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CHAPTER 9 --

“Buffy, they aren’t two anymore, they’ll be fine,” Willow assured her, holding out Buffy’s coat.

Buffy sighed, making no move towards the jacket, “I know, but we practically just got here. We shouldn’t be leaving them so soon.”

“Come on Buff,” Xander prodded, “It’s only for a couple hours. And Giles will be here. Think about it, when was the last time any of us got to go out for a night on the town?”

Buffy gave the group in front of her a fretful look. She wrung her hands together and glanced up the stairs, where her kids and ex father-in-law currently resided.

Spike rolled his eyes at Buffy’s mother-hen routine, “For the love of God, cut the umbilical cord already and let’s go!”

That broke Buffy’s mood, turning a glare at her ex, “You,” she admonished, “of all people should understand what I’m going through!”

Spike couldn’t help the smirk that graced his lips. The little spitfire she used to be was beginning to shine through for the first time since she arrived. He had begun to think that motherhood had softened her. He knew better now and looked forward even more to the night out.

Ignoring her smart mouth, Spike grabbed Buffy’s shoulders, spun her around, and wrestled the coat on her amid protests of manhandling.

When the coat was securely around her, Spike moved her to face him, “There. You’re clothed. They’re fed. We’re ready. Let’s go.” He held open the front door. She opened her mouth to object, but Spike gave her a look that quickly shut it. Just as she was about exit, a pounding on the stairs turned her around.

Dawn came to a halt on her way to the kitchen, shooting her parents a quizzical look, “You’re not gone yet?”

“See, she doesn’t need you anymore, let’s go,” Spike deadpanned, pushing her out the door while Buffy continued to call out numerous instructions for her daughter.

An hour later, the four of them sat at a club reminiscent of their old Bronze, though British pop music filtered through the speakers.

Spike and Buffy sat swigging their drinks and watching Willow and Xander groove out on the crowded dance floor.

“Spike, ye ol’ bastard!” a drunk Irishman man slurred, saddling up next to their table, shot glasses and bottle of whiskey in each hand.

“O’Brien,” Spike acknowledged happily, slinging back the shot that O’Brien slapped down on the table in front of him. Buffy watched as the two apparently old friends fought about the outcome of a Manchester United game played a few days prior. After a few minutes O’Brien left, but not before getting the promise of Spike to get “piss drunk” with him someday in the near future.

Buffy shook her head, crossing her arms and watching as Spike downed another shot. “I should have never let you move back here, you’ve become more British.”

Spike smirked gamely, tilting his head to the side, taking her in with his eyes, “What can I tell you, baby? I’ve always been bad,” he drawled.

Buffy laughed outright at him, “Oh, come on! Giles could rival you for non-rebel of the year!”

“What about you? I had to drag you out of that house tonight! If there is one person at this table who direction in life took a 180, it would be you, luv. You used to be such the social butterfly you’d have to be wrestled off the dance floor.”

Their laughter died down into meditative silence.

“Buffy, were we bad parents?” Spike said suddenly, pivoting in his seat to regard his ex-wife.

“What? No! Spike, what would make you think that?”

“Splitting them up, I mean. Was it a mistake?”

Buffy shrugged, her hands pressed between her knees, “I don’t know. What does it matter now? It’s done. And Dawn and Connor turned out great.” She paused before confessing her own thoughts, sure it felt strange doing it in the middle of a dance club while mildly tipsy, but as long as they were being honest with each other, “Is it strange that out of a short four year relationship we have two fifteen year olds?”

“People have had kids and been together shorter a time,” he commented.

“But do they erase each other from their lives?”

“Just like being a single parent,” Spike said.

“But it never was for us, was it? Because we always new the truth,” Buffy looked at Spike, realizing she’d delved more information then she meant to, “At least, that’s how it was for me,” she quickly tried to backpedal.

He took her nervously fluttering hands in his, “It was like that for me too.”

Buffy breathed in relief, only to look up abruptly as Spike stood, pulling her with him as a slow song began to play.

Realizing his intentions, Buffy tried to remove herself from his grasp, “Spike . . . I don’t think I . . .”

“Come on, Summers,” he interrupted her, “Nothin’ fancy, just some high school style swaying, alright?”

“Oh . . . Um . . . Alright,” she caved, allowing her arms to wrap around his neck. Relaxing for what felt like the first time since she arrived in London, Buffy let her weight rest on him, closing her eyes to the rhythmic movement. Breathing deep, she took in his scent -- the cologne she’d always known his to wear and leather filled her, lulling her forehead to his sturdy chest. Is this what she could have had, if she had left with him for London all those years ago? Maybe her and Dawn could . . . A rumble disturbed her train of thought.

“What?” she asked, wanting Spike to repeat himself.

“She left me.”

“Who . . .”

“Harmony,” he answered her unformed question. “She left me.”

A flood of sympathetic thoughts paraded through her mind, none conveying her shock and sorrow for him correctly, “Oh, Spike, I’m so sorry.”

“I guess I should be more heartbroken than I really am,” he commented, the slight strain evident in his eyes.

“It probably hasn’t sunk in yet,” she offered, her eyes full of worry and concern.

Spike shook his head, “No, I think it’s pretty well sunk,” he smiled ruefully.

She opened her mouth to offer more comfort, but Spike returned to dancing, apparently closing the subject. Buffy chastised herself for her earlier thoughts. How could she even have considered staying here? Interrupting the life of an engaged couple! How stupid could she be to assume he’d welcome her back into his life?

“Again, Spike, I’m really sorry.”

He jerked his head out of his own thoughts, studying the flickering of the club’s lights in her eyes, “I’m not.”


A/N: I know, everyone was all down with the whole Dawn and Connor torture Harmony into leaving thing, but I realized that would mean many chapters with no Spuffy focus, and I just couldn’t do it. It would be annoying to me to write and then there would be no update. So, for the sake of moving the story along, I left it out.

TBC





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