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When they arrived at the gallery, Buffy was more than happy to get away from Spike and the awkward silence she endured in the car. She walked into the building, him in tow, and saw her dad walking around, on the phone. She decided to go to her mom’s old office, now her father’s, to patiently wait until he was done and needed her.

‘Any excuse to stay away from Spike is good,’ she thought. ‘And why did it have to be him? Isn’t Fred working tonight? Maybe this is fate’s way of really sticking it to me for being so stupid before.’ She looked outside, focusing on the rain again. ‘If someone would’ve told me last year that my mom was going to die and that I was going to sleep with Spike the night of the funeral, I would’ve told them they were insane.’ She sighed. ‘But unfortunately, they would’ve turned out to be right.’

Spike aimlessly walked around the main part of the gallery, trying not to think about the blonde girl who was sitting in Hank’s office.

‘You knew damn well that sleeping with her was a bad idea,’ he thought, watching her as she stared outside. ‘And besides the fact that she’s the boss’ daughter, she’s only 18. You’re a decade older than her, you ponce. You don’t do stuff like that, so why the bloody hell did you let yourself shag her? And don’t use the excuse that you were depressed because we all know that’s not completely the reason.’ He sighed and went into the back room, wishing he could stop thinking about her.

Buffy saw him go to the storage room and figured it would be safe to leave the office. She instantly walked into Fred, who was carrying a box filled with files and sheets of paper.

“Sorry,” Buffy apologized sincerely, looking at the brunette woman sadly. “Didn’t see you there.”

“You seemed pretty deep in thought,” Fred replied, smiling softly. “Everything alright?” Before Buffy could answer, Fred frowned and her shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry, that’s such a dumb question. Your mom just died- I’m sure you’re not bursting with joy.”

“I’m fine,” Buffy said, smiling slightly. “It’s been a month, Fred. Things are starting to get better for me, honestly.”

“I heard you’re dating Lindsey McDonald,” Fred said, and Buffy nodded. “Congratulations. He’s quite the catch, isn’t he?”

“Yeah, he’s great,” Buffy replied quietly, looking down, missing the weird look Fred gave her.

“If you two are done catching up on gossip, I could use your help,” Spike said, appearing in the back room’s doorway, having heard all of their conversation and strangely upset that Buffy was dating someone.

‘But what do you expect? She’s still a kid, Spike- she’s going to date anyone she wants to and whenever she wants to,’ he thought, looking at her for a moment before looking away.

“What do you need help with?” Hank asked, walking over to them after hanging up the phone.

“I found a shipment that hasn’t been opened yet,” Spike answered. “I thought you’d probably like to see it, along with helping me open it.” Hank nodded and followed Spike into the storage room.

“What’s his problem?” Fred asked quietly, looking at Buffy. “He’s been in a foul mood for weeks now.”

“I have no idea,” Buffy answered, even though she knew exactly why he was in a bad mood.

‘Because of me.’

* * *

After Fred went home at nine and Hank had to leave for a date with his girlfriend Lilah, Buffy sat in the office, checking her e-mail, while Spike filled out orders for shipments. Hank had arranged for Spike to drive her home, even though she planned on walking, downpour or not. Her plan was to leave as soon as she finished writing an e-mail to her best friend Willow, but that changed when the power went out and thunder clapped loudly outside. She swore quietly and blindly opened a desk drawer, managing to find the flashlight she knew that her mother had stored there. She turned it on and navigated her way out of the office, watching as Spike walked out of the back room, his lighter lit and casting a soft glow over him.

“We should probably head out,” Spike said. “No sense in sticking around if the electricity is out.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” she agreed, following him to the door. They left the gallery, and he locked up behind them, cursing the rain as it seemed to fall faster than it had been before. “I’ll see you around.” He stared at her as she turned on her heel and began to walk down the sidewalk, away from him.

“What are you doing?” he asked loudly, and she turned around to look at him.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” she asked, crossing her arms. “I’m walking home.”

“Like hell you are,” he said, stalking towards her and grabbing her arm. “I’m driving you home.”

“No thanks,” she replied, trying to pull away from him but not succeeding. “I don’t feel like dying in a car accident with you, Spike.”

“And you think a car could see a pedestrian crossing the street when it’s raining like this?” he asked sharply, opening the car door for her. “Not a bloody chance, so get in.” She frowned but obeyed him, getting in and shutting the door. He quickly got in on his side and started the car. “Besides, you’d probably get a cold or something if you walked home in the rain.”

“I would think that you’d be happy if I got pneumonia and died,” she replied quietly, looking out the window. He looked at her, an eyebrow raised.

“You know that’s not true,” he said, turning the heaters on.

“No, I don’t know that,” she said, looking at him. “I’m not sure about anything when it comes to you. Not anymore.” He looked at her. “Just take me home, Spike.”

“Whatever you say, princess,” he replied, pulling away from the curb.

“Why do you say stuff like that?” she asked sternly, fighting off a chill that ran through her as cold air hit her for a second before it became warm. “Like calling me ‘princess’ in such a negative tone? I mean, I know you can be majorly condescending sometimes, but calling me something like ‘princess’ really drives me nuts.”

“That’s why I call you it,” he replied, smirking as she glared at him. “I enjoy pissing you off.”

“I can tell,” she mumbled, looking outside again. He got to a stop sign and reached into the backseat, grabbing a hooded sweatshirt he had left there.

“Here, you can put this on,” he said, handing it to her. “You look like you’re freezing.” She took it from him graciously and began to pull it on as she felt his hand grab her wrist. She looked at him and saw that he was looking at her stomach, which was now exposed from her raising her arms to slide on the sweatshirt. “Do you know you have bruises all across your skin?” She quickly pulled on the hoodie and willed herself not to look at him.

“Yeah,” she answered. “It’s nothing.” He was about to speak, but she looked at him with a fierce expression. “Don’t say anything- just drive me home.” He clenched his jaw and nodded, arriving at her house minutes later. Before he could say something, she got out of his car and bolted inside the dark house, still wearing his sweatshirt.

“What is she hiding from me?” he asked himself, becoming even more worried about her than he had been earlier that evening.





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