and backed out of his own bedroom. “Oh,” he added from the other room, “I’m whipping up some dinner for us later; nothing special just some shrimp scampi. Does that sound good, Princess?”

“Sure,” she yawned loudly. When she was sure he was truly settled in his front room, she slipped out of her jeans, shoes and shirt, leaving only her demi-bra and thong on. She crawled into the clean crisp sheets and immediately closed her eyes to rest, “William Giles,” she whispered to the air or maybe to a Higher Power, “I think you might have some real potential.”


A/N: Again, I’m trying to save this fic and need input. The art, antiques and Spike’s support of Buffy’s decisions for herself about a job and all are my way of giving the couple a common ground to build a relationship. I don’t want to give up on this fiction, I’ve worked very hard on it and it means a lot to me. That’s why I try to write some personnal notes into the plots. Christina’s World is one of my faves and certainly my own mother’s favorite and I used to work for a couple of Antique dealers so I thought it would be nice to include Spuffy in the mix. Please read and review. Thanks, Luv, Spuf





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